Lieutenant Kuritsin’s eyes flashed. “Have a care, commissar,” he hissed. “If you’ve taken that book with anything less than his express permission, he’ll have your head, and all laws be damned.”
“Do you mean to say, lieutenant,” spluttered Kabanov, “that the book is Captain Sebastev’s own copy?”
“It is, sir,” said Kuritsin, “unmistakably so.” He faced Karif. “That book is the last memento the captain has of his father, commissar. I’m sure you didn’t know, but perhaps you should give it to me. I won’t tell him of this. It would be better for all concerned that he never find out.”
Colonel Kabanov nodded. “That sounds best.”
Karif grinned, shook his head and returned the book to his pocket. “I suppose I should be terribly offended, gentlemen, but you’re reaction amuses me. Captain Sebastev insisted I read the book. I can assure you that I carry this copy with his express permission. I’d like to give a reading from it during the battle, provided the honourable father has no objections, of course.”
Olov’s scowl had softened, but the man still looked less than friendly. “The very worst orator in the Imperium could motivate Firstborn with a reading from the Treatis Elatii. It’s a safe choice, commissar, unoriginal, but safe. Go ahead with my blessing. I’ll listen with interest.”
Karif bowed his head in mock gratitude. Conceited old grox, he thought.
Was it possible that the old man didn’t know his own reputation? The men of Fifth Company thought him a far better soldier than a priest. His kill count was impressive and his faith in the Emperor inspirational. It was just a shame, said some, that Olov had been born a second son, rather than a first. He’d proven to them on the battlefield many times that he would have made an excellent sergeant.
Karif knew all this from his time among the troopers. The words of the officer class alone rarely painted accurate pictures. It was only by listening to the conversations of the rank-and-file that one could learn the truth as seen from ground level. He was confident that his reading would be well received, earning him a little more acceptance among the men. Today would be hard on all of them: a single company against Throne knew how many. Karif’s chest swelled as he thought of it.
Commissars are made for these kinds of odds, he thought. Glory abounds on such days. Victory may bring decorations, medals and promotions. With luck, I’ll receive the kind of recognition that will see me returned to a higher station, a station befitting my past achievements. Breggius may blame me for the shame his son brought upon him, but all his scheming will have been for nothing if I can restore my former status.
“…reading?”
Karif shook himself, realising that the colonel had addressed him. “I apologise, colonel. I’m afraid I didn’t catch that.”
“I asked, commissar, whether you believe you’ll be able to fulfil your other duties while giving a battlefield reading.”
“Oh, without question,” said Karif with a broad smile. “I won’t be reading from the actual pages. I’ve already committed the entire volume to memory and made some preliminary selections. I’m sure you’ll be satisfied.”
Father Olov’s scowl deepened, but he didn’t meet Karif’s eyes. The priest was probably damning him for a braggart and a fool. So be it. Karif had indeed memorised the text using techniques of mental imprinting taught to commissars in scholams throughout the Imperium. He could hardly be blamed for the Ecclesiarchy’s failure to promote such skills among its own servants.
Lieutenant Kuritsin mumbled something to himself, drawing Colonel Kabanov’s eye.
“If you’ve something to say, lieutenant,” said the colonel, “share it with the rest of us.”
Kuritsin’s face reddened. “Sorry, sir. I was just thinking that, in all my years serving with Fifth Company, I’ve never known the captain to let someone else handle his treasured book. I confess that it’s got me in something of a spin, sir.”
Kabanov grinned. “Dare we hope that Captain Sebastev is finally maturing? I don’t mean as a man, of course, but as a commanding officer. Dubrin always insisted that it would happen eventually. Our current crisis may have been the catalyst he needed.”
“Change can be a painful thing,” said Father Olov. “Captain Sebastev has always struggled with his responsibility for the company. I think he regrets his promise to the late major. But it’s about time he stopped wishing he could be a simple grunt again.”
Lieutenant Maro, a man Karif had noticed was prone to quiet observation, surprised everyone by speaking up. “Let’s hope his acceptance of the role doesn’t jeopardise the very qualities for which Dubrin selected him.”
Colonel Kabanov nodded. “Sebastev can be bad-tempered, even for a Vostroyan, but Dubrin knew what he was doing. I’d trust Sebastev’s instincts before I’d listen to any tactician in Seddisvarr.”
They do flap on about him, thought Karif. There are hard men on worlds throughout the Imperium. I wonder what they see that I don’t.
Lieutenant Kuritsin again lifted his chronometer from his pocket. “Sir,” he said, addressing Colonel Kabanov, “the melta-charges should be just about—”
Explosions sounded from the direction of the town, a deep stutter so rapid it sounded like stubber fire. The walls of the Chimera trembled.
“That’s our cue, gentlemen,” said Colonel Kabanov. “Lieutenant Kuritsin, you know what to do.”
“Yes, sir,” said Kuritsin. He pulled the horn of the Chimera’s vox-caster from the wall and said, “All Chimeras, advance! Hold formation until you hit the streets. Follow your designated routes. Gunners are to provide continuous covering fire for our infantry squads. Visibility is low. Use caution. Friendly fire incidents will be logged and passed to Commissar Karif. Ride out, for the Emperor and the Sixty-Eighth!”
Colonel Kabanov’s Chimera gunned forward. Within minutes, the sound of las- and bolter-fire erupted all around. The Danikkin rebels had awoken to the sound of explosions and the growl of advancing Chimeras. They were already firing out into the mist.
Sergeant Samarov shouted back from the driver’s seat, “Nothing to worry about, sirs. They’re trying to zero their fire on engine noise. They can’t see us worth a damn.”
“Maro,” said Kabanov, “get onto that multi-laser and give our lads as much cover as you can. Trooper Stavin,” he called up to the front of the vehicle, “make that bolter work for us. Bring the Emperor’s punishment down upon them.”
Lieutenant Maro leapt from his seat, moved forward, and climbed up into the chair of the Chimera’s turret.
As they raced nearer the rebel defences, Stavin opened fire on the rebel positions. The deep barking of the bolter began reverberating through the Chimera’s frame. The sound was soon joined by the hum of the charging multi-laser.
“As soon as we reach the perimeter, gentlemen,” said Colonel Kabanov, “this will become a street fight. And let me tell you, commissar, no one loves a street fight more than the Firstborn!”
Sebastev and Aronov threw themselves down the snow-covered bank as a drum roll of explosions ripped through the town. Shouting immediately sounded on the freezing air. Sebastev could hear rebel officers barking orders to their men in their harsh Danikkin accent. From some of the habs by the river, those boasting windows and cold-sealed doors, the muted cries of frightened civilians could be heard. They should have left when they had the chance, thought Sebastev. If they stay inside, they might just live through this.
He looked out into the mists. He could hear the rushing waters of the river close by. As he moved down the slope towards the sound, shapes resolved themselves. For a moment, Sebastev was sure he’d been misinformed. Hadn’t Trooper Bekov said the bridge was shelled to rubble? He could see thick steel girders reaching out into white space. They looked undamaged. But as he moved closer, more of the framework revealed itself. The straight spars became twisted and then completely broken.
It was true; the bridge over the Solenne was gone.
“Captain,” hissed
Aronov, “over here.”
Sebastev walked over to the big scout’s side. There was movement in the shadows under the bridge’s truncated stump. Lieutenant Tarkarov was waiting there with the other saboteurs. “Glad you finally made it, sir,” said Tarkarov with a grin.
“Are you saying I’m slow, lieutenant?”
“Perhaps we can settle on thorough, sir?”
There was a chuckle from some of the men. Sebastev managed a smile and said, “We had a bit of trouble with an enemy patrol, but not much.”
Tarkarov gestured at Sebastev’s greatcoat. “I can see that, sir. What did you do, mop the blood up after you killed them?”
Sebastev looked down. Every fight seemed to end with him soaked in blood these days. “Damn it. I’ll have to give Trooper Kurkov an extra bottle of rahzvod.”
Kurkov of Third Platoon was the only man in the regiment of a similar stature to the captain. Since Sebastev’s own coats boasted a little too much gold for stealth operations like this one, he’d borrowed Kurkov’s. It was unadorned, and far better suited to the task. The men around him were likewise dressed in only the most basic kit. Their carapace armour remained with the rest of the company. With the exception of Sebastev, who’d brought his bolt pistol, each man carried a lasgun slung over his shoulder and a standard issue, Vostroya-pattern long knife sheathed at his waist.
For Sebastev, the knife had already proven its worth. When he and Aronov leapt on the surprised Danikkin patrol, Sebastev had rammed the cold, black blade straight up under the jaw of the nearest rebel, punching through the roof of the man’s mouth and into his brain.
Then, with no time to yank the knife free, Sebastev had flown at the second man, grasping the collar of his quilted Danikkin coat, hoisting the man’s body over his hip and slamming it hard to the frozen ground. The man’s neck had twisted awkwardly as he landed. The sickening snap announced a quick end to the fight.
Aronov had choked the third man, holding him until his brain was starved of oxygen. Sebastev had watched the man’s eyes roll up into his head. Then, they’d hidden the bodies and dashed west to the rendezvous at speed. Their melta-charges had ruined a great deal of rebel armour, and the Danikkin forces on this side of the river would be in utter chaos.
Colonel Kabanov was about to descend on them, and that meant it was time for Tarkarov, Aronov and the rest of the saboteurs to move into phase two of the operation.
“Right you lot,” said Sebastev, “you know what you’ve got to do. Get into your squads. Lieutenant Tarkarov will take his squad and deploy at the rebels’ backs. You’ll give them a nasty surprise while they’re engaged with our main force. Make sure our boys know exactly where you are. Save your surprises for the Danikkin scum. I don’t want to hear the words ‘friendly fire’.”
“Don’t worry, sir,” said Tarkarov. “We’ll make sure our lads know exactly where all the help is coming from.”
Sebastev turned to the squad he’d be leading. “While we’ve still got this mist to cover us, let’s make the most of it. Our objective is the comms relay station south-west of the old cathedral. I want that building, Firstborn. Possible heavy resistance there, so you need to stay on top of things. Aronov knows the way, don’t you Aronov?”
Aronov tapped the side of his fur hat with a gloved finger.
“Good,” said Sebastev. “Let’s move out. It’s time we take our revenge for the Firstborn who died here.”
Fires blazed in the eyes of his men when they heard those words. Sebastev turned back to Lieutenant Tarkarov and said, “Best of luck to you, lieutenant. Don’t disappoint the White Boar.”
Tarkarov gave a sharp salute. “I’ve no intention of doing that, sir. Best of luck with the relay station. I’ll see you when it’s over.”
“Yes, you will,” said Sebastev with conviction.
Tarkarov marched his men out from under the shadow of the broken bridge. Within moments, their forms melted into the mist.
Sebastev turned and nodded to Aronov. “Lead the way, trooper.”
As his squad moved out, Sebastev heard the sounds of heavy fighting from the east. Colonel Kabanov had engaged the enemy. The battle for Nhalich raged.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Day 687
Nhalich, East Bank — 07:38hrs, -26°C
Karif held on tight as Colonel Kabanov’s Chimera smashed through the rebels’ outer defences, lurching over the rubble of shattered walls, and easily bridging old trenches that hadn’t been manned since the Vostroyan frontline had moved east to Korris two years earlier. The colonel’s driver, Samarov, held his speed steady so the vehicle didn’t pull away from the infantry squad it was shielding. Each of the Chimeras was followed by a squad on foot, pounding the snow packed hard by the broad treads of the thirty-eight tonne behemoths.
Karif peered out from a firing port in the Chimera’s rear. It was difficult to properly assess the strength of the rebel defences in the glowing mists, but it was clear to him that the enemy hadn’t expected any kind of assault on their east flank. Between the rebels’ over-confidence and the weather, Fifth Company had caught the so-called Danikkin Independence Army completely off guard.
Lethal beams of energy cut bright ribbons in the mists, and the air resounded with the staccato of cracking las-guns and chattering bolter fire.
Damn it all to the warp, thought Karif. Now that we’ve breeched the town, I wish the mist would lift. If I can’t see the enemy, how can I be expected to kill him?
Colonel Kabanov called out to Maro and Stavin as the Chimera shuddered and jounced. “Don’t waste ammunition firing blind. Trace their fire back. Give them something to think about before our infantry breaks cover.”
Sergeant Samarov shouted something from the driver’s compartment. Karif had to focus hard to catch his words over the angry buzz of the Chimera’s multi-lasers.
“Colonel, sir,” called Samarov, “this is as far in as I can take you. There’s tank wreckage all over the road. It looks like armour from the 701st, sir.”
“Understood sergeant,” said Kabanov. “Maro, stay on the multi-laser. Cover our men as they move forward. Try to keep the enemy’s attention on the Chimera. The rest of you, get ready to deploy. Lieutenant Kuritsin, inform Squad Breshek that I will be joining them. Make sure they’re ready when I drop that ramp.”
Lieutenant Kuritsin immediately relayed the message to Squad Breshek.
Karif fastened his black fur cloak over his shoulders. Apart from his usual robes, Father Olov’s only concession to the biting cold was a pair of brown leather gloves that he tugged over his hands. Karif eyed him incredulously.
“Should you not don something more substantial, Father?” asked Karif.
“I’m cloaked in my faith, commissar,” rumbled the old priest. “It’s always been enough.”
“Is that so? Then perhaps the fires of your holy zeal are warming you from within.” Karif’s tone was snide.
“Almost certainly true, commissar,” rumbled Olov. “Speaking of holy zeal, I’ll be listening closely to your reading.”
“Then I’ll be sure to give my best.”
Lieutenant Kuritsin finished helping Colonel Kabanov ready himself to lead the men. The colonel presented a striking image of Vostroyan military nobility. Under the white fur, Karif saw shimmering golden carapace armour that was finely embossed with images of the Imperial eagle, the winged skull of the Imperial Guard and the ancient icon of the colonel’s noble family, House Kabanov.
On command, Stavin abandoned his position up front and moved to join his commissar in the troop compartment.
Lieutenant Kuritsin stood admiring the colonel. “It does me good to see you like this, sir,” he said. “The men will fight all the harder for the presence of the White Boar among them. I know they’re looking forward to making you proud.”
Colonel Kabanov nodded once. Karif thought the man seemed a little embarrassed by the appreciative stares of the others. This was confirmed when he faced Karif and said, “I’m not usual
ly prone to such ostentation, commissar. Perhaps I’m like our Captain Sebastev in that respect. But today we visit revenge on those that murdered our kinsmen. I want our men to see me leading them in.” His gaze moved to the others. “We are the Emperor’s hammer, gentlemen. Let us fall on these traitors and smash them asunder. Open the hatch, if you would, commissar.”
“At once, colonel,” said Karif.
“Aye,” said Father Olov. He hefted his massive eviscerator. “Open it up and let me out. I’ve apostates to punish.”
“For the Golden Throne,” said Karif. He slammed the heel of his hand against the hatch release glyph. The Chimera’s rear hatch crashed heavily to the snow, and cold air rushed in. He emerged from the Chimera behind Colonel Kabanov.
Squad Breshek snapped to attention; ten men in two ordered rows. They stood unflinching as enemy lasbolts slashed through the mist around them. When Colonel Kabanov stepped forward, Sergeant Breshek and his men saluted as one. Then Breshek marched forward and presented himself. “Squad Breshek awaits your orders, colonel,” he said.
“Thank you, sergeant,” replied Kabanov.
Sergeant Breshek moved to stand by the colonel’s side.
“We will press forward through the enemy positions,” said Colonel Kabanov, addressing the squad, “eliminating opposition as we go, moving with all available speed to Reivemot Square. We will secure key structures at that location. I’ll update your orders once we have the square.”
“For the Emperor and Vostroya,” shouted Sergeant Breshek.
“For the Emperor and Vostroya,” shouted his squad.
Colonel Kabanov turned to Breshek and added, “By the Emperor’s grace, sergeant, some of our brother Firstborn may yet live. Given past experience with DIA forces, I realise the likelihood is slim, but still… If there are Firstborn prisoners here, we must liberate them. I want the town taken with all available speed. No quarter is to be given to the Danikkin traitors. Is that understood?”
[Imperial Guard 03] - Rebel Winter Page 13
