by Andy Smillie
A SON’S BURDEN
Andy Smillie
‘I remember the day Seth left a world to die. I remember the voices of our brothers, of those he left behind to die with it. I remember the day Seth proclaimed our lives worth less than the planet of the Legion that shunned us. I remember that day. It was the first day I believed him to have the strength to save us.’
– Flesh Tearers Chaplain Appollus
Darkness. It rolls out beyond my position, a thick cloud that blends the sky with the ground. It is as much a blessing as it is a curse, concealing me even as it conceals my quarry. I glance to the west where the blackness is broken by the unceasing flare of artillery fire. Anger coils my gut as I watch the flames it has set among distant buildings. My brothers are in those buildings. My Chapter Master is in those buildings.
Blood. I reek of its wet warmth. It coats my armour and shaven scalp, running into my eyes like a scarlet sweat. None of it is mine. Regrettably, not all of it is the enemy’s.
Death. I am surrounded by it. The dismembered corpses of the recent dead are strewn the length of the warehouse. Their limbs and entrails stain the corrugated iron of the building. Beside them, the long dead, whose bones had cracked underfoot as we’d fought, watch in silence.
‘The building is secure, captain.’ Brother-Sergeant Cophi’s voice sounds from my left.
I re-sheathe my blade and turn to face him. His eyes are as dark as the ash he’s used to obscure his face.
I ask after our fallen brothers first. ‘How many?’
‘Seven.’ Cophi holds up his fist. In his grasp is a length of wire. Seven tongues dangle from the hooks threaded along its length. ‘Their corpses will lie in silence.’ He ties the ends of the wire and loops it over the thick trunk of his neck.
I nod. The removal of the tongue is an old Cretacian tradition to prevent a Scout’s ghost from speaking to those following in his wake and betraying the rest of the war-party. Like the remaining twenty-three Scouts under my command, I was born and raised on Cretacia. Ghosts or no ghosts, I would honour the tradition. ‘And the enemy?’
‘Almost two hundred at rough count.’
‘A good tally,’ I say. Despite my best effort, the words sound as empty and hollow as I know them to be. Two hundred is not a fraction of the enemy warriors infesting the city around us. I shift my gaze back to the west and the burning horizon. ‘We are short on time. We move out in five minutes.’ I turn back to Cophi. ‘Our right flank will be exposed as we cross the street. Have our strength weighted to the left. We can’t afford to get bogged down in a firefight. If we’re engaged, one squad will break off and cover our advance.’
‘I’ll have Sergeant Viritiel and his men bring up the left. Their heavy bolter will buy us a few extra moments if we’re spotted.’ Cophi pauses. ‘Temel, we have wounded.’ He lowers his voice as he addresses me by name.
I don’t ask him how many. It doesn’t matter. Five or fifty, my order would be the same. Cophi knows this. There is no hope in his eyes. They are as hard as his bouldered shoulders. He has spoken only out of duty to his warriors. ‘Leave them behind.’
Even certain in my command, the coldness in my voice surprises me. I did not think I would live to see the moment when I cast our brothers aside as easily as I would a spent power cell. I have spent too long in the shadows. My actions have long been hidden, judged only by the restless gaze of my conscience. I sigh. Even it has become a tired observer with little voice to champion my guilt.
‘Duty and honour do not always walk the same path.’ Sergeant Eschiros’s voice is the firm whisper of a sniper rifle. ‘Though they intersect often enough for those with the courage to stay on the road.’
‘You’ve spent too much time with Chaplain Appollus.’
I turn to find Eschiros looking the worse for wear. The skin of his face is twisted and raw, scorched black around the jawline.
‘What happened?’
Eschiros grins. The gesture twists the ugliness of his wounds, making his face appear cruel. ‘The Chaplain would not let you avoid the issue so easily, captain.’
I smile. Eschiros’s eyes hold nothing but righteous warmth. He is without question bound for the Chaplaincy. ‘I will be sure to seek Appollus out when we return to the Victus.’ I dismiss Eschiros with a curt nod and turn to Cophi. ‘If we don’t make it to the artillery line before day break, we will fail. Secure a locator beacon with the wounded and once the mission is done we’ll send for them.’
‘Andas and Sothis have asked to stay with the wounded.’ Cophi is already turning from me. ‘They would help them secure one of the smaller buildings.’
‘No. We can’t spare anyone. This will be hard enough.’
‘I’ll see you on the street.’ Cophi’s tone betrays none of his feelings on the matter.
I stare at his back, watching as he walks from me and disappears into the gloom of the building. Our next fight in the duelling cages will be revealing.
For the next five minutes, I stand alone.
The swift double-clack of weapons being reloaded and the harsh scrape of blades running across sharpening stones keep time around me. It is a familiar countdown to battle. One, that to my ears, is more accurate than any chrono-meter. I look out into the darkness of the street, and my hearts quicken in anticipation of the blood and death to come.
Nekkaris. The dark world. The sun that once lit its horizon is gone. Its moons are battered husks that hang lifeless in the black. Of the universe beyond, there is nothing save the faint shimmer of distant stars.
‘Incoming!’ A Nekkari trooper, a sergeant judging by the bronze band framing his shoulder, yelled from the forward parapet and threw himself down into the trench. The rest of his squad followed suit.
Chaplain Appollus didn’t move. He remained pressed against the wall as the artillery strike detonated. Rock dust and metal shrapnel rained off his armour. ‘Three days we’ve been under assault. Three days the enemy have hammered us with mortar and siege shell.’ He turned to glare at the Nekkari. ‘And for three days their rounds have travelled no further than this wall. When will these idiots simply learn to duck?’
Harahel grunted. The other Flesh Tearer stood to Appollus’s left, his weight resting on his eviscerator, the weapon’s blade standing taller than any Nekkari. ‘Perhaps you could use this time to hold a sermon. Instil these “warriors of the Emperor” with some courage.’
Appollus snarled. ‘Such fragile vessels cannot hold the fire of courage.’
‘I’m surprised that fool’s throat hasn’t turned hoarse from all the shouting,’ said Nisroc. The Apothecary was with them on the wall, his arms folded tight across his chest.
Behind them, Balthiel sighed. The Librarian had come to expect such overt distain from Appollus, and Harahel’s passive aggressiveness was preferable to the fits of rage he knew the Company champion was capable of. But Nisroc… Balthiel looked to the Apothecary, and the bionic that sat in place of his left eye. He reached out with his mind, letting it skim the edges of Nisroc’s thoughts. The Apothecary had grown dark of late. He had not been the same since Armageddon. ‘If you must mock them, do it in private. We will need the Nekkari in the days ahead,’ Balthiel spoke over the comm.
‘I doubt that, brother.’ Appollus indicated the Nekkari troopers huddled against the trench wall.
Seth felt Balthiel’s eyes on him but said nothing. He shared Appollus’s frustration. The Flesh Tearers were ill-suited to defence. This static posting was eating away at their restraint. If they did not attack soon, the Nekkari would have more to fear than harsh words.
‘How long must we wait?’ Harahel aimed his question at the horizon.
‘Until Temel completes his mission.’ Seth looked out to the rolling explosions that made an
d unmade the city before them.
‘If he is still alive,’ said Appollus. ‘We still have little idea how many enemy occupy the capital.’
‘Captain Temel will not fail. It is not in his blood,’ said Seth. ‘The moment he has destroyed the artillery emplacement, we advance.’ He turned to regard the convoy of Rhino transports in the courtyard. The ten armoured vehicles seemed to resent the inaction, their hulls trembling as their engines growled on idle.
‘I could be half way across the city by then.’ Brick-dust tumbled from between Appollus’s fingers as he closed his fists around the rock of the wall.
‘Not even you and your Death Company would survive that.’ Nisroc motioned to the ground beyond the wall as another barrage of shells smashed into the earth, gouging another crater in the rubble strewn landscape.
‘At this point I’d be willing to find out.’
‘Master Seth.’ The stern, assured tone that had defined Colonel Nim’s thirty-year command was absent as he addressed the Chapter Master, his voice shaking as much as the ground underfoot.
‘What is it?’
The man flinched as Seth turned to regard him. ‘The astropaths, liege, they have received a communication for you.’
‘From who?’
‘Liege, it is from Lord Dante.’
I freeze. Ahead, a clenched fist shouts a warning to me in the darkness. Enemy. I drop to my belly and scramble forward. The broken rock and glass that litters the ground, shifts and cracks as I move. I advance with caution. The noise is minimal, lost against the howl of the wind and the distant bark of artillery, yet each scrape of stone stabs at my ears like the unexpected snap of weapons fire. I have trained for a hundred years to move in silence. But I have practised for the same amount of time to hear the slightest of sounds. It is the frustrating dichotomy of my life, to have spent my days listening for a silence that I will never hear.
I crawl to the doorway, drawing level with Cophi and his squad. The five Scouts are almost invisible, spectres sheathed in the rain and smoke that bathes the city in an eerie blanket. Cophi is pressed up against a ruined section of the wall, an area of missing brickwork allowing him to peer into the room beyond. He gestures for me to take a look. With care, I rise to one knee and ease my eyes up above the broken iron panel filling the doorway.
The adjoining room is vast. Towering data presses, cracked and broken by pitiless bombardment, litter the floor. Metal support beams and reinforcing rods stick out like twisted bone from beneath the rockcrete that skins the walls. My eyes follow columns of thick pipes up past a winding balcony and the misshapen outlines of upper floors. All of this I see in a heartbeat, all in the time it takes the smell of ash, of fire quickly extinguished, to drift on the air and draw my attention back to the ground. Near the middle of the room, wedged between a pair of presses, a group of civilians, their clothes torn and ragged, have been herded into a tight circle. Men, women and children, of every shape and age cling to one another in desperation, drenched by the rain as it hammers down through the broken roof. To their right, three-dozen traitors stand ready to fire. I make to signal the advance and stop. There is something else.
I blink to clear my eyes, and focus on the darkness just behind the traitors, a gap in the path of the rain. I see him then. The Archenemy. His battleplate is of the deepest black, an oil-slick mirror that reflects back the darkness around him.
Beside me, I see Sothis’s finger tighten on the trigger of his sniper rifle.
I hold up my hand, fingers splayed. Wait.
Sothis eases his finger from the trigger. Ahead of us, another two of the Archenemy walk into view, boltguns held across their chests. Sothis nods his thanks. He lingers on me a moment, his eyes holding a question.
I turn away from him. The civilians are not our concern.
The cover around us is light. The crumbling brickwork little proof against a storm of bolt-rounds.
Faced with one of the Archenemy we might have been able to take the room and continue on with our mission. Faced with three, we would suffer losses, casualties we could not afford.
Is there a way around? I sign the question to Cophi.
Eschiros is looking.
Then we hold for now. I gesture in reply, my eyes fixed on the huddle of civilians. I see a man cradle a women. A woman cradle a child. A child cradle another. I have witnessed such scenes before. Once I believed such acts to be valorous. I was mistaken. It is resignation, not courage, that compels such sentiment. The humans do not want to die alone. I hear the racking click of weapons being readied. At least the Emperor has granted them that.
The traitors fire.
The din of discharging autoguns fills the building, an oppressive echo like the nearing of a storm. I see the distortion in the rain, twisting tunnels of spray as the bullets tear towards the humans. Bodies twitch and jerk as rounds strike them. Mouths hang open in screams that are lost beneath the traitor’s cruel laughter. Eyes widen in pain and horror, blinking out as the life flickers from them. The noise ends. The movement ceases. For a heartbeat there is nothing but the rain and the steam rising from the barrels of the traitors’ weapons.
There’s a gap in the exterior wall. We can go through it. Cophi mouths the words.
Where?
The far left side. Eschiros will guide us out. Cophi indicates an area of balcony.
I look up and see Eschiros. The sergeant and four of his Scouts are secreted among the ruins of a staircase. Understood. I nod in acknowledgement, tapping the comm-bead wired to my throat three times. Advance, single line. I tap again, pause, and then twice more. Stay low, flank left.
Cophi and his squad slip into the room. I wait until the last of them has advanced to the first press before following with Sothis and Andas. Bileth’s squad follow behind us, while Viritiel’s hangs back in overwatch. We move slowly, with care, crossing between presses only when Eschiros signals the all clear.
At the third press, forty paces from the opening in the wall, we come as close to the dead civilians as our route will carry us. My nostrils flare at the smell of blood. I feel my hearts quicken, my muscles tense. It is not the blood of the dead that calls to me. Like carrion, the traitors have descended upon the civilians corpses. With knives and crude implements they are dismembering them, stealing limbs and organs for Emperor knows what end. I would be among the traitors, tearing them apart with tooth and blade. I would drive my fist into their coward guts and rip out their throats. I place a hand against the press and steady myself as a bead of sweat rolls from my brow. I close my eyes and tell myself that the killing to come will sate my thirst. It is a lie I must believe or we will fail in our task.
We cross to the fourth press one at a time, hugging the ground with our weapons held out in front of our heads. I grimace as the rubble grates against my skin. I am bleeding from a dozen cuts, each small stab of pain threatening to steal my last nerve. I tighten my jaw and force back the anger building in my chest. A wandering traitor forces me to pause halfway between the fourth and fifth press. I watch him from behind a fallen length of pipe. His footsteps are inaudible, lost beneath the drumming of my hearts. I lie there and watch as Cophi flashes from cover to snap the man’s neck and carry him out of sight. For an instant, I hate Cophi. The release should have been mine.
I hold at the fifth press. Our line has become extended. The others need a moment to catch up. I place my back against the cold metal and let out a long breath, thankful for the brief respite. I haven’t seen the Archenemy since we entered the room, but my every instinct tells me they have not left.
Beside me, Andas growls.
Emperor damn you. I will the curse through gritted teeth and turn on him. His eyes are wide with the glint of madness. I force him against the press.
‘Control yourself, brother,’ I whisper in his ear, hoping that he has the strength to heed my words. ‘You will betray our position.’ Andas bares his teeth and struggles against me. Sadness robs me of my anger. ‘Sanguinius keep you.’
I thrust my knife up into Andas’s abdomen, clamping my hand over his mouth to strangle the sounds of his death. I hold his body firm against the press until I feel it go limp, and lower it to the ground.
Sothis’s face twists in anger. I know from his posture that it is not directed at me. He was closer than any to Andas. His brother’s weakness has shamed him. ‘Let me.’ He draws his knife and stoops to remove Andas’s tongue.
Cophi and his squad are seven paces from the gap in the wall when the storm comes. Lightning rips through the heavens and the darkness shrouding us.
There is no escape now. We must fight.
The human traitors are slow to react, dumbfounded by the line of Flesh Tearers they find in their midst. The Archenemy are not. Bolt-rounds flare in the gloom, stitching towards us before the first flash has faded.
To their credit, Cophi’s squad do not throw themselves to the ground. Instead, they turn and fire, their bolt pistols barking in reply to the Archenemy’s salvo. I see three of Cophi’s Scouts go down, punched backwards by mass-reactive rounds.
Their sacrifice allows the rest of us the moments we need to gain momentum.
‘Cover fire!’ The words tear from my throat as I run towards the press of traitors. Autogun rounds spark as they collide with the machinery around me. The traitors adjust their aim. Rock shrapnel tears at my skin as they churn up the ground in front of me.
Behind me, Sergeant Viritiel’s squad opens fire, the cacophonous chatter of their heavy bolters drowning out the traitors’ frantic shouts. The traitors come apart in a red mist, pulped by the sustained fire.
The spray of blood and flesh splashes over me as I move through it. The three Archenemy stand before me, but I keep moving. Their bolters swivel in my direction and I grit my teeth against injuries that never come.
One of the Archenemy jerks and goes down, a hole shot clean through his neck. The other two drop to a crouch, sheltering behind a mess of steel.
‘Displace,’ I hear Eschiros bellow the order to his squad as the two remaining Archenemy turn their guns on the balcony and open fire. I offer a silent prayer that Eschiros and his men have found cover, and keep running.
