“No mercy, sir,” said Breshek. “My fighters are with you all the way.”
“I know they are, sergeant,” said Colonel Kabanov. “Now let’s form up and move out.”
Sebastev ducked back behind the hab wall as another torrent of stubber shells tore into the stonework, chewing the edge to pieces only inches from his face. “Son of a grox,” he growled as he was showered in flakes of stone. “Keep to cover all of you.”
His squad had reached the relay station just minutes earlier, surprising and easily overcoming the patrolling rebel guards they’d encountered in the streets nearby. But Sebastev’s objective of gaining control of the station was a very different matter. Two good men were already down, killed while dashing to forward cover. They’d been chewed up by the heavy stubbers that poked from dark apertures about fifteen metres up each face of the building. With the chill mist still hampering visibility somewhat, it seemed the rebel gunners were targeting his men by thermal signature. They fired with deadly accuracy. The bodies of troopers Ravsky and Ilyanev attested to that. They lay in the middle of the street, leaking steam into the air from each of the fist-sized exit wounds in their backs.
Wait till I get my hands on the bastards inside, cursed Sebastev.
“Any ideas, sir?” asked Aronov behind him.
Sebastev’s men were looking at him expectantly. They didn’t like hanging back. Two of their number had gone down right in front of them and, just like Sebastev, they wanted to punish those responsible.
“The defenders will have called someone in to flank us,” said Sebastev. “We’ve got to move fast. If we can get inside and interfere with the rebel comms, our main assault force can really start to carve them up. “We just need a way past those damned heavy stubbers.”
Sebastev risked another glance out from his position. He could clearly see the main entrance to the relay station through the thinning mist. It was about fifty metres away. He squinted up at the muzzles of the west-facing stubbers. There were two of them. From his position, Sebastev judged that the guns’ vertical firing arcs were limited by the stone sills beneath them. It looked as if the guns wouldn’t be able to fire on targets any less that fifteen or twenty metres from the base of the wall.
Suddenly, the guns spat again, stitching the wall that shielded him with bullets. He whipped his head back into cover. “Warp damn and blast them!”
“They can’t take all of us out, sir,” said a blue-eyed trooper crouching behind Sebastev. It was Vamkin. He’d been a Ministorum choirboy before his entry into the Firstborn. It was hard to picture it now; his face was a mess of scar tissue and grafted skin, hardly the image of purity and perfection the cathedrals liked to present. But the young man’s eyes were still clear and bright. “I mean, if we all ran together, sir,” continued Vamkin, “I think most of us would make it to the door.”
Acceptable losses again, thought Sebastev with a scowl. Do I have a choice?
Others voiced their agreement with Vamkin’s suggestion. Aronov was among them. “I counted five streets that open onto this side of the building,” he said. “I think if we all rush forward from different corners at the same time, we’ll at least buy ourselves a better chance, sir. As you said, sir, time is against us.”
“It sounds like—”
Sebastev was interrupted by the sound of doors being kicked open, followed by orders being shouted in a thick Danikkin accent.
He carefully peeked out from cover.
A rebel squad had spilled from the main entrance. They were taking up positions around the building. As always, the heavily accented Gothic was difficult to comprehend, but there was something else too. The rebel sergeant sounded worried. Could it be that he’s heard his forces are falling in the face of the colonel’s assault, hoped Sebastev?
“He’s unsure of himself,” he told Aronov.
“Sir?” asked the scout.
Sebastev faced him. “That rebel bastard, the sergeant, he’s nervous. I can hear it. They weren’t expecting anyone to get this far into the town. Warp damn them, they actually thought they’d secured the whole region. I’ve just heard him tell his men to stay calm, that the heavy stubbers will protect them. It sounds like we’re facing civilian militia, not former PDF. What do you think, Aronov? Willing to gamble on it?”
“Well, sir,” said Aronov, “if there’s a case of rahzvod in it, you can count me in. But I’d give you much better odds if we didn’t have to face both the stubbers and the guards. We’ll suffer if we try to charge straight towards both.”
Sebastev nodded his agreement, thought about it for a second, and said, “We could send two troopers around to feint an attack from the east. I don’t think it will be hard to draw the rebels away from the entrance if they think they’re needed on the building’s east side. That would just leave the stubbers. Once we’re under their vertical firing arcs, we can take care of the militia-men as they come back around the sides of the building.”
“It sounds like a plan, sir,” replied Aronov.
Sebastev’s eyes lingered over the bodies of Ravsky and Ilyanev for a moment. Each man lay in a pool of dark blood frozen mirror-smooth. The steam from their wounds had stopped. The bodies were quickly freezing solid. He knew he’d lose more before the relay station was firmly back in Vostroyan hands.
“Ulyan!” said Sebastev. “Gorgolev! Get your backsides up here.”
Two troopers shuffled forward, eager not to step out too far from the safety of the wall. Ulyan was the older of the two. He was grey-eyed, slim, and a damned good shot with a lasgun. Gorgolev, on the other hand was brown-eyed, broad-faced and mean: a trouble maker. That made him a good choice for what Sebastev had in mind.
“Get yourselves into cover on the other side of the target. Use the back alleys to get there. Don’t let the stubbers draw a bead on you. When you’re in position, I want you to unleash hell on the station. You don’t need to hit anything specific. I just need you to draw the rebel guards away from this side. They need to believe a concentrated attack is coming from the east. It shouldn’t be too difficult. The rebels defending the base are militia, I’m sure of it. Feel free to engage them once they move to your side of the building. Are we clear?”
“A feint, sir,” said Ulyan.
“Count me in, sir,” grinned Gorgolev.
“Good,” said Sebastev. “What are you waiting for? Go.”
The two troopers moved off to begin their circle to the other side of the relay station. Sebastev faced the others and said, The rest of you know what we’ve got to do. It’ll be a dangerous sprint over open ground. Spread out. Find cover along this side and be ready to run like the warp. The signal to move will be a single shot from my bolt pistol. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the men.
“Go,” said Sebastev. He watched his men scatter.
May the Emperor smile on us, he thought. With numbers like these, there was no such thing as acceptable losses.
Karif moved through the streets with Squad Breshek, his boots crunching on the snow between tall tenement-habs of blue-grey stone. His eyes flashed to every shadow and cranny as he pressed forward.
Almost every building they passed showed some degree of damage from the conflict of the previous day. Stone pillars had spilled halfway across the road from a colonnade that had collapsed, blasted by stray cannon-fire. Hab walls on either side of the street had been ripped open by artillery. Dark, gaping wounds with ragged brick edges testified to the power of each impact.
The roads themselves were littered with twisted, black wrecks. A small number of machines still blazed, pouring black smoke into the air above. These machines were casualties from Captain Sebastev’s sabotage operation. Karif couldn’t help but be grateful for the thoroughness of the captain’s men. Thus far, not a single enemy vehicle had rolled out to challenge them. But rebels kept appearing among the rubble to fire their lasguns at the advancing Vostroyans.
Colonel Kabanov organised Squad Breshek into two fire-teams
in order to flank enemy positions. This way, Squad Breshek managed to gain ground quickly.
In the lee of two barely recognisable Leman Russ battle-tanks, the men took a moment to reload. Danikkin rebels continued to pour fire at them from further up the street.
Karif looked down at the young man crouching on his right. “How are you doing, Stavin?”
“Fine, thank you, sir,” replied Stavin. Steamy breath rose from the adjutant’s scarf where it covered his mouth. “But I can’t really see well enough in this mist to fire effectively, sir.”
“Just do as the colonel suggested,” said Karif. “Trace our enemies, fire back to them. Exercise your judgement. Don’t waste ammunition if you’ve no shot. The air is definitely clearing. Now that we’re pushing deeper and the streets are getting narrower, the pace of the battle is sure to change. Things will get close and bloody. How many charge packs have you got?”
“Two in my pockets, sir,” said Stavin. “One up the spout with the counter reading half.”
“That’s plenty for now,” said Karif. Beneath the warm fabric of his muffler, he grinned.
I don’t mind admitting, he thought, that this lad’s aptitude for war has genuinely surprised me. His diffidence and youthful appearance belie a fighter’s constitution. I should have expected as much. The Vostroyans, by the very nature of their curious conscription system, must prepare their children for war from a very young age.
Karif felt a hand grip his upper arm. He turned and saw Colonel Kabanov beside him, breathing hard. “I’d say it’s about time, commissar, that you started your oration. Our men are right in the thick of things. Give them some words to fight by, as you said you would.”
“Yes,” barked an impatient Father Olov from the corner of the burnt-out tank. “Get to it, commissar. I would’ve started by now. Let’s see what the Schola Excubitos taught you about oration.”
The wild old priest had been in a foul mood since they’d left the Chimera. There was a blood-thirsty quality in his eye that Karif found unusual for a Ministorum man. Zeal was one thing, but animal savagery? Olov had, as yet, been unable to make use of his massive chainsword. This was still a fire fight for the moment. His patience was clearly being tested.
“You’re right, of course,” said Karif. “It’s time I began.”
Karif raised a finger to his vox-bead, keyed an open channel, and said, “Hear me, Firstborn sons of Vostroya. This is your commissar, Daridh Ahl Karif. I fight beside you in the name of the Emperor, and for the Imperium of Man. Our lives for the Emperor! Let these words from the Treatis Elatii of Saint Nadalya inspire you to victory over our wretched and unworthy foe.”
Even as Karif said the words, fresh waves of lasfire slashed out from the rebel held hab-stacks, hissing and sending up steam where they laced the snows. The volley was answered a second later by Vostroyan retaliatory fire. Karif dedicated part of his awareness to his memory of the text. “Have faith in the Emperor, said the Grey Lady, and you may abandon fear. Abandon fear, she said, and you may do your duty unhindered. By this alone will you earn your place at the Emperor’s side.”
Screams sounded from rebel positions in the street to the south as Squads Severin and Vassilo moved up to flank entrenched enemy infantry.
“The Grey Lady did not stay long on Vostroya,” continued Karif, “but she set foot in each of the seven states, and their capitals swelled to bursting with those that wished to gaze on her.”
Colonel Kabanov addressed Squad Breshek as Karif gave his reading. “Move up. I want two pairs of sweepers clearing each building as we go. Leave nothing alive to fire on our backs.”
“There are civilians in some of the habs, sir,” replied Sergeant Breshek as his squad moved out from behind the shelter of the ruined tanks.
“I said leave nothing alive, sergeant,” barked the colonel. “The rebels will have already killed those who joined our brother Firstborn in defending this place. Those still alive are either traitors, or bystanders that did nothing to prove their loyalty. Apathy and cowardice are as bad as treachery in my book. The Emperor will judge their souls. We send those souls before him.”
Over the vox, Karif continued. “On the day of her leaving, the lady blessed the Techtriarchy with a gift. Into the air, she released a great two-headed eagle, symbol of the Imperium, and told them that the Emperor would watch Vostroya through the eagle’s eyes. Toil hard in the factotums, she said, for where would the Imperium be without its machines? Fight hard on the battleground, she said, for where would the Imperium be without the endless sacrifice of its sons?”
Heavy bolters and stubbers added to the las-fire. The rebels had built a hasty barricade on the road ahead and were bringing out their heavy weapons. Sandbags and razorwire stretched across the street, from one corner to the other, and the colonel’s men were forced into the shelter of the side alleys.
In the middle of his reading, Karif heard a Danikkin sergeant shouting orders from nearby. Three rebels rounded the corner of a building on his right, clearly intending to flank the Vostroyans while their fellows provided suppressing fire. Before Karif had time to mentally process what he was seeing, his hand rose of its own accord and fired off a lethal hail of laspistol shots.
The first of the Danikkin flankers was knocked from his feet, his face a smoking black oval.
Trooper Stavin slew another with two solid hits to the chest in rapid succession. He hit the last man in the shoulder, enough to spin him and cause him to scream out, but not sufficient to kill him. Karif remedied that by rushing forward with his chainsword raised high. He swept the man’s head from his neck.
Lasguns cracked all around as Squad Breshek returned fire on the roadblock ahead, but it did little good. From the other streets, screams and shouts filled the freezing air. Karif returned to his oration.
“The lady left Vostroya with one hundred regiments of Firstborn in her charge. Many said she favoured her Vostroyan fighting men above all others, for they were grim and hardy, and they sold their lives dear for the honour of their world and for the Imperium they had sworn to serve.”
While Kabanov and his squad were pinned down, more rebels moved up, eager to make the most of the Vostroyan loss of momentum. High above the street, the Danikkin announced themselves by shattering ice encrusted panes of glass. They began firing down on the Vostroyans from tenement windows. Stavin loosed a trio of shots into the shadows of a high window on his right. Seconds later, a lifeless rebel body tumbled from the empty sill. It hit the street below with a crunch of breaking bone.
Members of Squad Breshek turned the muzzles of their lasguns upwards and pushed the rebels back into cover, but it was becoming too dangerous to hold their position. Colonel Kabanov opened the command priority channel on his vox. It meant his words would cut across Karif’s reading, but it was necessary. No man who offered battlefield oratory expected to do so free of interruption.
Kabanov’s voice sounded in the ears of every man in Fifth Company. “Use your grenades on occupied buildings. We mustn’t lose momentum, and someone flank that damned roadblock up ahead.”
It was easier said than done. A squad of Danikkin rebels, ten heads by Karif s count, charged round the left-hand corner, firing wildly at the Vostroyans as they ran. Karif dived for cover as las-bolts slashed the air around him. A derelict hab on his left offered the most immediate respite. “Stavin,” shouted Karif as he threw himself through the door, “to me, boy. To me!”
Stavin didn’t wait around. He darted through the gaping doorway just as another searing volley strafed the walls. Someone screamed outside: one of Breshek’s men, cut into burning chunks by enemy las-fire.
The hab interior was absolutely black with shadow. Karif’s feet kicked broken furniture as he moved to peer from a broken window. He could see Colonel Kabanov, Lieutenant Kuritsin and the others. They were completely pinned down in the shelter of a broken wall that wasn’t going to offer cover for much longer. The enemy heavy bolters began rattling, chewing the wall apart.
“We’re out-flanked, warp-damn it!” roared Colonel Kabanov. Even from across the street, the colonel’s rage was palpable. Karif saw Father Olov stand up, eviscerator in hand, as if readying to rush the rebel positions single-handed. But the powerful form of Sergeant Breshek wrestled the crazy old priest back into cover.
“Damn it, Stavin,” spat Karif. “Those rebel flankers are getting ready to move up. Squad Breshek has nowhere to go. They’ll be massacred.”
Stavin scrabbled to his feet in the dark. “Maybe there’s a back door, sir. I’ll check.”
Karif had been looking outside where the snow was bright. When he turned to face Stavin, he couldn’t see a thing, but he could hear frantic movement in the back of the derelict hab. “Damn this all to hell and the warp,” he growled. “Stavin, are you all right? What have you found back there?”
There was a crash and cold daylight spilled in from the rear. “I found it, sir,” chirped Stavin. “There’s a narrow alley running all the way along.”
“By Terra!” exclaimed Karif. “A chance to make a difference. Good work, trooper. We move.”
Karif joined Stavin at the back door and poked his head out to scan for activity. “You weren’t joking about it being narrow,” he said. “We’ll have to move sideways. Follow me.”
They moved out from the doorway, heading south, lifting their feet high to clear the deep, hard snow. Stavin tried desperately to keep his armour from scraping the walls, but it couldn’t be helped. The sounds of battle were softer between the high walls of the old tenements. By contrast, every noise they made sounded unusually loud to the commissar’s ears.
They soon reached the corner where the narrow alley opened onto the street. Karif peered around the corner and raised a hand for Stavin to halt. About twenty metres up the street, leaning out from their positions of cover to loose barrages of las-fire, Karif could see the rebels that had moved up to flank Squad Breshek and the colonel’s men.
“Two against ten,” he told his adjutant in hushed tones. “It won’t do to engage directly. Hand me one of your grenades.”
[Imperial Guard 03] - Rebel Winter Page 14
