Uprising, page 23
A wet gurgle was the only response. Blood oozed from a long gash in the man’s neck. Grendl pointed his weapon at the other wounded assassin, a woman whose dark-red hair was matted with blood.
‘Speak,’ demanded the banner-jarl, ‘or die!’
The woman laughed a dry, hacking laugh that turned into a coughing fit. She rolled onto her side and grasped at her chest, tightening her hand into a fist.
After she recovered, the assassin spoke. ‘It’s you who are dead,’ she said in a raspy voice. ‘All Rams will die today! Those are our orders.’
With that, the female assassin opened her fist and dropped a handful of grenade pins on the floor.
‘Scatter!’ yelled Grendl.
The Rams rushed away from the live grenade belt down the intersecting corridors. A moment later, a giant explosion rocked the hallway, engulfing a few straggling mercs in its destructive radius.
‘Dammit!’ yelled Grendl when he returned to the epicentre. The blast had killed three Rams. Their charred bodies smouldered next to a gaping hole. The floor sagged beneath Grendl’s feet as he approached. The corridor ended in shattered rockcrete and exposed metal rebar. Through the mass of twisted metal, cracked pipes and slagged rock, Grendl could see the level below.
‘What now?’ asked Balthor, who had been caught on the other side of the hole from Grendl with half of the remaining Rams.
‘We keep moving,’ replied Grendl, pointing at the floor. The sound of weapons fire was growing louder behind them and Grendl could see the group that had fled from the grenade returning with reinforcements. ‘Down. It’s our only way out.’
Balthor hurried the Rams into the hole as Grendl’s group laid down suppressing fire to cover their retreat. The banner-jarl looked at the dead Rams in the hall. ‘We need to be smarter to survive,’ he said to himself before barking an order to Balthor. ‘Send out scouts to search the next level.’
‘Yes, banner-jarl,’ replied Balthor from below.
Several hours, numerous battles and countless levels later, the Vega Rams reached the lowest level of the Stranger’s Tower. But the death squads had given them little time to stop and catch their breath. Grendl had lost more than half of his platoon, but they had gathered the remnants of several others along the way. He still had a decent-sized fighting force.
‘The scouts have returned, banner-jarl,’ said Balthor as he came up to Grendl.
‘Report!’
‘There’s only one way out of the tower,’ Balthor replied. ‘The tower gate, and it’s blocked by four death squads. The enemy’s forces seem inexhaustible.’
Grendl nodded. ‘And they herded us into this trap,’ he said with a heavy sigh.
‘Not true, banner-jarl,’ replied Balthor. ‘Sure, they hounded us at every turn, but we gave as good as we got.’
‘No. It has been a campaign of attrition,’ Grendl replied. ‘We have been attacked from all sides throughout this firefight. Every time we tried to push back or take an alternate route, our efforts were stymied by reinforcements.’
The unknown enemy had committed multiple squads to the initial attack, obviously hoping to catch the Rams asleep. But after losing the element of surprise, their foes had resorted to harrying their escape with hit-and-run tactics combined with a strong presence at critical junctures.
Their one hope had been to disappear into the underhive. Once down in the depths, Grendl could have employed criminal elements to procure safe transit home. Then, they could have planned their revenge. On whom Grendl did not yet know, but they would have made someone pay.
That had been the plan, anyway. Now, it seemed moot. The trap was set. If the Rams tried to fight their way through the enemy forces at the gate, the assassins that had pushed them into the trap would converge from behind and squash the Rams in the middle. Disappearing into the underhive was more going to be more complicated than he realised. Grendl needed a new plan.
‘Go to ground, Balthor,’ Grendl said, coming to a decision. ‘Find an abandoned storage room or maintenance hall. Dig a hole and climb in.’
‘You want the Vega Rams to hide?’ asked Balthor, his brow furrowed quizzically. ‘Why? What are you planning?’
‘I plan to get us all off this damn rock, huskarl!’ Grendl growled at his second. ‘You have your orders. Go to ground. Do not engage the enemy until you hear from me. Then, and only then, attack the tower gate – with extreme prejudice. Burn it to the ground if you must.’
Balthor saluted and strode back to the company. As his second started barking orders, Grendl slipped into the darkness. It was time to gather the shepherds and prevent them from following the herd.
Nikki was lying, of this Grendl was sure. One look at the Orlock woman’s satchel, which she clutched to her chest, was all the evidence he needed. The leather bag had definitely been heavier and bulkier before the hive quake. She was still hiding something.
But why the lie? What did she have to gain? Grendl wondered. Had she caused the cave-in? She was a demolitions expert, after all. That part of her story certainly rang true. If so, was the cave-in meant for him? For the assassin squad? Both? She was caught in the fall as well, though, so any explanation that included Nikki setting explosives was full of holes.
Perhaps she was telling the truth about the explosives and the satchel had contained something else: something Nikki didn’t want Grendl to know about, or the assassins to find. He had seen that strange weapon-like object on the ground next to her. But what could be so important for her to haul it halfway through the underhive?
Grendl had more questions than answers, and that left him unsettled. He needed more intel before he could act.
‘Is everything all right, Mister Grendlsen?’ asked Nikki, breaking the bounty hunter’s concentration.
Grendl realised he’d been staring for quite some time. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Sorry. I was… I was just thinking about how to get us out of here.’
‘So, did staring at me offer any insights into our predicament?’ she asked with a smile, some of her former light demeanour returning.
The question took Grendl by surprise. Nikki was either shrewd to put him on the spot or, perhaps, she enjoyed making men squirm. Probably both, Grendl decided. Beauty and brains often went hand in hand, and they made for a dangerous combination.
Luckily, several feral mastiffs picked that moment to howl in the distance, breaking the silence and resetting the mood of the room. Nikki’s smile vanished, and Grendl noticed her grab her satchel tightly again.
More importantly, the howls reminded Grendl of the recording he’d made with his shoulder-mounted sensors. He played it back through his goggles and took a good look at the layout of the dome’s settlement. ‘Yes!’ exclaimed the bounty hunter as he watched the recording.
Nikki stared at Grendl as he turned the feed off and stood, taking a moment to test his injured leg. The thick bandage held, and he had added a makeshift splint from strips of metal he’d pulled off the dead mastiffs while reconnoitring. ‘I think I know where we can get your explosives,’ he said. ‘There is a walled compound in the centre of the dome.’
‘Sounds like the mayoral compound,’ said Nikki, showing she was better informed than she let on. ‘It was in the reports,’ she added quickly.
Grendl nodded. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘It should also house the HQ for the dome’s security forces.’
‘You think it will have any munitions we can salvage?’ asked Nikki. She stood and dusted off her outfit as best she could, but her clothes would never be white again.
‘Your employers would know better than me,’ replied Grendl. ‘But it’s our only shot.’
The grating howls of the metal beasts sounded again, closer than ever. ‘It won’t be easy,’ said Grendl. ‘You up for this?’
Nikki reached inside the secret pocket of her bag and pulled out a stiletto knife. At least Grendl now knew what she was reaching for when she thought she was alone. She unsheathed the blade and held it with a perfect and practised grip. ‘Are you?’ she asked.
Over the next hour, Grendl and Nikki picked their way through the rubble of decaying buildings towards the centre of the dome. The air in the city was breathable but stale, as if the air recyclers had only recently been turned on and had not yet blown the decades-worth layer of dust out of the ducts.
Packs of three or four cyber-mastiffs attacked several times during their trek. Each time, all it took was a single blast to the metallic head of the leader to send the pack scurrying back into the shadows. An alarming difference from their first encounter. Were they communicating with one another? Learning? Perhaps the hounds had simply grown more cautious.
Grendl also noted he could hear the mastiffs coming. Their metal joints hadn’t been oiled in ages. They screeched like nails across a blackboard with every step, sending rusty flakes of metal accumulated from years of standing guard cascading to the ground. He heard that sound again coming from a side street just ahead.
Grendl halted and held his arm out to stop Nikki. He pointed to the corner and raised the barrel of his bolter. The first mastiff rounded the building and growled. Two more growls responded behind the crumbling wall.
Grendl squeezed off a round, catching the first mastiff in the chest and snout and knocking it back behind the wall. The hunter rushed forward, chambering another round as he ran. The mastiff lay on the ground, its forelegs severed at the hip. The other two beasts fled around another corner down the street.
The wounded lead beast pushed its way along the ground towards Grendl, snapping its jaws as if it intended to bite the hunter’s kneecaps. Grendl holstered his bolter and slammed his power hammer through the injured mastiff’s skull.
Grendl shook his head as he walked back to his charge. ‘Hit-and-run,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘I’ve seen this before.’
‘What did you say?’ asked Nikki.
‘You knew about these beasts, didn’t you?’ he asked, ignoring the question.
The Orlock woman glanced at the power hammer, which Grendl held at the ready in front of him.
She swallowed hard before answering. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The reports indicated the mayor had purchased a large number of cyber-mastiffs. The security forces used them to maintain order.’
‘Did you know they had gone feral?’ he prodded.
‘Our sources suggested it was possible,’ she said, in a whisper, continuing to stare at Grendl’s weapon. ‘After all this time, their programming was bound to get corrupted. What effect that would have was only conjecture.’
‘You have some way to deal with that?’ Grendl asked. ‘Our survival may depend on it.’
Nikki nodded quickly, but then shook her head. ‘I did,’ she said, real desperation tingeing her voice. ‘I lost it during the hive quake.’
‘Great,’ said Grendl, lowering his weapon finally. ‘Just great.’ He turned and continued down the street. The outer wall of the mayoral compound was just ahead.
‘What’s the problem?’ Nikki hissed as she ran to catch up. ‘You’ve been handling them easily so far.’
Grendl kept trudging as he spoke. ‘They’ve been herding us to that wall,’ he said. He stopped for a moment and turned to face Nikki. ‘They’re not feral. Don’t you understand?’ he growled. ‘They’re highly intelligent and coordinating their attacks. It’s a trap!’
Grendl sighed again and strode off towards the wall of the compound. ‘It’s always a trap,’ he muttered.
Grendl left the Vega Rams in the capable hands of Balthor Stonesen and doubled back the way they had come. The banner-jarl slipped silently through the corridors, listening for the pursuing forces of assassins. It didn’t take long to find a death squad assembled near the Rams’ last skirmish.
Just as I suspected, thought Grendl. Harry and push us along, cut down our choices, and then close the net from the rear. But, how could he find and neutralise enough groups at once to give Balthor and the Rams a fighting chance at the gate?
A crazy – potentially suicidal – plan formed in the banner-jarl’s head. If successful, though, it would give the Rams their best opportunity to escape. Grendl took a moment to prepare a little surprise, then steeled his nerves, raised his bolter and rushed out of the shadows.
He shot a male assassin on the end in the torso as they locked eyes. The bolt detonated in the man’s chest, dropping him on the spot. Grendl leapt the body and swung the stock of his weapon at the next assassin in line, catching the woman in the jaw and sending her reeling. Before the rest could react, Grendl turned the corner and ran down the next hall.
Grendl heard a voice bark out behind him: ‘A banner-jarl has breached the net. All squads be on alert!’ This was followed by, ‘After him, you idiots!’
Grendl stopped long enough to make sure he heard footsteps before running off again. Now, all he needed to do was circle around the corridors around the gate room and get as many death squads as possible to chase him.
It was tough to keep ahead of his pursuers while staying alert to squads ahead of him, but Grendl found several more in short order. A single bolter shot down each corridor announced his presence with a bang and reduced the enemy forces even further, leaving two more assassins with holes in their chests. His crazy plan seemed to be working perfectly.
But then, with pursuers hot on his heels, Grendl turned a corner and ran into a ramshackle barricade across the hall. Overturned tables filled two-thirds of the corridor. Chairs, cots and shelving units were piled to the ceiling, effectively blocking his only escape.
‘As good a place as any to make a stand,’ said Grendl, putting his back against the barricade several yards back from the corner. He had enough room to maintain cover – for the moment, anyway.
Grendl spoke into his vox. ‘Move out, Balthor,’ he said into the device. ‘Go make a big noise.’
He couldn’t wait for a response. The sounds of the enemy forces pursing the banner-jarl put them less than a corridor away. Grendl unstrapped his bandolier of frag grenades, held it up by the leather strap and measured its weight as he moved around the corner to watch the open corridor.
‘We’ve got him trapped,’ called a voice in the distance.
The other way around, thought Grendl as he grabbed the string he’d wound through the pins and waited for his pursuers to appear.
‘There he is,’ called the first assassin to round the corner. He raised a laspistol and pointed it at Grendl. ‘Drop the grenades, scummer,’ he said as he stalked forward. Several more pursuers entered the corridor behind him.
Grendl just smiled and pulled the string to release the pins, which clattered to the floor, and heaved the bandolier down the hall. The belt bounced twice and slid to a stop in front of the first assassin. He turned to flee but ran into his companions.
Grendl dived back around the corner as a blinding and thunderous explosion erupted in the hallway, knocking the banner-jarl to the ground. When he could see again, Grendl drew his boltgun and peeked around the corner.
Half the corridor was just gone. The walls, floor and ceiling ended in jagged pieces of wood, metal and masonry. Small fires licked at the wooden studs and steam shot into the air from ruptured vents beneath the floor. The air smelled acrid from burning flesh.
Parts of at least six bodies were strewn down the length of the corridor. Not as many as Grendl had hoped for, but the blockade had forced his hand. At least he was alive. Now he could attack the enclosing net of assassins from behind at the gate.
‘Don’t worry, Balthor,’ Grendl said as he looked for a way past the hole. ‘I’m coming.’
‘You’re too late, Grendlsen.’ The weak, gurgling voice came from somewhere in the steam by the hole.
Grendl rushed forward, bolter at the ready. There, hanging over the edge of the steaming hole, hung an assassin. A jagged chunk of flooring had pierced his stomach, impaling him and holding him in place.
‘What do you mean?’ growled Grendl.
‘The Vega Rams are no more,’ said the impaled assassin, spraying blood as he spoke. ‘The purge… can’t… be stopped. You’ve lost!’
His head dropped to the floor and his arms went slack. Grendl screamed and raised his boltgun to remove the man’s head as the body began to slip into the hole. Before he pulled the trigger, though, the assassin’s vox crackled to life.
‘Pursuit group! Report!’ came the call over the vox. ‘What the hell happened up there?’
The body continued to slide off the jagged floor fragment. Grendl dived and grabbed the dead man’s wrists before he slipped into the steamy darkness. He heaved on the dead weight, breaking off chunks of flooring and shredding the man’s flak jacket as he dragged the corpse out of the hole.
Grendl flipped the corpse over and grabbed the vox. Blood pounded at his temples as rage and fear gripped his heart. He paused a moment to calm his emotions before opening the channel.
‘Grendlsen is dead,’ he stated as flatly as he could. ‘Blown to bits by his own grenades.’
‘Good work,’ came the response. ‘A fitting death.’
Grendl released the button and took a deep breath before opening the channel again. ‘Status of the Rams?’ he asked
‘We found their hiding place and hit them a few minutes ago. Nothing left now but mop up. Head to the exfiltration point.’
‘Understood,’ replied Grendl before slumping to the floor next to the dead assassin. He sat in silence for what seemed an eternity, recounting and second-guessing every decision he’d made over the past several hours. Darkness threatened to envelop the former banner-jarl. He’d failed his lord, failed his men. Failed the Rams. They were no more.
No, Grendl thought. As long as I still breathe, the Vega Rams survive. Let the enemy assume I’m dead. Then they’ll never see me coming! Grendl forced aside the darkness gripping his heart. He had work to do.
First, he stripped the dead assassin of anything that could identify him. Beneath the shredded flak vest was a tunic emblazoned with a strange emblem, which Grendl tossed aside.
