Final deployment, p.2
Final Deployment, page 2
‘Dropsite secured and marked. Moving to objective.’
‘Any chance those were friendlies?’ Durlo asked.
‘We weren’t formally introduced.’
Norroll sprinted into the smoke, using Actis’ augur readings to orient on the objective. Hefting a corpse as he passed, he tossed it atop a barrier of rusting triple-strand razor wire and leapt into the area beyond.
Sensing anti-personnel mines, the servo-skull pinged a warning. Norroll dropped a second locator beacon before zigzagging through the minefield, guided by the overlay in his heads-up display.
‘Minefield at beacon two,’ he reported. ‘Recommend diverting around – it’s too big for Durlo to disable a path through.’
‘Acknowledged.’
Near a bend in the river, Norroll noted structures emerging from the dense haze of dun smog. Cautiously approaching the complex, he found it little more than ruins, its buildings reduced to burned-out shells and debris by artillery fire. Accompanied by the low droning of flies, the foetor of death seeped through his respirator’s filtration system, lingering noxiously in the breathless atmosphere with a reek like rotting fish and faeces. Corpses in their dozens littered the ground, identically uniformed and armoured in Departmento Munitorum-standard flak, so it was impossible to determine whether this had been a battle between two indistinguishable forces or a one-sided massacre. They were bloated and flyblown. Norroll knew from experience that these soldiers had lain there for no less than three days.
The largest building in the complex, perhaps once a grand home or farmstead, had apparently been used as a makeshift headquarters – a company guidon yet leaned by the main door, its banner drooping languidly in the lifeless air. With no traps evident, Norroll took no further time to investigate the area, stepping over the mouldering carcasses of the dead on his way out. Ducking through a breach in the property’s low stone fence, he continued onwards.
At the edge of a quarter-mile-wide swathe of artillery-pitted no-man’s-land beyond the former headquarters and its garrison of corpses, Norroll came upon a series of earthworks. Banked up behind nests of barbed wire, the hastily built emplacements provided cover for the tanks and other armoured vehicles overwatching the area he had just passed through.
Its armour melted like wax by a melta weapon, the turret of a lone Leman Russ protruded above the edge of the embankment, its rusting Punisher gatling cannon still trained on the killing fields below it. Norroll cleared the dirt bulwark, skirting the edge of the fortifications. Corpses surrounded the tank, though Norroll could not determine whether they were crew or attackers. The engine compartment gaped open, what remained of its contents scattered on the ground around it, rifled through and plundered of any useful, or valuable, components.
He checked his wrist-slate, verifying his route across what Actis’ augurs indicated were a series of abandoned trench networks. According to his maps, Xi-3-1’s Taurox Prime was only slightly over two hundred yards away.
‘Just dropped beacon three at the end of no-man’s-land, where the trench network starts. I’ll drop the last when I reach the objective.’
‘Acknowledged.’
Closing the vox-link, Norroll felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. He sprang to his feet and sprinted towards the nearby trench system, diving in head first as the Earthshaker round exploded twenty yards ahead of him. Shaking himself free of displaced dirt, he slithered through the layer of muck coating the trench’s bottom on his belly, crawling through the murk towards a nearby dugout.
Norroll surged into the earthen shelter as a round of follow-on fire struck the edge of the trench network where he had entered, rolling against the near wall to protect himself from the blast. He was in a small dirt-floored bunker, approximately three yards square, its walls reinforced with flakboard. An old iron-framed bunk bed, its mattresses stained with mud and blood, stood along the rear wall, while a small folding desk and chair lay overturned in the corner on the dugout’s far side. Loose wrappers, food tins and lho stubs littered the dirt floor, but the only thing of real value Norroll found inside was cover.
Listening for any additional follow-on fire, Norroll poked his head out of the dugout, sending Actis floating up over the edge of the trench as he reviewed the servo-skull’s readings.
‘What in the hells are they firing at?’ he breathed. The likelihood of his detection, especially under these conditions, was low to the point of absurdity. Stinking mud caked his carapace, recolouring it from the 36th Xian Tigers’ ferric oxide green to dingy Rilisian ochre.
‘First Eradicant, have you been noticed?’
‘Negative,’ Replendus responded. ‘Why?’
‘I just took indirect fire.’
‘That was you? Have you been detected?’
‘Unlikely, which makes me wonder what they were shooting at. Keep your heads down.’
Norroll cut the link. He vaulted free of the trench and continued at a run, listening for any further indication of indirect fire. The recon trooper sprinted between trenches and bypassed pillboxes, laspistol extended as he kept to the cover of burned-out vehicles and other heaps of battlefield detritus. A north-easterly breeze whispered between the trenches, clearing the smoke marginally and improving his visibility through the dust and smog to around ten yards.
Naturally, this meant that the enemy had a better chance of seeing him as well. Setting Actis’ augurs for longer range, he picked up his pace.
Ahead, a trooper peeked over the lip of an embankment. Norroll shot him in the head and leapt the ditch without breaking stride. He dropped into a controlled roll down the opposite side, gaining speed on his descent before throwing himself back into his sprint.
Norroll hugged the ground, picking his way between a pair of dead Chimeras, their armour blasted open by artillery fire. Three corpses lay on and around the back ramps of the infantry transports, uniformed in the standard Departmento Munitorum-issue drab green fatigues and Rilis’ characteristically mustard-coloured flak armour of every dead body he had encountered on the battlefield to this point. Bumper numbers, stencilled on the front and rear of each Chimera, indicated that they belonged to the First Battalion, 212th Rilisian Mechanised Infantry Regiment, though Norroll had no idea which side of the civil war the 212th was on. Clearing each vehicle, he found the crews slumped dead in their seats, their corpses riddled by las-fire. He secured medi-kits and several ration tins from the Chimeras before moving on.
Actis’ readouts indicated that the objective lay nearly thirty yards east of his current position. Use of bio-agents in the area in the recent past had garbled the servo-skull’s ability to identify life signs, so Norroll proceeded cautiously, hunched over as he jogged between available areas of cover.
Fifteen yards closer, and he encountered more corpses in Rilisian green and ochre like the rest. Most were relatively whole, splayed haphazardly over soil recently cratered by artillery fire. He noted at least sixteen of them, though he hazarded that their proximity to the artillery splashes made an accurate count difficult. Their right shoulder pads, like the Chimeras he had just scouted, marked them as belonging to the 212th Mech. Rolling one over, Norroll observed the reddish blotches of livor mortis on his face. Unlike the others, this one had been shot in almost the dead centre of his chest, penetrated through by a high-powered las-bolt. The body was still limp and slightly warm, likely dead for under two hours. The closer he got to his objective, the more the casualties appeared to have been cut down by hotshot las-fire.
As Norroll slipped between the dead, Actis’ augurs scanned the corpse of a nearby Tempestus Scion. Rale, Jovian – Trooper First Class, Tempest Squad Xi-3-1, scrolled across Norroll’s slate monitron, followed by a monotone flatline. Selecting this data, he transmitted it to his squadmates in First Eradicant and received a ping of acknowledgement a few seconds later.
He found Rale’s corpse half buried beneath the bodies of the Rilisian Mech. His armour’s oxide-green carapace and dull steel edging were nearly obscured by the blood of his killers, and his clarion vox-array had been torn free of his back and riddled with las-fire.
The smog parted, and Norroll saw the Taurox Prime’s turret, its dual gatling guns and storm bolter aiming idly in his direction from behind a low earthwork. The armoured transport was still running, the berm sheltering it surrounded by the remains of shredded Guardsmen.
He dropped the fourth locator beacon.
‘First Eradicant, I have eyes on the objective.’
‘Acknowledged,’ Replendus replied. ‘Proceed with caution. We’re entering no-man’s-land.’
Actis located two more Tempestus Scions between the dead 212th troopers and the Taurox. Isardo and Noku. Norroll looked around at what must have been more than two score dead troopers surrounding his fellows and their vehicle.
He had known Isardo since the Scholam Tempestus on Sindral-Gamma. While they had never been as close as Norroll had been to Actis, he remembered Isardo as a faithful and diligent comrade, if never exactly a friend.
Norroll climbed over the earthwork, clearing the area around the Taurox as he approached from the vehicle’s front left. Behind it lay two corpses, both shot neatly between the eyes. The troopers were clad in matt-black carapace armour, Cadian pattern, over black fatigues. He dragged the closest one into the area between the left rear track and the embankment and rifled through the man’s pouches. There was nothing to identify him, though he had ample supplies of grenades and hotshot laspacks to supplement Norroll’s back-mounted capacitors. As Norroll stripped both corpses of anything useful, Actis’ scanners identified two more Scions, Trooper Anche and Tempestor Ezl – and the servo-skull’s augurs indicated the Tempestor yet lived. A blood trail, still fresh, led from the two black-armoured troopers around the Taurox’s rear.
Norroll’s chest tightened – given the carnage surrounding the Taurox, he had no hope to find any of the Scions alive. ‘First Eradicant, Norroll. On objective. Tempestor Ezl is still alive.’
This time Traxel responded directly. ‘Status?’
‘Contact to follow.’
Norroll stepped over the troopers, carefully following the blood trail around the corner, where he found the rear hatch standing open. Inside, Trooper Anche hung limply in the gunner’s cupola, blood pooling beneath her on the deck below. Readying himself, Norroll cleared the far side of the vehicle and sprang around the rear corner of the Taurox, stopping short as he found a hotshot laspistol aimed directly between his eyes.
Tempestor Ezl sat propped up against the Taurox’s rear track unit. Blood flowed from a broad rent in his lower cuirass, staining his olive drab fatigue trousers red-black and soaking into the thirsty ochre dust beneath him. His right hand held his laspistol steadily on Norroll’s face, while his left attempted to hold in his innards.
‘Where in the hells did you come from?’ the Tempestor hissed, instinctively putting up his sidearm when he identified Norroll.
‘Trooper Norroll, Tempestor. First Eradicant.’
‘Traxel’s outfit?’
‘Aye, Tempestor.’
‘That figures.’
Unsure whether he had just been insulted, Norroll voxed his squad. ‘I’ve located Tempestor Ezl, but he’s badly wounded. Daviland, I could really use you here.’
‘Estimate we’ll be there in four minutes,’ Daviland replied.
‘How long?’ Ezl asked.
‘Four minutes, Tempestor.’
‘Thanks. I’ve been off comms for a while.’ He tapped his damaged helm with the side of his laspistol. ‘No vox.’ He held up his right vambrace to display its shattered screen. ‘No slate, either. Blocked a chainsword.’
Multiple pings sounded as Actis’ sensors picked up contacts to the south-east. Still too distant to show up on his heads-up display, Norroll’s slate presented several large blobs of green blips, representing at least three sizeable formations closing on their location. While Actis’ long-range bio-augurs remained fouled, the servo-skull’s movement prognosticators functioned perfectly.
‘Enemy infantry inbound. Estimate at least a platoon, approaching on foot from south-east. Three hundred and fifty yards and moving cautiously, but steadily,’ Norroll called into the vox. ‘First Eradicant, any way to pick up the pace a little bit?’
Norroll raised his laspistol as Bissot rounded the front corner of the Taurox at a dead sprint with Daviland on her heels. The gunner stopped, bracing her hotshot volley gun against the corner of the front fender as she faced south-east into the ochre cloud of dust and smoke.
Daviland passed Bissot and slipped down next to the wounded Tempestor, raising Ezl’s omnishield visor and opening his respirator. The Tempestor’s dark skin was ashen and sheened with sweat, and his bloodshot sclera made the deep brown of his irises seem nearly black. Despite the mauling he had taken, he was fully conscious. Bright red blood dripped down Ezl’s chin and onto his plastron, mingling with the darker blood that leaked steadily from his ruptured abdomen.
To the east, a series of explosions rumbled through the yellow smoke. Norroll checked his wrist-slate. The green blobs on his indicator array shifted position rapidly, breaking into a series of smaller pips spreading out in all directions. Explosive readouts populated the screen at the inbound enemy’s location, where they had apparently stumbled upon a minefield.
Daviland lifted the Tempestor’s chin and ran an oxygen tube up his nose. Ezl never flinched. ‘I’m going to move your hand, Tempestor,’ she said, taking hold of his bloodied left gauntlet.
‘Don’t bother…’ He paused.
‘Daviland, Tempestor.’
‘Daviland,’ Ezl repeated. ‘Don’t bother, Medicae-Adept Daviland. Save your gear for someone who can use it.’
‘Right now, Tempestor, that someone is you,’ Daviland said, trying to pull his hand away.
Ezl resisted, locking his arm in place and keeping his hand pressed vice-tight against his wound. ‘Don’t make me strain much harder, Daviland, or I’ll end up squirting my guts out on you.’ His eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze on hers. ‘When a Tempestor tells you to save your gear, trooper, it’s not a suggestion.’
Daviland relaxed her grip. ‘Understood.’
Ezl slumped back against the rear track guard with a sigh. ‘Good. Now where in the hells is Traxel?’
‘Here,’ Traxel said, rounding the corner of the Taurox at that moment. ‘And my orders to Daviland were to keep you alive, whether you liked it or not.’
Ezl scoffed through bloodstained teeth. ‘Wouldn’t have a drink for us, would you?’
‘Fresh out, I’m afraid,’ Traxel answered, kneeling next to Daviland. ‘You’ve looked better.’
Ezl’s grim chuckle degenerated into a hacking cough. ‘It’s hard,’ he wheezed, coughing up pinkish phlegm, ‘going out amongst the beautiful people. What are you doing here?’
‘Reinforcing Xi-Three-One.’
Ezl grimaced. ‘Yesterday, I’d have told you to push off.’
Norroll reviewed his wrist-slate. ‘We might want to get Tempestor Ezl into the Taurox,’ he said. ‘Enemy infantry’s closing. Replendus, Durlo, are the guns reloaded yet?’
‘Almost,’ Durlo replied. ‘Clearing a jam.’
Ezl wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his gauntlet. ‘Listen – the situation on Rilis is worse than the initial assessments. These Rilisian traitors are motivated, they’re well trained, and they have a serious axe to grind with this world. The Third Division took down the planetary militia in three days. They’re also almost impossible to distinguish from the loyal Rilisians, so that’s a persistent challenge.’ He winced, swallowing hard, and attempted to clear his throat. ‘The biggest problem is the Stygians. Elite infantry. Last time they attacked as a unit, they killed the senate, then eliminated the enforcers in their own precinct house. Since then, we’ve only seen them supplementing the traitors’ infantry squads…’ He trailed off, his breathing shallow.
‘What assets do we have?’ Traxel asked.
Ezl coughed hard again. ‘Two loyal Rilisian regiments, pieced together after the traitors struck. One’s here in the Zholm with the handful of Militarum forces from off-world who answered the distress call, just as we did. No coordination. Different units using different vox encryption.’
‘So, they can’t talk.’
‘Won’t. They can communicate in the clear just fine, but the enemy’s listening. Beats them back every time they try to put something together.’ Ezl’s eyes closed slowly as his head sagged forward.
Daviland rolled his head to the side and injected a dose of stimm into his neck.
The Tempestor jolted awake, his eyes flaring angrily. ‘I thought I told you–’
‘You can’t tell us what we need to know if you’re dead, Tempestor,’ Daviland said.
Ezl nodded weakly. ‘Fair.’
‘Where is the other regiment?’ Traxel asked.
Ezl worked his slack lips back to life. ‘Other regiment’s back east, towards the capital,’ he said. ‘They were trying to dislodge an enemy strongpoint in the mountains, open it up for ground movement, since the enemy controls the skies – not that there’s anything flying any more. Nobody’s heard from them in months.’
His eyes rolled up as his head fell backwards, his helmet banging against the track guard. He began to spasm, his body struck by a spate of sudden convulsions as he vomited dark blood all over himself.
‘Help me hold him steady, Tempestor!’ Daviland urged. The two Scions strained against the seizures, desperately trying to hold Ezl still as Daviland struggled to clear the bloody ejecta from his mouth. She readied a syringe, wrestling to keep the afflicted Tempestor steady enough to administer the compound.
