Hero of the Imperium, page 13
The greatest bloodshed of the night was to occur around the governor’s residence, as the heroic palace guard held off a rampaging mob of turncoats with the aid of the most loyal cadre of PDF volunteers. Despite the appalling losses they endured, which were exacerbated by the treacherous defection of those perfidious PDF units who turned their weapons against their erstwhile comrades, these brave souls were able to hold out until daybreak brought relief in the shape of a loyalist armoured unit.
By the cruellest stroke of irony, it was later to transpire that one of the guests at the governor’s reception earlier that evening had been none other than Commissar Cain, the paladin of martial virtues against whom no enemy could possibly have prevailed, but he had left shortly before the fighting broke out. This was a tragedy indeed, since his inspiring leadership would surely have turned the tide of battle, routing the unrighteous in short order! But alas, it was not to be, and those gallant warriors were left to their own, far from inconsiderable, resources.
Elsewhere, the situation proved equally grave. Widespread rioting choked the city centre, overwhelming the Arbites units posted there, until they had no option but to call in PDF units for support. Some responded loyally, while others, perfidious as their fellow traitors in the Old Quarter, revealed their true colours, turning against all that they had professed to hold dear, the insidious influence of the alien corrupting them utterly. Small wonder, then, that ordinary citizens took to the streets in their thousands, incensed at the sheer magnitude of this betrayal, armed only with their faith in the Emperor and such makeshift weapons as they could lay their hands on to wreak bloody revenge on the traitors in their midst.
The worst of the fighting took place in the Old Quarter, as we have previously noted, and, predictably, in the Heights, the most poisonous nest of pro-alien sentiment in the city, but in truth, no street was safe.
As the unrest continued, one question was paramount. Where were the Guard? Why did the Emperor’s finest continue to sit in their barracks and staging areas while his loyal subjects bled and died in his name?
It was, and still is, clear that some hidden cabal was directing events, hindering the decisive action the situation manifestly called for, in pursuit of their own selfish agenda. In the years since, many theories have been put forward as to the true identities of those responsible, the vast majority of them laughably paranoid, but a careful sifting of the evidence can lead to only one conclusion; the unseen hand behind so much mayhem and treachery is unquestionably that of the rogue traders.
[At this point the narrative diverges, albeit quite amusingly, from anything resembling scholarship, or, indeed, historical accuracy.]
SIX
‘When in deadly danger,
When beset by doubt,
Run in little circles,
Wave your arms and shout.’
– Parody of the Litany of Command, popular among Commissar cadets.
Well, I’ve seen my share of city fighting over the years, and given my choice of battlefield, an urban area’s about the last one I’d pick. The streets channel you into firelanes, every window or doorway can conceal a sniper, and the buildings around you frak up your tactical awareness – if they’re not blocking your line of sight they’re distorting sounds, the overlapping echoes making it virtually impossible to pinpoint where the enemy fire is coming from. In most cases the best thing you can say for it is that at least there aren’t any civilians around to get caught in the crossfire, as by the time the Guard gets sent in they’re either dead or have fled from the airstrikes and the artillery bombardments.
Mayoh that night was different. Instead of the piles of rubble I’d normally expect to find in an urban warzone, the buildings were, for the time being at least, intact. (Although the ominous orange glow in the distance suggested that wasn’t going to be true for much longer.22) And the streets were full. Not bustling, exactly, but by no means deserted either. As the truck gathered pace, we caught sight of civilians running for cover, to join or avoid the swelling groups of shouting rioters who seemed to be congregating at every corner. Some wore the xenoist braids, others symbols of Imperial loyalty. Aquilae were common, of course, and several of the loudest and most militant sported scarlet sashes, like the one which marked my own commissarial authority. Regardless of their nominal allegiance, however, most of the groups we passed were energetically engaged in breaking open the nearest storefronts and looting the contents.
‘Not much of an advertisement for the Imperial cause,’ Kasteen muttered acidly in my ear. She was crammed in the cab with me, jammed up against the passenger door, as far from Jurgen as she could get. The wind of our passage ruffled her hair, the window wide open. Well, why not? The glass wasn’t going to stop a las-bolt anyway, and I was even closer to our pungent driver than she was, so I wasn’t about to object.
‘Or theirs.’ I indicated a mob of scalplocked xenoists running from a burning pawnbroker’s, their pockets bulging with currency.
‘Must be something to do with the greater greed,’ she joked grimly.
As we approached, the xenoists recognised our truck as an Imperial military model and began to shout abuse. A few bottles and other makeshift missiles flew in our direction.
‘Over their heads, Lustig,’ I ordered. The squad of troopers in the cargo space behind us fired, just low enough to make the troublemakers flinch away from the crackling las-bolts, and they scattered as Jurgen put his foot down.
‘Very restrained,’ Kasteen commented. I shrugged. I couldn’t have given a damn if the troopers had killed the lot of them, to be honest, but I was trying to make a good impression on our little blue guests, and there was always that reputation to consider.
We’d left the governor’s palace as soon as we could get the tau aboard the truck, scrambling over the tailgate in the flickering light from the burning building. Lustig’s squad split into teams again, five on each side, leaving the xeno diplomats in the middle. It wasn’t exactly high security, but it was the best we could do under the circumstances, and I hoped it would be enough.
‘Good luck, commissar.’ Donali’s sober tone told me he thought we’d need it as he grasped my hand. I shook it firmly, thankful for the augmetics that prevented the tremors in my bowels from transmitting themselves as far as my fingers, and nodded gravely.
‘The Emperor protects,’ I intoned with pious hypocrisy, and climbed into the cab. At least with a box of metal and glass around me I was afforded some degree of shelter, and with Kasteen and Jurgen on either side to absorb any incoming fire, I’d be safer there than anywhere else. The Emperor, as I’d noted on more than one occasion, tends to extend his protection more readily to those who take as many precautions as possible for themselves.
Donali stood and watched us leave, silhouetted in the flickering light from the flames, and turned back towards the burning building as he passed out of sight. To my vague surprise, I found myself hoping he survived the night. I don’t normally have much time for diplomats, but he struck me as a decent sort, and he seemed to be going to a lot of trouble to keep me from getting shot.
At least in the abstract; preventing a war wasn’t going to do me a damn bit of good if some xenoist rioter stove my skull in with a paving slab this evening, so I was alert for any potential threat as we made our way through the troubled city.
‘Left here.’ Kasteen was guiding Jurgen with the aid of the tactical net, hoping to avoid the worst of the trouble. We passed a couple of street brawls, but the worst of the rioting appeared to be happening elsewhere.
‘So far so good,’ I said, tempting fate once more, and, typically, fate obliged. As we turned out of the alleyway into one of those broad thoroughfares which had so excited my unease on the journey into the city from the starport, I could see figures up ahead through the windscreen. Metal barrels had been pushed into the roadway, forming the spine of a makeshift barricade, and fires had been set inside a couple of them.
‘Roadblock,’ Jurgen said unnecessarily, and glanced at me for orders.
‘Ease off,’ I said, considering the situation. ‘No point drawing their fire unless we have to.’ Figures were moving slowly towards us, lasguns levelled, silhouetted against the firelight. I squinted, trying to identify them. They wore plain fatigues, of a colour I couldn’t quite identify in the yellowish glow, but which looked grey or blue, and light flak armour of an even darker shade23.
‘PDF,’ Kasteen confirmed after a moment listening to the tactical net. ‘Loyalist, supporting the Arbites.’
‘Thank the Emperor for that,’ I said, and voxed Lustig. ‘They’re friendlies. Apparently.’
‘Understood.’ The sergeant’s voice was calm, picking up on my qualification, and I was pretty sure the troopers would be ready if we turned out to be mistaken. Call me paranoid if you like, and I’ll cheerfully admit to it, but I didn’t get to an honourable retirement by having a trusting nature.
A single figure was stepping out in front of the truck now, a hand raised, and Jurgen coasted to a halt. I straightened my uniform cap, and tried to look as commissarial as I could manage.
‘Who goes there?’ He was young, I noticed, his face still pitted with acne scars, and his helmet looked too big for his head. A lieutenant’s rank insignia had been painted in the centre of it, clearly visible; typical PDF sloppiness. The last thing you want in a firefight is an obvious sign saying, ‘Shoot me, I’m an officer.’ But then no one in the PDF ever really expects to go into combat, unless they make the grade the next time the Guard come recruiting, and that hadn’t happened on Gravalax in generations.
‘Colonel Kasteen, Valhallan 597th. And Commissar Cain.’ Kasteen leaned out of the cab window to talk to him. ‘Order your men aside.’
‘I can’t do that.’ His jaw took on a stubborn set. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Really?’ Kasteen looked at him as though she’d just found him on the sole of her boot. ‘I was under the impression that a colonel outranks a lieutenant. Isn’t that so, commissar?’
‘In my experience,’ I agreed. I leaned past her to address the young pup directly. ‘Or do you do things differently on Gravalax?’ He paled visibly as I raked him with the number two glare.
‘No, commissar. But I’ve been ordered not to let anyone past under any circumstances.’
‘I think you’ll find my authority supersedes any orders you may have been given,’ I said confidently. His jaw worked convulsively.
‘But the rebels are in control of the next sector,’ he said. ‘The tau are leaving their enclave–’
‘Lies!’ El’hassai jumped up on the flatbed behind us, now clearly visible to the young lieutenant and his PDF troopers. I was really beginning to suspect that the hotheaded tau had some sort of death wish, and one I’d be happy to grant if he carried on like this for much longer. ‘They remain behind the boundaries we agreed!’
‘Bluies!’ The lieutenant swung his lasgun up to cover us. Behind the barricade his men did the same. To my intense relief Lustig and his troopers kept their cool, keeping their own weapons lowered, or there would have been blood spilt within a heartbeat. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘You don’t have the security clearance to know,’ I said calmly, hiding my jangling nerves with the ease of years of practice. ‘I’m ordering you in the name of the Commissariat to let us pass.’
‘Traitors!’ one of the PDF trolls shouted. ‘They’re xeno-lovers! Probably stole the truck!’
‘Check with your superiors,’ I said, calmly as before, loosening the laspistol in its holster below the level of the window. ‘The Guard liaison office will confirm our identities.’
‘Yes.’ The young lieutenant nodded, trying to sound resolute, and wavered the barrel of his lasgun between Kasteen and me, unsure of which one of us to threaten. ‘We’ll do that. Right after you hand over the bluies.’
‘String ‘em up!’ someone else yelled, probably the same idiot who’d shouted before. The tau began to look agitated.
‘The xenos are under Imperial Guard protection,’ I said levelly, taking heart from his obvious indecision. ‘And that means mine. Stand aside in the Emperor’s name, or face the consequences.’
I suppose I was to blame for what happened next. I’d got so used to being around Guardsmen, who accepted my authority without question, that it never even occurred to me that the young lieutenant wouldn’t back down. But I’d reckoned without the PDF’s relative lack of discipline, and the fact that to them a commissar was just another officer in a fancy hat. The fear and respect that normally goes with the uniform just wasn’t there so far as they were concerned.
‘Sergeant!’ the lieutenant turned towards one of the troopers outlined by the firebarrels. ‘Arrest these traitors!’
‘Lustig,’ I said. ‘Fire.’ Even as I spoke I was levelling the laspistol. The lieutenant’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second as he began to turn back to us, the glint of vindictive triumph giving way to a momentary panic, and then half his face was gone as I squeezed the trigger.
I’ve killed a great many men over the years, so many that I lost count about a century back, and that’s not even taking into account the innumerable xenos I’ve dispatched. And I’ve barely lost a night’s sleep over any of them. It’s usually been them or me, and I don’t suppose they’d have been unduly troubled if things had gone the other way. But the lieutenant was different – not an enemy, or guilty of a capital crime – just stupid and overeager. Maybe that’s why I can still picture his expression so vividly.
The troopers in the back of the truck raised their lasguns, snapping out a burst of rapid fire while the PDF were still in shock. Only a few had time to react, diving for cover as the bolts burst around them, and Jurgen floored the accelerator.
‘Warp this!’ Kasteen ducked as a lasbolt from the defenders scored the cab door beside her, and drew her bolt pistol.
‘Take them all,’ I ordered. If there were any survivors, they’d be on the vox net in moments, betraying our position to whoever might be listening, and marking us as a target to be hunted down by either side. I was within my rights, you understand, they’d refused a direct order, which was more than enough reason for any commissar to have done the same, but I couldn’t help thinking of the lengths I’d gone to in order to avoid executing the five troopers aboard the Righteous Wrath who deserved it far more than these fools had.
No matter. Jurgen floored the accelerator and we burst through the barricade, a tardy PDF trooper falling beneath our wheels with a scream and an unpleasant crunching sound vaguely reminiscent of someone treading hard on a thin wooden box. The first line of barrels scattered like skittles, spinning away across the thoroughfare, clanging into the sides of buildings and inflicting severe dents in the bodywork of the groundcars parked nearby. By the time they stopped moving, most of the men opposing us were already dead. Whatever skills they’d acquired in basic training were pitifully inadequate in the face of veteran troopers who’d fought a hive fleet and survived. A few tried to stand their ground, snapping off hasty and badly aimed shots before the superior marksmanship of the Valhallans blew bloody, self-cauterising craters through heads and body armour. A muffled curse over the vox link told me that one of the troopers had been hit by the ragged return fire, but if she was able to swear like that it couldn’t be all that serious.
‘Hold on, commissar.’ Jurgen gunned the engine, and a jolt bounced through the truck as he knocked one of the burning barrels in the second rank aside. It spilled, blazing promethium spreading across the road behind us, consuming the bodies of the dead.
‘Runner.’ Kasteen tracked her target with the bolt pistol and fired. A thin trail of smoke connected the barrel with the back of a fleeing PDF man, punching through his body armour, and exploding in a rain of blood and bowel.
‘Nice shooting, colonel.’ I tapped the combead. ‘Lustig?’
‘That was the last one, sir,’ he said flatly. I could tell how he felt. Gunning down a virtually defenceless ally was hardly the blooding any of us would have chosen for our new regiment. But it had been necessary, I kept telling myself.
‘Any casualties?’
‘Trooper Penlan caught a ricochet. Just minor flash burns.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ I said. I hesitated. I needed to say something now, to maintain morale, but for once in my life my glib tongue had deserted me. ‘Tell them... Tell them I appreciate what they just did.’
‘Yes sir.’ There was an unexpected note of sympathy in the sergeant’s voice, and I realised that I’d said the right thing after all. They knew what was at stake here as much as I did.
We were silent for a long time after that. There was nothing to say, after all.
I’d hoped that distressing incident would have been enough of a blood price to see our mission through, but of course, I’d reckoned without the insensate mentality of the mob. The divisions between the loyalist and xenoist factions had had generations to fester here, and the animosity ran deep. As we came closer to the tau enclave, we began to see signs of bloody faction fighting that would have looked less out of place in the underhive than the prosperous merchant city we were driving through. Bodies were lying in the streets, or, in a few cases, hung from luminator poles, loyalists and xenoists alike, but most of them were in no condition to determine allegiance, or, for that matter, very much else. Kasteen shook her head.
‘Have you ever seen anything like this?’ she asked, more in shock than because she expected an answer. To her visible surprise, I nodded.
