"Are you certain?" the Terran-born instructor asked sternly.
"I am," Flamini said calmly under the gaze of the five instructors.
"I believe him," said the Vostroyan-born instructor who had observed him in the mess hall. "Fifteen days ago, he predicted we would set foot on Juya today."
"Moreover, Father values his potential highly."
"If not for his insistence, he would have been trained as a Librarian. He has such precognitive abilities."
He smiled and asked Flamini, "How many Mitu are there?"
"I don't know the exact number. I didn't see all of them. But from what I did see… more than ten thousand."
"We can't handle that many enemies. We should call for reinforcements immediately." The instructor's smile faded into solemnity.
"Instructor, they are underground. We can use explosives to collapse the tunnel, burying them all underground."
A cold glint flashed in Flamini's eye. It might not count as personally avenging the atrocities the xenos committed, but if his suggestion led to these xenos being buried, he would still feel elated.
"A good idea," the Vostroyan-born instructor's eyes lit up. "The tunnels are dug, but not yet reinforced."
"A small portion of explosives is needed to collapse them."
"A small amount of explosives would be enough to collapse them."
He turned to the others.
"Agreed."
"That's workable."
"Let's do it."
The instructors voiced their agreement.
The Vostroyan-born instructor shouted loudly:
"Your first lesson on Juya begins now. This will also be your first demolition class."
"You will follow every command precisely. Believe me, your lives, and everyone else's, depend on it."
Under their instructors' guidance, Flaminis and the other recruits unloaded thermal charges and various explosives from the transport, deploying them throughout the tunnels Flaminis had foreseen to be the Mitu incursion route.
Once denied any chance of joining the fighting, they were now highly ecstatic.
They all came from worlds ruled by the Mitu. Not yet fully transformed, each of them still retained relatively complete memories.
Each had relatives, friends, who died under the xenos' blades.
The miners were ordered to evacuate, and the instructors led the recruits to hide behind the rocks and ridges.
Flamini held a force staff, his mind transcending his body, attempting to capture the Mitus presence in the Warp.
Time passed minute by minute, his frown deepening.
Flamini failed to foresee more information. He knew this was normal.
For a Divination psyker, active probing didn't necessarily yield the desired information, while sometimes visions of the future came unbidden when not sought.
However, he desperately wished this wasn't one of those times.
Their force was too weak. Even though the instructors were veterans qualified for the Company command squad, the other, like himself, weren't true Shadows of Order yet.
If even a single Mitu unit surfaced before detection, they could suffer devastating casualties.
Although Flamini yearned for revenge against the Mitu, he didn't want his suggestion to cause others' deaths.
He looked towards the tunnel below, his consciousness extending, using psychic probing.
After over ten seconds, Flamini still found nothing.
'The Mitu are all pseudo-photochemical psychic beings, and among them are species that can evade psychic detection. I cannot sense them through psychic means.'
Flamini gripped his staff tightly, hesitating whether to ignore Librarian Ramsey's warning and open his mind to peer into the Warp.
He knew it was dangerous, but he was willing to try.
Just then, cold, sharp voices sounded simultaneously in the comm-beads from the instructors.
"They're here."
Flamini was stunned for a moment, suddenly remembering.
'I forgot, the Shadows of Order inherited the Father's heightened perception.'
As he pondered, he saw the Vostroyan-born instructor beside him press the detonator in his hand.
Deafening roars erupted, the entire mountainside shaking continuously.
Images flashed through Flamini's mind: destructive waves of molten flame, carrying rocks, crashing down upon countless anemone-like creatures.
'Success!'
'My suggestion worked!'
As Flamini felt joy, the instructor's voice came through the comm-bead.
"Flamini..."
The instructor called several names, "... you, come with me."
Flamini and the others immediately followed the instructor. He heard him say:
"The Mole Drill can carry ten people."
"We're entering the tunnel to deliver a painful blow to the Mitu."
Flamini excitedly followed the instructor, entering the Mole Drill through the open hatch.
"Flamini, the Volkite Charger is yours."
Hearing this, Flamini excitedly sat at the operation station.
After the explosions subsided, the instructors gave the order to move.
Amidst rumbling vibrations, the Mole Drill's massive drill bit tore through the surface, crashing into the underground tunnel.
Flamini, through the viewfinder on the operation station, locked onto the Mitu xenos.
"Open fire!"
As the instructor gave the command, Flamini shot furious flames at the xenos.
Over a dozen xenos anemone bodies were shredded by the dense barrage.
Dozens of Mitu raised their weapons, beams of light striking the Mole Drill's Phase Shield Generator, flashing dazzlingly.
The Mole Drill charged into the midst of the xenos, its Thermal Cutters whining as it shredded them.
The Mole Drill pushed forward until the Phase Shield Generator alarm sounded, then it drilled back to the surface.
Drenched in sweat, Flamini stepped out of the hatch, thinking to himself.
'Eighty-six. I personally killed eighty-six Mitu.'
.....
12th Month, 844.M41. While the Techmarines and Librarians researched the Ymga Monolith, Nareth and Sanchez went to Attila.
In the Stormbird, Nareth looked through the viewport at the increasingly close planet.
Attila was smaller than Terra. The entire world had only one continent, with oceans surrounding the other half.
As the Stormbird approached the surface, Nareth saw the sandy sea of dunes in the center of the continent, surrounded by vast grasslands.
The sea of grass was dotted with rolling plains, towering mountains, rushing rivers, and deep inland seas.
The Attilans spotted the black iron bird flying in the sky. They let out a war cry and chased after it on horseback.
Nareth watched them with interest, simultaneously capturing the figures of over a thousand Attilans.
In an instant, the Primarch had categorized the mounted Attilans, noting their common physical traits.
The Attilans were relatively short in stature but broad-shouldered, with long limbs, black eyes, and nut-brown skin.
Their black hair was either in glossy braids or tangled masses, and many wore beards covering their chins, reminding Nareth of the people of Chogoris.
Nareth also saw their unique facial scars. As part of their coming-of-age ritual, some would make long, deep, vertical cuts on their cheeks, then rub ash into them.
"Attilan riders are elegant and swift. Only the Exodites surpass them in both aspects," Sanchez said, looking down, recalling the Exodites encountered on Triken.
Nareth nodded slightly, his gaze below.
The cavalry chasing them encountered another tribe. The belligerent Attilans immediately charged at each other.
Their horses, descendants of those brought from Terra, burst forth with speeds exceeding armored vehicles, crashing into each other.
Nareth knew that although the Attilan horses retained the ancient Terran form, they were actually creatures modified by environment and biotechnology.
He knew that when the later Departmento Munitorum first noticed the Rough Rider mounts, they immediately recognized their value. Their importance and treatment even surpassed many officers of the Astra Militarum.
Somewhat ironically, the Attilans were considered as lowly as Ogryns because they didn't bathe or wash their clothes.
The Attilans believed bathing was an insult to the water spirits.
As Nareth pondered, the two had already collided. Their three-and-a-half-meter-long hunting lances, tucked under their arms, met first.
In an instant, over a dozen from each side were pierced by the sharp spear tips.
The victors raised their trophies, letting out triumphant howls.
They drew their short knives, severed the heads, the bodies rolling onto the grass, and blood staining the greenery.
Those who won the trophies, under the envious gazes of others, hung the heads on their horses. They would later fashion the skulls into drinking cups, symbolizing their victory.
They passed through each other, then simultaneously turned around, charging at each other again.
For thousands of years, they had fought like this. The brutal combat had forged them into fierce warriors.
Nareth saw two Attilans' lances passed by each other, both avoiding the other's attack.
Two horses collided like human-driven chariots, their hooves kicking, mouths biting.
"Good men. Good horses, but their weapons need improvement if they are to become soldiers fit to stride the stars."
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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