Demolisher, p.21
Demolisher, page 21
Etsul had realised then that her mind had wandered. Chalenboor had been watching her, expression guarded. Hoping I won’t push further about Grieger, she had wondered, or hoping I will?
Etsul had chosen the former. Chalenboor must be feeling the effects of the enemy’s psychological warfare as much as anyone, and she’d just been wounded to boot. She didn’t need the added stress of an interrogation by her commander while recovering from shock. Better to give her a sense of purpose, something to focus on.
‘Do you think you could sling reloads for Verro’s gun?’ Etsul had asked. Chalenboor had nodded.
‘Reckon so, chief.’
‘And can I trust you with the storm bolter while I’m away? Can’t have that sharp gunner’s eye wasted, can I?’
Chalenboor had brightened a little at that. Any ability to fight back was better than none while frightened and cornered, Etsul reckoned.
‘You can rely on me, chief. Soon as the Sister lets me out o’ this dreggin’ cot.’
Etsul had fixed Chalenboor with what she’d hoped was a mock-serious glare, her augmetic eye clicking as it tried to mimic its biological twin.
‘You’ll sit there and recover until the Sister lets you go, Gunner Chalenboor. Take your damned blood ration and like it.’
The two of them had snorted with laughter. The gallows mirth hadn’t lasted long but had felt good all the same.
‘I’ll be good, chief, guildswear it,’ Chalenboor had said, making an old Dakturian gesture over heart and throat.
‘See that you do, Chalenboor,’ Etsul had replied, hating that she felt duty bound to say what came next. ‘I want to find the entire crew alive and well when I get back with reinforcements, yes? The entire crew.’
The moment had soured. The guarded expression had returned to Chalenboor’s face. She’d understood Etsul’s allusion.
‘Won’t be my doin’ if that ain’t the case, chief,’ she’d said. They had exchanged a few more words after that, but they’d been awkward and perfunctory, and Etsul had been drawn away by her duties before the mood could recover.
And now here she was, finding a bench seat inside the Battle Sisters’ Rhino and about to be carried further from her crew than she’d been since the start of Operation Jotunn. She was surprised at how badly that unsettled her.
The troop bay was lit pale blue by lumen strips. Hymns warbled from cherub-faced voxmitters fitted to the partition between the troop bay and the driver’s compartment, while harsh-smelling incense wafted from somewhere out of sight. Only six other women occupied the troop compartment designed to fit ten, yet the thrumming bulk of their power armour made the space feel claustrophobic all the same. Heat and a static crackle washed off the ornate suits. Their intricately decorated bulk dwarfed Etsul. She felt small and grubby in her smirched tank suit.
Most of the Battle Sisters had their helms on, the telltale hiss and click of internal vox telling Etsul they were talking to one another. Sister Superior Farroe went unhelmed. As Etsul strapped into position, the Battle Sister offered her a hard smile.
‘Welcome, first lieutenant. The God-Emperor protects.’
‘I hope so, Sister Superior, or this may prove a brief sortie.’
Farroe made the sign of the aquila with a clatter of armour plate. ‘Do not doubt your choices, for doubt is the seed of heresy. We do His will. My sisters and I will protect you with our lives if that is what He requires.’
The fervour in the other woman’s eyes both unsettled and reassured Etsul. She felt suddenly out of her depth with these Battle Sisters, their zeal and their oversized armour and guns. Yet she’d cast off and set course now, she thought ruefully. No sense reefing the sails.
‘Thank you, Sister Superior. I am grateful.’
‘Then let us delay no longer,’ Farroe said.
Etsul unhooked the vox’s handset on its coiled rubber cable. Clicking the transmit key, she spoke into the mouthpiece.
‘Helios Primus to Helios Secundus. Ready for the off?’
‘Helios Secundus reporting green and ready, sir,’ replied Vaslav. ‘Down a sponson, as you know, but Gunner Brae assures me she’ll make up for the shortfall if things get interesting. Otherwise we’re as ready as we’re going to get.’
‘Helios Occulae, ready?’ asked Etsul.
‘And raring, first lieutenant,’ said Geskan Sergeant Longwater. ‘Be glad to see the back of this poxy town, sir, even if only for a bit.’
‘Good man,’ said Etsul. ‘Eyes up and don’t let the heretics creep up on us.’ She’d been shooting for bravado, but the constant undercurrent of fear made her sound paranoid.
‘My oath that they won’t, sir,’ said Longwater, sounding equally unsettled. The sense of disquiet was building again, Etsul’s heart rate climbing and throat tightening. Whatever the enemy were doing, it seemed to come in waves, and another one was rolling in upon them. Etsul found herself wanting to call off the breakout and retreat to the sanctuary of Steel Tread. Her claustrophobia increased. She couldn’t breathe for the incense that now seemed to be trying to choke her.
What if you’re not meant to breathe so much of it in? a little voice in her mind demanded. What if that’s why they’ve got helmets on? What if it’s filling your lungs with chemicals and soon you’ll be drowning in your own blood?
‘Oh for Throne’s sakes,’ Etsul snarled, earning herself looks from the Battle Sisters and not caring. She wouldn’t cower on her belly like a newborn Caeturid pup. If the heretics thought they could paralyse her with fear, then frankly they could shove it up their collective arses.
‘No time like the present,’ she said over the vox. ‘Helios Primus, green to go. Breakout force, the word is given.’
The Rhino’s power plant roared. The armoured transport accelerated with a squeal of tracks and a rattle of metal on metal. Etsul considered checking in on Grieger once more before they departed, reminding him of his responsibilities to her crew. She restrained herself. She just had to trust the gunnery sergeant to see them through until she got back.
No, Etsul corrected herself with a flicker of pride. They would see him through. Her crew, and Steel Tread. She could rely on them.
Etsul expected to have to fight a way out of the town’s south gate, and indeed there were several brief exchanges of gunfire as her force charged down scattered Spinebacks and cultists. Stuck in the Rhino’s troop bay, bereft of her usual suite of instruments and vid feeds, she was forced to rely on the clipped vox messages of her troops to make sense of the action. Etsul waited with dread for more serious opposition to intercept them before they could escape the noose.
When the breakout force passed through the southern gate and powered away along the floor of the pass, she was still waiting for the other boot to drop. No foe pursued them. No horde of horrors burst from the fog to ambush them on the road. Minutes crawled by, populated by terse exchanges between Vaslav, the Rhino’s driver and the Geskan scouts.
Away sped Etsul’s breakout force, leaving battle behind as they plunged through smothering blankets of fog. The further they got from Saint’s Vantage, the more Etsul felt the fear loosen its grip until her heart beat steadily and her thoughts, tired though she was, ran more clearly than they had done in days. Artificial terror released its grip and left her with only natural exhaustion and worry. It wasn’t that much better, but still Etsul was grateful.
As the Rhino began the treacherous descent towards Vox-shrine Halo Eighteen, however, her fears found a new form. This train of thought needed no heretic maleficence to power it.
‘Helios Secundus,’ she voxed. ‘Vaslav, do you have a moment?’
‘Fire away, commander. Running smooth here,’ he replied.
‘That’s just it,’ said Etsul. ‘It’s all gone very smoothly, don’t you think? As though the enemy let us out.’
Static hissed. The Rhino rumbled onwards, the pitch of its power plant rising in snarls as the vehicle negotiated the steep downslope and tight turns between rocky outcrops and vegetation. Etsul didn’t prompt Vaslav. She let him chew the question over.
‘We might have caught them unawares,’ he said at length. ‘Could they be focusing strength to the north on the assumption we might break out that way? Perhaps they’ve not got the numbers we thought they did, and they needed all their troops to put pressure on those positions you set up, sir?’
‘Could be, lieutenant,’ she said.
‘You’re not convinced?’
Etsul’s leg was aching again. She rubbed distractedly at the joint as she spoke.
‘Honestly, I don’t know what to think, or what would be worse. If the heretics let us out, that suggests they were happy to see us lessen our defensive strength and unconcerned about our making for the Belfry.’
‘There’s a nasty thought,’ said Vaslav. ‘Could mean they’re launching their last big push back there, with our mob weaker for our absence.’
‘Or worse, it might suggest they’re in our vox somehow, and they’ve let us out in order to catch us somewhere far from aid and finish us off,’ suggested Etsul.
Another pause, before Vaslav spoke again, sounding reluctant. She could imagine him dragging his hand across his face before he spoke.
‘Got to say, sir, the heretics have been frustratingly well informed through all this. I don’t rate their discipline, but they’ve responded quickly to each new strategy we’ve tried. Part of me wonders if we’ve got a traitor in our ranks. Not one of the Cadians, obviously, but maybe someone.’
‘I would hope Enginseer Five-Nine would have detected any hostile intrusion into our vox-net,’ said Etsul, too tired to chastise Vaslav for his bias. But she wondered even as she spoke. What did she know of the mysteries of the machine, or the sacred inner workings of the vox?
‘Hope so, sir,’ said Vaslav.
‘Of course, there’s a worse possibility,’ she said, because if she didn’t share this notion with someone, she felt it would poison her.
‘Sir?’
‘What if I could have brought everyone, Rhus? What if the heretics didn’t expect us to make a dash for it at all, or thought we’d go north, or Throne, what if you’re right and they didn’t have the numbers at all? What if they were relying on the fear of the unknown to keep us pinned while they finished us off? And now I’ve left everyone back there to die because I was too cautious.’
‘Respectfully, sir, rubbish,’ Vaslav said. Almost, Etsul thought, as though he’d been waiting for the conversation to turn this way. ‘You got us out of Costmarus sprawl. You inspired us to take on a Knight, head-on. Throne alive, you got out of your tank and carried a targeting beacon by hand to ground zero to make sure Baraghor got the righteous bloody smiting he deserved. There’s some words I might choose to describe your style of command, but too cautious wouldn’t feature. You do the best you can with the information you’ve got, and you don’t let indecision paralyse you, no matter what that jumped-up peacock Guthfried says. You can’t second-guess everything the enemy’s going to do, sir. It’ll drive you mad if you try. But you always do something. You always act, and Throne knows I’ve seen you pick the right way far more often than the wrong, or we’d all be dead by now. We’re with you, commander. We trust you. Do us all a favour and trust yourself.’
Etsul didn’t know how to reply. As she sat in the rocking troop bay, surrounded by choral song and cloying incense and the heat wash of armoured strangers, she reflected that – for all her trials – the Emperor had blessed her when He gave her command of Steel Tread. She cleared her throat before replying.
‘That may very well be the most words I’ve ever heard you say in one go, lieutenant.’
‘Appreciate the warning, sir,’ he replied. Despite everything, she could hear his smile. ‘Munitorum won’t issue me any more if I use them up.’
‘Can’t have that,’ said Etsul. ‘Thank you for the advice, Vaslav. We’ll hold this heading and hope it’s true.’
‘Life in the Astra Militarum, eh, sir?’
‘What else is there?’ she said, before switching frequencies to address her Geskan outriders. ‘Helios Occulae, let me know the moment the fog starts to clear.’
‘Will do, sir. No sign of it thinning out yet,’ answered Sergeant Longwater. ‘But by my reckoning it ought to bugger off anytime now, sir.’
‘Just keep me informed, sergeant,’ she said.
‘Very good, sir.’ He cut the link, leaving Etsul alone with her worries and waiting for his word.
Sometime later, with the slope lessening beneath the Rhino’s tracks and its driver reporting they were coming up on the vox-shrine, she was still waiting.
‘Thoughts?’ asked Etsul. She stood proud of the Rhino’s top hatch, which the Battle Sisters had opened at her command. Her augmetic eye zoomed in through the languidly stirring fog to inspect the walls of the Belfry. The structure was little more than a silhouette at this distance. They had halted on the roadway, relying on dense forest cover to conceal them from prying eyes while they surveilled their destination.
‘Can’t see anyone moving down there, but the lumens are on,’ replied Vaslav. Resolute had stopped alongside the Rhino and he was up in his cupola, magnoculars raised.
‘Want us to roll in first, sir?’ asked Longwater. The two Geskan warquads idled in the roadway, pillion gunners scanning for threats. Etsul looked down at Longwater from her perch and considered her options. The rangy Geskan returned her look with steady patience, waiting for her command.
‘Still nothing on the vox, Vaslav?’ she asked.
‘Nothing, sir, can’t raise the Belfry. From here, they should hear us loud and clear, fog or not.’
‘It’s like Saint’s Vantage,’ Etsul observed. ‘Lack of intelligence hurt us when we got there. Longwater, take your quad in and leave the other back with us. First sign of trouble, withdraw. No heroics.’
‘Understood, sir.’
Longwater saluted, then pulled his goggles over his eyes. Pillion gunner swaying in her saddle, he accelerated away towards the Belfry. Etsul watched, nerves stretched taut as she waited for some threat to emerge. The only sounds were the idling power plants of the armoured vehicles, the hiss of the vox and the receding growl of Longwater’s engine.
The quad weaved through the barricades stretched across the gate and vanished into the courtyard beyond.
Etsul waited for the sound of gunshots, or for Longwater to report back over the vox, or even just for the two Geskans to come racing back their way.
After an hour that her wrist-chrono insisted was only two minutes, Etsul keyed her vox handset.
‘Sergeant Longwater, report.’
Static rippled in her ear, saltwater over shingle. Even the strange voices of the ghost fog were silent.
‘Sergeant Longwater, requesting immediate situation report.’
Etsul’s heart sank. Silence persisted.
‘We have to go in, don’t we?’ observed Vaslav.
‘We need to make vox contact with Mandriga North, at the least,’ said Etsul reluctantly.
‘And we cannot simply assume the Jothyran Wardens are no more,’ added Sister Farroe. ‘Servants of the God-Emperor may be in peril.’
Vaslav sighed.
‘The master vox might not even be working, if the enemy got here first,’ he said. ‘Wish we had the enginseer.’
‘He couldn’t have left Saint’s Vantage, not with our vehicles so damaged,’ said Etsul, sparing a thought for poor, battered Steel Tread.
‘True,’ replied Vaslav. ‘We’ll just have to do what we can and hope it works.’
‘We will offer our prayers to the endeavour, and with our armour, our faith, and our holy bolters we will guard you,’ said Farroe.
‘Thank you, Sister Superior,’ said Etsul. She clipped the vox handset back in place, gripped her lascarbine, and thumbed off its safety rune. ‘Drivers, take us in. Gunners, be ready.’
The second Geskan quad led the way, crew doubtless keen to discover what had happened to their fellows. The Rhino came next, top hatch still open and Battle Sisters standing proud with boltguns ready. Resolute brought up the rear, its heavy weapons tracking for targets in the fog.
Where the Geskans weaved around the barricades, the Battle Sister driving the Rhino simply ploughed them aside, going steady to avoid getting hung up. With the obstacle shoved out of the way, she took the armoured carrier into the courtyard and rolled to a stop near the main entrance. Etsul tried to look in every direction at once, lascarbine up, augmetic eye flicking through vision filters in case any exposed the enemy’s presence.
She saw empty ramparts and abandoned stacks of equipment. The portable generatorum still chugged, powering lumens that glowed feebly in the hazy daylight. Sergeant Longwater’s quad sat by the steps of the vox-shrine’s main entrance. Its engine idled with no crew to direct it.
‘Sergeant Longwater, report your position?’ Etsul tried again into the vox, but received only static whispers in response. Vaslav emerged from his tank’s turret hatch again and called across to her.
‘This has to be a trap, right, sir?’
Etsul truly wanted to order an immediate retreat. She knew she couldn’t. Duty was a hand on her back, shoving her on, no matter what her instincts screamed.
‘Who’d be a bloody officer?’ she muttered, then louder said, ‘You’re right, lieutenant, but our duty remains unchanged. I have to go in.’
