'Inquisitors? They're sneaky bastards. Useful, yes, even necessary, but I wouldn't buy
a used aircar from any of them.'
- Arbitrator General Bex van Sturm.
IN THE END, of course, I had no choice but to go along with it. The lord general himself
had picked me for this mission, so all I could do was hope for the best and prepare for
the worst. Fortunately, Donali's negotiations with the tau gave me a bit of a breathing
space, and I was able to devise a plan of action which gave everyone the impression of
leading from the front while staying sufficiently far back from the firing line to
appreciate the full tactical overview. Kasteen and Broklaw had been fired with
enthusiasm as soon as I took them into my confidence, certain that the lord general's
special interest in me boded well for the future of the regiment, so I was able to let
them take the lead without really seeming to. Between us, we'd come up with a plan
which actually looked like it might work, at least, if the bluies (as the troopers had
begun to refer to the tau, picking up on the local slang) could be persuaded not to take
our incursion into the city in bad faith. That, of course, was a question only the
Emperor could answer, and he was otherwise engaged, so I just thumbed my palm1
and got on with the things I could do something about.
Even then, I couldn't quite shake the suspicion that we were overlooking something
important, that whatever shadowy cabal was trying to ignite a full-scale war on this
worthless mudball wasn't about to give up that easily, but thinking about it only
worried me, so I tried to forget it. For the life of me I couldn't see what anyone could
hope to gain by forcing a confrontation, and unless you know what your enemies are
after, you can't devise any counter-measures to their plans. I don't mind admitting that
it irked me a little. I'm used to my innate paranoia keeping me a jump ahead of most
things, but even Chaos cultists generally have an agenda of sorts (even if it's just ''kill
everything on the planet'') which makes itself obvious after a while. Still, that's what
we have inquisitors for, so I wished Orelius the best of Imperial luck and gave up
thinking about it in favour of the best way to give the rebellious PDF units a bloody
nose. This was just as well, I suppose. If I'd had a clue as to what was really going on
I'd have lost even more sleep, believe me.
'They couldn't be making it easier for us if they tried,' Broklaw said with some
satisfaction as he looked at the hololith. I'd prevailed on the lord general to lend us the
conference suite he'd summoned me to before, citing the need to co-ordinate the input
of more than one regiment, and Broklaw was as pleased with the tabletop display unit
as a juvie with his first set of toy soldiers. I half expected to find it smuggled aboard
the troopship when we departed. He gestured at the disposition of the xenoist units.
'What's that phrase you artillerists use? Clusterfrag?'
'Close enough.' Colonel Mostrue of the 12th Field Artillery nodded curtly, his ice blue
eyes, as always, regarding me with something akin to suspicion. Throughout my
posting to his unit he'd always tried to give me the benefit of the doubt, but of all the
battery officers I've come across, he'd come closest to guessing the truth about
Desolatia, and never quite seemed to trust me after that. Which was extremely sensible
of him when you think about it. Certainly, he'd responded with almost indecent haste
on the few occasions I'd been forced to call in a barrage close to my own position, but,
in turn, I'd preferred to think he was just doing his job as efficiently as possible. He
hadn't changed a bit in the years since I'd seen him last, unlike the visible marks the
passing of time had left in Divas. The major was with him too, still limping slightly
after our brawl with the xenoist supporters a week or so ago, and grinned at me with
the same unrestrained enthusiasm he always displayed.
'It'll be like shooting fish in a barrel,' he declared confidently.
'For you, maybe.' Kasteen said. 'But we'll be where the fish can shoot back.' The
xenoists were lightly armed, for the most part, with nothing much stronger in terms of
firepower than missile launchers, so the artillery unit wouldn't have to worry about
return fire, but unfortunately they'd had enough sense to dig in, for the most part in the
area around the Heights. That meant winkling the survivors of the barrage out building
by building, which would be hard, bloody work if things didn't go well. Fortunately,
Kasteen and Broklaw's experience of urban fighting was just what was needed here,
and I hoped the men and women of the 597th would find the PDF defectors easy meat
after the tyranids they'd faced on Corania.
'We'll keep their heads down for you,' Divas promised. 'All you'll need to clean them
up afterwards is a mop.' Kasteen and Broklaw exchanged glances, but let it go. Divas
might have had only the vaguest idea of what city fighting entailed, but he did know
his artillery, and I'd spent enough time with his unit to understand his confidence. The
xenoist defectors had gradually linked up as they pulled back to the Heights, packing
tighter and tighter into the network of boulevards and parkland around the mansions,
until they might just as well have been standing there with a big target painted around
their perimeter.
'It's all a little too neat for me,' I said. 'You'd think they'd have had the sense to
disperse.'
'Amateurs.' Mostrue's contempt was obvious. Like most senior guard officers, he had a
low opinion of the majority of PDF regiments, although I'd come across a few in my
time who could have given a Guard unit a run for their money. In this case, though,
his opinion seemed more than justified. A heavy barrage would take out the majority,
I had no doubt. Of course, the survivors would be well dug in and hard to shift,
especially with all that fresh rubble to burrow into, but I couldn't see there being too
many of them. Certainly nothing the 597th couldn't handle in pretty short order.
Sandy Mitchell ´For the Emperorª
Even allowing for the defectors' lack of experience, though, it seemed remarkably
stupid of them to offer so tempting a target, and the tingling sensation was back in my
palms. I tried to concentrate on the briefing, and not think about the undercurrents of
conspiracy I was sure Orelius was tracking down even as we sat here. I had hoped to set
my mind at rest by interrogating the PDF idiots who'd shot down the tau aircar, and
determining once and for all whether it had been a simple act of stupidity or part of a
more sinister agenda, but despite my order to arrest them, the perpetrators had simply
vanished. Or joined the defectors, which raised even more questions I wasn't sure I
wanted the answers to.
'What do you make of this?' Broklaw asked, studying the display more closely. I
followed the line of his finger, to where a platoon of loyalist PDF troopers had
cordoned off a couple of blocks of an industrial zone near the Old Quarter, and
shrugged.
'The local boys afraid to get their fingers dirty.' The icon at the centre of the cordon
marked a hostile contact, but they didn't seem to be in any hurry to close the noose.
Presumably some stragglers, too late to join the exodus to the Heights, I thought. That
was followed by the sudden realisation that I could use this little anomaly to my
advantage.
'I'll swing by and see if I can buck their ideas up,' I said. 'It's not far out of our way.'
And by the time I'd finished the extra piece of makework I'd just found for myself,
Kasteen and Broklaw should have the xenoist survivors pretty much dealt with. If all
went well, most of the dust would have settled before I got anywhere near the firing
line. It seemed my luck hadn't deserted me after all.
'Are you sure, commissar?' Kasteen was looking at me curiously, and that old
expression was back in Mostrue's eyes. 'It doesn't seem all that important. Surely it can
wait until we've dealt with the main force?'
'It probably can,' I shrugged. 'But the lord general himself is trusting me to clean up
this mess. I don't want a nucleus of rebellion left to deal with after we've broken the
back of the conspiracy. I'd feel a lot happier if we knew for sure they weren't going to
break out before we can get to them.'
'Good point.' She nodded. I decided it was time to lighten the mood, and smiled.
'Besides,' I said, 'It's not as though any of you need your hands held. I think you know
one end of a las-gun from another by now.'
Kasteen, Broklaw and Divas laughed, and Mostrue essayed a wintery grin.
'I'd rather not divide our force, though,' Kasteen added. 'If we're going to mop up the
bluie-lovÖ The xenoist sympathisers, I want to keep our net tight.'
'Agreed,' I said. 'We'll stick to the timetable. I'll just peel off, put the fear of the
Emperor into the PDF drones guarding the perimeter to make sure none of the rebels
inside escape while we're busy, and catch up. I should be back with you before the fun
begins.'
'I'd put money on it.' Kasteen smiled. 'I've seen the way Jurgen drives.'
She would have lost the bet, of course. I was going to make damn sure I got delayed
sorting out the PDF rabble until after the shooting stopped. That was the plan, anyway.
If I'd known what I was letting myself in for as a result of that little diversion, I'd have
led the charge into the Heights in a heartbeat.
DONALI FINALLY CONTACTED us about an hour after noon, saying the tau weren't
exactly happy at the prospect of Imperial Guard units running rampant in the city, but
so long as I was there to keep an eye on things and we stuck to the plan they'd been
shown, they'd let us get on with it without interference. Of course, the language was a
bit more diplomatic than that, but you get the gist. I was also aware of the subtext,
even before Donali helpfully spelled it out for me, that if they got so much as a sniff of
treachery they'd be on our backs with guns blazing before you could say ''fubar''.
So as you can imagine, I was feeling somewhat under pressure as the force of which I
was titular head left our compound and entered the city, so much so that I wasn't even
able to enjoy the unique position I found myself in.1
As I said before, I'd had the sense to let Kasteen and Broklaw make the tactical
decisions, as their experience of city fighting was rather more practical than mine, so I
was pretty confident we had the right mix of resources to achieve our goal. Reasoning
that the ground would be pretty chewed up by the time the artillery had finished
(which I could attest to from personal experience after my time with the 12th), they'd
suggested going in on foot, with a troop of Sentinels for heavy fire support. That
sounded good to me, as the walkers would have a devastating psychological effect on
the shell-shocked survivors of the barrage, or, at least, I hoped so. Taking the
Chimeras in close was right out, their tracks would be shredded in moments once they
entered the rubble, but if they held back on the perimeter after debarking their
troopers, their heavy bolters would certainly encourage any rebels still inclined to
make a fight of it to keep their heads down.
We'd debated about bringing in an armoured unit too, but decided against it. A couple
of Leman Russes would have made little difference against dug-in infantry especially
after Mostrue's Earthshakers had finished doing their stuff. And it would have meant
bringing another regiment into the operation. Given the delicacy of the situation, I
wanted to keep the opportunities for fouling things up to a minimum, and my paranoia
was tingling again, warning me not to spread our plans any further than we needed to.
Besides, tanks would have slowed us down, and the key to this operation was speed.
Especially if I wanted it to be all but over by the time I arrived.
'The harder and faster you go in, the better,' I concluded my briefing speech, breaking
off to glare at Sulla, who'd whispered something to her neighbour and giggled. 'Are
there any questions?'
There weren't, which meant the plan was either brilliant or so fatally flawed no one
could spot it, so I made one of the standard encouraging speeches I'd been trotting out
by rote since the head of my old scholar had presented me with my scarlet sash and
told me to get lost, and dismissed the sergeants and officers who started to trickle back
to their squads. I caught Lustig's eye, and he grinned at me. I'd made sure his squad
were assigned to the centre of the battle line, as I thought getting stuck into a proper
stand-up fight would be good for their morale. Gunning down the PDF loyalists had
left a sour taste in their mouths, I knew, although they were good enough soldiers to
have appreciated the reasons for it. A couple had been to talk to the chaplain, but all in
all, they'd held up remarkably well. I knew if they were left with time to brood on it,
though, their morale might start to suffer, so it had seemed prudent to take steps
quickly before the rot had a chance to spread.
'I take it you approve, sergeant,' I said. One of the most important things I'd found
over the years, and which I try to instil in my cadets these days, is that you should
always take the time to talk to the troopers as individuals. You'll never make friends of
them, except possibly a couple of the officers if you're lucky, and you'll never get the
job done if you try, but they'll follow you a damn sight more readily if they think you
care about them. And what's far more important, at least to me, is that, if they start to
think of you as one of their own, they'll watch your back when the shooting starts. I've
lost count of the number of times one of the grunts around me has taken out a xeno or
a traitor who would have put a round in my back before I even noticed them, and I've
returned the favour, too, which is why I'm well into my second century while the
graveyards are full of by-the-book commissars who relied on intimidation to get the
job done.
'It's a good plan, sir,' Lustig nodded. 'My boys and girls won't let you down.'
'I'm sure of that,' I said. 'I wouldn't have asked for them otherwise.' A faint flush of
pride worked its way up past his jaw line.
'I'll tell them you said that, sir.'
'Please do,' I returned his salute, and looked around for Jurgen as Lustig strode off, his
shoulders set. There shouldn't be any morale problems with his squad now, I thought.
My aide was nowhere to be seen, so I walked owards the door, past the row of chairs
where more than a dozen officers and non-coms had been sitting a few moments
before. If I knew Jurgen, he'd be in the vehicle park, conscientiously checking over
our Salamander.
'Commissar,' I turned, momentarily startled by the voice at my elbow. Sulla was still
seated, her face flushed with uncharacteristic nervousness. She juggled the briefing
slate in her lap.
'You have a question, lieutenant?' I asked, keeping my voice neutral. She nodded
rapidly, swallowing a couple of times.
'Not exactly. Sort of.' She stood, the top of her head level with my eyes, and tilted it
back slightly to speak directly to me. 'I just wanted to sayÖ' She hesitated again, then
blurted it out in a rush. 'I know you haven't formed a very high opinion of me since
Sandy Mitchell ´For the Emperorª
you joined us, but I appreciate you giving me a chance. You won't regret it, I promise
you.'
'I'm sure I won't.' I smiled, a warm expression calculated to boost her confidence.
'Your platoon was my first choice for this mission, because I know they can get the
job done.' In truth, it was Lustig's squad I wanted, for the reasons I've already gone
into, and the rest of the platoon just came along with them. But she didn't have to
know that. 'Integrating the two old regiments into a new unit has been tough on
everyone, especially those of you who were thrust into positions of responsibility you
weren't prepared for. I think you've coped admirably.'
'Thank you, commissar.' She coloured visibly, and trotted out with a slightly
uncoordinated salute.
Well, that was an unexpected bonus. If I was any judge, she'd be so keen to justify my
non-existent confidence in her that she wouldn't be making any more trouble, at least
for a while. Despite the prospect of imminent combat, there was a definite spring in
my step as I went to find Jurgen.
THE FIRST PART of the plan went like clockwork. We formed up in the main vehicle
park, two full platoons, which I thought would be enough for the job, plus the
Sentinels, which hissed and clanked their way over the rockcrete to join us like vast
robotic chickens. And if you think they look ungainly, try hitching a lift on one some
time. I've been in boats in a storm and felt less motion sick. Mind you, when the
alternative is being ripped apart by orks, I'll take an upset stomach any time. If you
think that sounds a little on the puny side, remember the xenoists only numbered about
a dozen squads themselves, so we had them pretty well outnumbered even so, and
given the delicacy of the diplomatic situation, I didn't want to go in with any more
troopers than we needed. Besides, I was counting on the artillery barrage to take most
of them out, so the firepower we had seemed more than enough for mopping up with.
And before you ask, yes, I suppose dropping shells on a part of the city we'd been sent
to protect did seem a little paradoxical to us at the time, but it was all a question of
expediency. To my way of thinking, anyone still in the target area was there by
choice, and any civilians who hadn't fled were either traitors themselves or so stupid
we were doing future generations a favour by removing them from the gene pool.
I mounted the command Salamander Jurgen had procured and looked out over our
expeditionary force, feeling a surge of pride in spite of my obvious trepidation. The
infantry squads were mounted in Chimeras, the two platoon command ones standing
out from the rest by virtue of the vox antennae that clustered their upper surfaces.
Sulla's head and shoulders protruded from the top hatch of hers, a pair of earphones
protecting her from the engine noise. Seeing me look in her direction, she raised the
mic in her hand.
'Third Platoon ready,' she reported.
'Fifth Platoon ready.' Her opposite number, Lieutenant Faril, echoed her words. A
dogged, somewhat unimaginative commander, he none-the-less had the respect and
Sandy Mitchell ´For the Emperorª
confidence of his troopers, largely due to a dry sense of humour and an earnest
concern for their welfare, which meant he was unlikely to press too hard if they ran
into stiff resistance. I'd selected him precisely because of this, knowing he'd wait for
the Sentinels to back him up if things got sticky instead of throwing his troopers lives
away taking stupid risks. Some casualties were inevitable, of course, but I wanted to
keep them to a minimum. If the regiment's first clash of arms resulted in an easy
victory, it would boost their confidence and consolidate morale, whereas a high body
count could easily undo all the hard work we'd done getting them back into fighting
trim.
'All squadrons ready.' That was Captain Shambas, head of the Sentinel troop, we had
all three squadrons with us, which gave us a total of nine walkers. Considerable
overkill, given the quality of the resistance we were expecting, but there's nothing like
overwhelming fire superiority to give you a sense of self-confidence.
'Confirm.' Broklaw's voice joined the others in my combead. He was in another
Salamander, which, like mine, had been fitted out as a command unit. I was more used
to the lighter, faster scout variant, which was always my vehicle of choice (I prefer to
be able to outrun trouble if I have to), but under the circumstances, I wanted to be able
to keep a close eye on things. Besides, the command version had a heavy flamer fitted,
which might come in handy in the brutal close-quarter fighting I expected through the
rubble of the Heights.
Which reminded meÖ
'Artillery units commence firing,' I said. A moment later, the ground beneath our
treads started to tremble as Mostrue's Earthshakers began living up to their name. I
swept my gaze around, tallying the assembled task force. A dozen Chimeras, nine
Sentinels, and two Salamanders. I drew my chainsword and gestured towards the gate.
'Move out!' I ordered. Jurgen gunned the engine, and we lurched into motion. Inured
to his robust driving style by years of familiarity, I kept my balance with little
difficulty. Broklaw's driver moved smoothly in behind us, and I could see his head and
shoulders in the open rear compartment, he caught my eye and waved. Kasteen, I
knew, would dearly have loved to take command herself, but had stepped down in
favour of her subordinate. After all, he too deserved a chance to prove his mettle, and
technically, the operation was too small to be overseen by someone of her rank
anyway. I was pleased she'd given way without prompting, though, and I could tell
Broklaw appreciated it. It was another example of the way the regiment was beginning
to function as it was supposed to.
Kasteen was there to see us off, though, along with everyone else who didn't have
pressing duties to attend to, or who thought they might get away with skiving off for a
few minutes. A cheer went up from our comrades which, for a moment, managed to
make itself heard above the roar of engines, the din of the Sentinels, and the rolling
thunderclaps of the Earthshakers.
As we hit the streets, the city was in turmoil. We'd kept our plans secret, of course, so
none of the natives had a clue what was going on, they scattered in front of us like
frightened sump rats, and Jurgen gunned the engine as though it were capable of the
speeds he usually drove at. Ahead of us, a plume of dust and smoke marked our
destination.
I flipped vox channels to the tactical net. The loyalist PDF units were being told to
stand down and let us through, which came as a relief, although ill-disciplined rabble
that they were, many were arguing or demanding to know what was going on.
'Major.' I switched back. 'It's all yours for the moment. Try to save a couple for me,
eh?'
'I'll do my best.' Broklaw waved as Jurgen peeled us away from the rest of the convoy,
mowing down a couple of ornamental shrubs and a litter basket as we swung off the
broad boulevard into a narrower cross street which would take us to the industrial
area.
The muffled crump of the shells detonating was audible now, the shriek and whine of
their passage presaging each explosion, and the noise cleared the street for us far more
effectively than any Arbites siren could have done. After a few moments, and several
lurching turns any driver but Jurgen would probably have flipped us over attempting
to execute, the buildings around us were unmistakably industrial in nature. Still that
Emperor-forsaken xenoist-style architecture, admittedly, but sufficiently grubby for
their purpose to be obvious.
'Broklaw to command.' The major's voice was calm and competent. 'Cease barrage.
We're in position.'
I was glad to hear it. I hadn't even begun my make-work errand yet, and he was
already on the verge of clearing the traitors out. Jurgen began to slow the Salamander,
and, with a sense of deja vu, I could see a PDF officer stepping out in front of us, his
hand raised. Manufactoria rose all around us, tall enough to shadow the streets, but
apart from the man in uniform, there was no sign of life. That struck me as strange, as
the work shifts should still have been in full swing.
'Commissar,' Jurgen said, his voice uncertain. 'Can you hear firing?'
As the engine idled down, I realised he was right. For a moment, I found myself
wondering at the acoustics, assuming that what I was hearing must be echoes of the
firefight up in the Heights, which a series of crisp exchanges in my combead told me
had already broken out. Then I realised it was coming from somewhere ahead of us,
inside the line of the PDF cordon marked on the mapslate in front of me.
'What's going on?' I asked, glaring down at the officer. He looked a little panicky.
'I'm not sure, sir. We had orders to hold, but there's dozens of them. Have you brought
reinforcements?'
'I'm afraid we're it,' I said, playing for time. 'Who are you holding against?'
'I don't know. We were pulled out of barracks last night, and told to cordon off the
area.' He didn't seem any older than the officer I'd shot, I noticed with a sudden flare
of apprehension, and the rapid tumble of his words told me he was on the verge of
panic. Whatever I'd blundered into was heading for the sump, that much was obvious,
and I cursed my luck, but it was too late to back out now. 'We were just told to secure
Sandy Mitchell ´For the Emperorª
the area until the inquisitor's party got backÖ'
Merciful Emperor, this was just getting better and better. Clearly, whatever stones
Orelius had been turning over had revealed more than the shadowy conspirators he
was chasing were happy with, and they were determined to make sure no one lived to
pass on their secrets.
'Did he say what he was after down here?' I asked, and the officer shook his head.
'I didn't speak to any of them. Only the captain did, and he's dead nowÖ' His voice
began to rise, hysteria bubbling below the surface. I jumped down to stand beside him,
feeling the rockcrete jar beneath my boot-heels, and tried to project all the reassurance
and authority I could.
'Then I take it you're the officer in charge, lieutenant.' That got through to him. He
nodded, a short, myoclonic twitch. 'So report. Where did they go? When? How many?
What can you tell me?' His jaw worked for a moment, as though he were trying to
force it to function. Gunfire and screams continued to echo between the buildings.
'There's a warehouse. Back there.' He pointed to one of the structures. A las-bolt
cracked from one of the upper windows, passing between our heads, and struck the
side of the Salamander. I ducked, pulling him down to safety, while Jurgen rotated the
sturdy little vehicle on its tracks to bring the hull-mounted heavy bolter in line. It
roared in response, gouging away part of the wall, and reducing the sniper to an
unpleasant stain.
'Thank you, Jurgen,' I returned my attention to the young officer. 'And the inquisitor
went in there?'
'They all did. Just before dawn. We were told to let no one in or out until they came
back.' That would have been about ten-and-a-half hours ago, by my reckoning, and
something told me Orelius wouldn't be returning any time soon.
'How many of them were there?' I asked. He thought for a moment.
'I saw six,' he said at last. 'Four men and two women. One of them seemed a bit
peculiar.' That would be Rakel the psyker, I assumed.
'What about the hostiles?' I prompted him. He shook his head.
'They're everywhere, dozens of themÖ' His head twitched nervously from side to side
as he tried to keep the entire street in view.
'Where? Inside the warehouse?'
'Mostly.' He stood up, about to flee, and another las-bolt caught him in the shoulder.
He fell back, shrieking like a child.
'You'll be fine,' I told him after a cursory glance at the injury. One thing you can say
for being shot by a las-bolt is that they cauterise the wound they cause, so at least you
won't bleed to death from a glancing hit, a fact that has saved my own miserable life
on a couple of occasions. I looked back down the street, trying to spot where the fire
had come from, and caught sight of some movement behind a pile of shipping crates. I
pointed. 'Ours or theirs?'
'I don't know! Emperor's blood, it hurtsó'
'It'll hurt a damn sight more in a moment if you don't stop frakking me around!' I
Sandy Mitchell ´For the Emperorª
shouted suddenly. 'Your men are dying out there! If you can't start behaving like an
officer and help me save them, I'll finish you off myself!' That was the last thing I was
going to do, of course, the way he was yelling he'd draw the enemy fire off me like a
champion when we moved, but it did the trick. I could see the coin drop behind his
eyes as he suddenly remembered what had happened to the last PDF unit to get in the
way of a commissar.
'They're all civilians,' he gasped out after a moment. 'Anyone in a uniform is one of
ours.'
'Thank you.' I pulled him into the shadow of a dumpster. 'Keep your head down and
you'll be fine.' I scrambled back aboard the Salamander, grateful for the armour plate
surrounding me.
'Broklaw to Cain.' The major's voice rang in my combead. 'Are you all right? We're
getting some odd feedback off your frequency.'
'So far.' I checked the flamer, finding it fully charged and ready to go. Emperor bless
Jurgen and his streak of thoroughness, I thought. 'It seems our PDF boys weren't
holding back after all.'
'Resistance is light hereÖ' His voice was drowned out for a moment by the crack of
ionising air I associated with one of the Sentinel multi-lasers. 'But we'll be a while
yet.'
'Don't hurry on my account,' I said. The renegades could only have small arms,
judging by the sounds I heard, and the Salamander's armour was thick enough to
afford complete protection. I switched frequencies, searching for the PDF squad's
internal tactical net, but found only static, I should have known better, of course1
, but
old habits are hard to break.
A few more las-bolts from behind the crates confirmed the identities of the rebels
lurking there, making a mess of our paintwork in the process, so I triggered the flamer,
sending a gout of burning promethium down the alley. The results were impressive. The
crates bursting into flame, and the rebels behind them got caught in the backwash.
They burst into the open, their clothes and hair on fire, shrieking like the damned, and
Jurgen cut them down with the bolter. Their bodies exploded under the impact,
spraying the walls of the building with burning debris, and I was incongruously
reminded of fireworks.
'Let's finish this,' I said, and my aide gunned the engine, rolling us forward over the
pool of burning promethium which now carpeted the alleyway. As I glanced behind
us, the PDF officer was gazing at the devastation we'd wrought, his eyes wide with
shock.
The alley opened out into a cross street, the wall of the warehouse forming one side of
1 Unlike the Imperial Guard units Cain was used to fighting with, most Planetary Defence Force troopers on
Gravalax weren't equipped with personal combeads. This lack of contact between individuals outside line of
sight of one another partially accounts for the relative lack of co-ordination within a squad, which most
Guard veterans disparagingly attributed to poor levels of training and discipline. Of course, most PDF units
were inferior to them in this regard, in any case.
it, stretching away in front of us in both directions. The distinctive crack of lasgun fire
continued to echo through the roads around it, and as our field of vision widened, I
could see the sparks of muzzle flashes inside the building, and the puff of vaporising
rockcrete where other bolts were impacting around the upper windows. Shadowy
figures were visible inside, snapping off shots before ducking back, and I could make
out little of them, just that, as the wounded lieutenant had said, they were all in
civilian clothes. They were a mixed bunch, too. I caught a glimpse of velvet and the
crest of one of the merchants' guilds, and someone who looked like a pastry cook,
before I swept the flamer over the whole facade. The results were spectacular, the
firing stopped at once, the wood of the window frames igniting with a roar, and a few
shortlived screams cut the air.
'That ought to keep their heads down,' Jurgen said with satisfaction, sending a burst of
bolts after the promethium to make sure of the fact. Thick black smoke continued to
pour from the building, and a ragged cheer mingled with the roar of the flames.
I turned to see a wary group of PDF troopers emerging from the buildings opposite the
warehouse, or whatever cover they'd been able to find among the parked trucks and
other detritus of the street. A few ragged shots continued to echo between the
buildings, indicating that not all the traitors had been incinerated, but their sporadic
nature spoke of a panic-stricken retreat which was running into the troopers on the
other side of the cordon. The plume of thick black smoke must have been visible from
where they were by now, and they were evidently taking heart from the sight. I jumped
down from the Salamander.
'Sergeant Crassus, 49th Gravalaxian PDF.' A tall, grey-haired man snapped a salute,
but kept his eyes on the street, the first PDF trooper I'd seen since I arrived on planet
who actually seemed to know what he was doing. I returned it smartly.
'Commissar Cain, attached to the 597th Valhallan.' Once again, I had the quiet
satisfaction of noting that my name had been recognised, the low murmur of voices
among the troopers flattering my ego with its awestruck tone.
'We're grateful for your assistance,' Crassus said. 'Did the inquisitor send for you?' I
shook my head.
'Just poking my nose in,' I admitted. 'I noticed your little sideshow on the tactical
display and wondered what was going on.' Crassus shrugged.
'You'd have to ask one of the officers.'
'I did,' I pointed back up the alleyway, where the promethium pool had burned itself
out, leaving a scorched patch of blackened rockcrete. 'Back there. He needs a medic,
by the way.'
'Ah.' Crassus didn't seem surprised. 'I thought he'd done a runner, to be honest.' My
lack of a reply seemed to confirm something for him, but after a moment, he detailed
one of the troopers to take a medkit and see to the lieutenant.
'You seem to be standing up to combat better than most of the PDF,' I said.
Crassus shrugged. 'I'm a fast learner. Besides, I'm used to looking after myself.'
Taking in his physique and his air of watchfulness, I didn't doubt it. 'I was in the
Sandy Mitchell ´For the Emperorª
Arbites before I joined up.'
'That seems like an odd career move,' I said.
His jaw tightened for a moment. 'Office politics,' he said curtly.
I nodded sympathetically. 'It's the same in the Commissariat,' I told him.1
But before
we could exchange any more words, a loud crack from behind us presaged the
collapse of one of the upper stories of the burning warehouse. 'Better pull your men
back,' I told him. 'That's going to go any minute.'
'I think you're right.' He summoned the squad vox operator, relayed the instruction,
and led his men up the alley at a rapid trot. I turned to look at the warehouse again. It
was well ablaze by now, and pieces of debris were starting to drop from the roof and
outer walls. I scrambled back aboard the Salamander while Jurgen gunned the engine,
and began to reverse us to safety.
Abruptly, I became aware of the sound of small arms fire, echoing from inside the
building, audible even over the pop and crackle of the flames.
'Crassus,' I voxed, chafing at the necessity of relaying messages through his squad vox
operator. 'Are any of your men inside the building?' He had just begun to reply when
the link went dead, overridden by a message on a higher priority command channel.
I'd done the same thing enough times to recognise what was happening, but it had
been a long time since I'd been the one cut out. Still, I supposed it showed Orelius was
still alive, at any rate, and I'd heard enough of the reply to be reassured that I hadn't
accidentally killed any more loyal subjects of the Emperor. That was a relief, as I was
still slogging through the paperwork on the last lot of collateral damage I'd inflicted on
the PDF.
I'd just decided that the firing I'd heard was overheated ammo cooking off, or xenoist
traitors deciding they'd rather shoot themselves than be burned to death, when Crassus
was back on my combead.
'Commissar. The inquisitor's team are pinned down inside the warehouse. They want
immediate extraction.'
Well, what they want and what they'll get are two different things, I thought.
Venturing into that inferno would be suicide. Let Crassus try if he wanted, but it
looked to me as though Orelius and his cohorts were about to report to the Emperor in
person, and there was damn-all any of us could do about it.
Then a truly horrifying thought struck me. I'd been the one who set fire to the
building. If the Inquisition thought I'd been responsible for the death of one of their
own, and had just stood by and let him burn without even trying to rescue him, I'd be a
dead man - if I was lucky. I dithered for a fraction of a second, which seemed like
eternity, and came to a decision.'Stay back. We'll handle it.' I told Crassus, and leaned over the driver's compartment to
call to Jurgen. 'Take us in!' I shouted.
As usual, where anyone else might have hesitated or argued, he simply followed
orders without thinking. The Salamander lurched forwards, accelerating towards the
blazing building as rapidly as it could.
'There! Those loading doors!' I pointed, but my faithful aide had already seen them,
and a hail of bolter shells ripped them to shreds an instant before we hit. We bounced
into the shadowy interior of the warehouse, billows of smoke shrouding everything,
pieces of tattered door spraying from under our tracks. I coughed, tore off my sash,
and tied it around my face. It didn't do a lot of good, to be honest, but my lungs felt a
little less choked than before. Las-bolts started striking the front armour of the vehicle,
which at least gave us a clue as to where the enemy was, and Jurgen was about to
reply with the heavy bolter again when I forestalled him.
'Wait,' I said, 'you might hit the inquisitor.' That would have been the crowning irony.
Instead, he swung us over to one side, slamming into a pile of stacked crates, and
bringing them crashing down. Sudden screams were abruptly cut off. I twisted my
head frantically, trying to orientate us, and the whole vast space was suddenly lit in
vivid orange as the roof whooshed into flame.
'Frak this!' I said, on the verge of ordering Jurgen to withdraw, then I caught sight of a
small knot of figures hurrying towards us. I pointed, and Jurgen swung the
Salamander round, stopping us almost dead. There were five of them, running for their
lives, with an indeterminate number of shadowy figures in pursuit. Orelius I
recognised at once, turning as he ran to loose off a volley from his bolt pistol. A
couple of the pursuers fell, but las-bolts continued to impact around the inquisitor and
his retinue. A heavily muscled man I recognised as one of his bodyguards from the
governor's party was firing, too, but went down hard as one of the las-bolts caught the
back of his head. Orelius hesitated for a moment, but even from where I was standing
it was obvious the fellow had been dead before he hit the floor.
The rest of his party were in real trouble, so, despite my natural reservations about
making myself a more obvious target, I clambered up to the pintle-mounted bolter I'd
made sure was installed. Not every Salamander has them, but I've been grateful
enough for their presence in the past to insist on having one available if at all possible,
and I blessed that foresight now as I took advantage of the extra height the vehicle
afforded me to fire over the heads of the inquisitorial party and strike home against
their pursuers. A gratifying number went down, or scattered, but too many carried on
firing. I'd expected them to start shooting at me, but to my relief they continued to
concentrate their fire on the fleeing figures before them.
The scribe I'd seen with Orelius was out in front, long white beard flapping as he ran
with surprising dexterity for a man of his age. It was only after I saw him take a lasbolt to the leg, which sparked but continued to function, that I realised his lower limbs
were augmetic. Behind him were two women: Rakel, whose green dress was now
heavily stained with blood, apparently from a chest wound, but who was still babbling
Sandy Mitchell ´For the Emperorª
nonsense without appearing to inhale, and another who held her up. She was swathed
in a hooded cloak of the deepest black I'd ever seen, which seemed to swallow the
light that fell on it, blurring her outline. I saw her flinch as a las-bolt scorched the
material, but she kept coming, supporting the gibbering psyker with surprising
strength.
I hosed down their pursuers again, hoping to throw off their aim at least, but for every
one I felled, another seemed to replace it, moving with an eerie precision which
seemed somehow familiar. There was no time to worry about it now, though. I
reached down to grasp the fingers of the old scribe, which to my total lack of surprise
were also augmetics, and haul him aboard.
'Much obliged,' he said, dropping into the crew compartment, and glancing around
with evident interest. 'An Imperial Guard Salamander. Good solid piece of kit.
Manufactured on Triplex Vail, unless I miss my guessÖ'
I left him to gather whatever wits he had, and turned to the others.
'Jurgen!' I shouted. 'Help the women!' Orelius took a las-bolt to the shoulder, dropping
his handgun. I wasn't about to lose him now, not after going through all this, so I
jumped down, drawing my laspistol, and went to help him up.
'Commissar Cain?' He looked slightly confused until I remembered my makeshift
smoke mask and pulled it down, it wasn't doing a damn bit of good now anyway. The
whole building around us was ablaze, the heat terrific, and I suddenly remembered the
promethium tanks of the heavy flamer aboard the Salamander. Well, it was too late to
worry about that now. 'What are you doing here?'
'I heard you needed a lift.' I said, hauling him to his feet, and aiming a couple of
speculative shots in the vague direction of the enemy. I dragged him back to the
vehicle, where Jurgen was doing his best to help the women, but Rakel wasn't exactly
cooperating. She seemed terrified of him, struggling against her companion's grip in
an effort to get away. 'He's nothing! Nothing!' she shrieked, which seemed a little
harsh to me. All right, he wasn't the most prepossessing trooper in the guard, but once
you got past the smell and the interesting collection of skin diseases, he had his good
points. Then she convulsed suddenly and passed out, dribbling foam between her
clenched teeth.
I hustled Orelius aboard, hefted Rakel's dead weight like a sack of tubers, and let the
scribe take her. He lifted her easily with his augmetic limbs, and I climbed up myself
beside the woman in black as Jurgen returned to the driver's compartment and gunned
the engine.
'Jurgen! Get us out of here!' I yelled, and he opened the throttle fully
'With pleasure, commissar.' The Salamander leapt forwards, breaking for the shattered
loading door we'd come in by, and clipped the frame as we passed through, gouging a
shower of sparks from it. As we gained the street, the furnace heat seemed to drop
away, although it was still hot enough to raise blisters from our paintwork. I sagged
with relief, trembling with the reaction, still trying to comprehend what an insanely
risky thing I'd done. As if to underline how close we'd come, the building collapsed
Sandy Mitchell ´For the Emperorª
behind us with a roar of tumbling masonry.
Well, there's no point cheating death with an act of insane bravery if no one's in a
position to praise you for it, so I voxed Crassus.
'Crassus,' I said. 'The inquisitor's safe.'
'So I am.' The woman in black dropped her hood, revealing a face I'd thought about
often in the last few days. With blonde hair and blue eyes, she was even more
beautiful than I'd remembered, and the voice I'd last heard singing sentimental ballards
still had the faint edge of huskiness that had made my heart skip.
Amberley Vail gazed at me with what I took to be faint amusement as my jaw
dropped open, an inquisitorial electoo flashing into visibility in the palm of her hand.
'Thank you, commissar,' she added, smiling sweetly.
Sandy Mitchell ´For the Emperorª
Editorial Note:
Once again, it seems prudent to insert a little material from other sources here, as the
Valhallans' expedition against the xenoist defectors was to have unexpected
repercussions. Cain, as we might expect, has little to say on the matter himself as his
attention was elsewhere. The first is extracted from the after-action report of Major Ruput
Broklaw, made on 593.931 M41, shortly after the engagement was successfully
concluded.
AFTER THE PRELIMINARY bombardment ceased both infantry platoons disembarked
from their Chimeras, which had been dispersed around the perimeter of the rebeloccupied zone in accordance with the previously determined deployments. Third
Platoon was supported by First Sentinel Squadron on the left flank, Fifth Platoon by
Second Squadron on the right, leaving Third Squadron with the company command
element as a mobile reserve.
Resistance was light, as anticipated, and Fifth Platoon rolled up their flank with little
difficulty apart from a couple of heavy exchanges of fire with dug-in survivors of the
bombardment. Lieutenant Faril called in Sentinel support for the two squads thus
engaged, which committed our reserve squadron. The flamer-equipped Sentinel in
each group clear out the entrenchments with little difficulty after the other two laid
down suppressive fire from their multi-lasers to allow them to approach.
On the left, things didn't run quite so smoothly. As Fourth Squad of Third Platoon
came under crossfire from two enemy positions, pinning them in place. The flamer
Sentinel sent to assist was struck and disabled by a krak missile, forcing its fellows
into a defensive posture which severely attenuated the effectiveness of their
suppressive fire.
At this point, Lieutenant Sulla broke the deadlock by leading her command squad in a
flank attack against one of the enemy positions, while Second Squad under Sergeant
Lustig hit the other. By luck or good judgment, both were able to carry the positions
almost simultaneously, allowing the remaining Sentinels to close and Fourth Squad to
advance.
I am stiff undecided as to whether Lieutenant Suffix's action was bold or reckless, but it
was undeniably effective.
Extracted from Like a Phoenix From the Flames: The Founding of the 597th, by General
Jenit Sulla (retired), 097.M42.
Notwithstanding Commissar Cain's assurances that resistance would be light, as
indeed was to prove the case, I felt more than a touch of apprehension as the barrage
Sandy Mitchell ´For the Emperorª
ceased and Major Broklaw gave the order to advance. Not at the prospect of combat
itself ó the pitiful handful of rebels we faced seeming little to fear after the tyranid
hordes we'd bested on Corania scant months before ó but at the realisation that my
first real test as an officer was upon me, and the fact that one of the most renowned
heroes in the Segmentum had reposed his trust in me was an added burden which I felt
ill-equipped to bear.
All went well at first, however, with the squads in my platoon advancing swiftly to
contact. My readers may well imagine the frustration I felt as I sat in my command
Chimera, listening to the vox chatter, reliant on the reports from my subordinates for a
full tactical analysis, for until my unlooked-for promotion, I would have been among
them, facing the Emperor's enemies head-on, as a soldier should. My impatience
increased as it became clear that one of my squads, women I'd served alongside and
men I was beginning to know and respect, was pinned down, taking casualties and
unable to advance. As the Sentinels which should have relieved them ran into trouble
themselves, I could stand by no longer, regardless of the commissar's admonition to be
cautious. Especially since, knowing his reputation, I was certain he would not have
hesitated to put himself in danger for the good of his fellows were he to find himself in
a similar position.
Calling on my troopers to follow me, and taking but a moment to switch the command
channels to the combead in my ear, I jumped from the rear ramp, eager to join the
fray.
The sight which met my eyes was to give me pause. The elegant buildings and
thoroughfares through which we'd driven were no more, their places taken by heaps of
rubble through which barely recognisable pieces of their original form could still, in
places, be discerned. A thick pall of dust and smoke hung over everything, reducing
the bright afternoon sun to a sullen grey, and for a moment, I couldn't still the flicker
of regret which rose unbidden in my breast. Even tainted by the alien as it had been,
the architecture had been undeniably elegant.
I had little time for reflection, however, as the crack of las-fire reminded me forcefully
of the dire peril my soldiers were in, and with a cry of ''For the Emperor!'' I led my
doughty quartet to the rescue. A quick study of the tactical slate in the Chimera had
shown me that I had an unengaged squad sufficiently close to the most distant of the
enemy positions to flank it with a high probability of success, and after a few terse
instructions to the sergeant leading it, this indeed was to prove to be the case. That left
the nearest to us.
We took them completely by surprise, a couple of frag rounds from our grenade
launcher bursting among them and causing great dismay, before charging home to
dispatch the survivors with pistols and chainsword. Cowards all, as those who oppose
the Emperor invariably are, they broke and ran, exposing themselves to the vengeful
fire of the squad they'd been pinning down, who were only too keen to even the score.
I'm proud to say that of the team under my direct command only one man was
wounded, taking a las-bolt to the leg as we charged, while none of the traitors escaped
alive