Duty Calls, page 22
‘Two squads of PDF have arrived,’ Sulla told me, as Jurgen began threading the Salamander through the debris of the battle. Our treads crushed tyranid corpses pretty much everywhere we turned, and I found myself grudgingly impressed by the evident fighting prowess of the Battle Sisters, notwithstanding the fact that their single-minded zealotry still looked like coming within a hair of dooming us all. ‘They’re reluctant to accept our orders, though.’
‘Then use your best judgement,’ I said, not having any time to waste on this now. The battle was getting closer, and we were beginning to attract the attention of more of the ’nids. Sulla acknowledged me briefly, and cut the link, and to my immense relief I began to pick up a fresh source of signals almost immediately[74].
‘This is Commissar Ciaphas Cain,’ I transmitted at once, swinging the bolter to take down a pack of hormagaunts that had leapt over the heads of the Sisters on the left flank and were now bounding towards us with baleful intent. I noted the sudden renewal of their fighting spirit with trepidation. Clearly at least one synapse creature was coming within range and the tide of battle was about to turn, perhaps within a matter of seconds. ‘Disengage and fall back!’ The squad leader, who, now we’d come close enough to distinguish one psychotic psalm-singer from another, stood out from the others by virtue of the chainsword and bolt pistol in her hands, turned and looked in my direction. Like most of her Sisters she disdained the use of a helmet, despite the manifest foolishness of such a course[75], and her narrow face was clearly visible, framed by the rather unflattering hairstyle common to most women of her calling. Dark eyes glared at me from beneath a crudely cropped black fringe, which didn’t quite manage to hide the fleur de lys tattoo emblazoned on her freckle-spattered forehead.
Thin lips compressed in disapproval. ‘We’re servants of His Blessed Majesty,’ she snapped, ‘and not subject to the authority of your office. Go and shoot a few malingering Guardsmen like you’re supposed to, and leave us to our holy task.’
‘You’re about to be overrun,’ I said. ‘Getting yourselves slaughtered isn’t going to help the Emperor very much, is it?’
‘Our destinies lie in His hands alone,’ she responded, turning to disembowel a gaunt, which had just discharged its fleshborer at one of her comrades from point-blank range. The unfortunate woman shrieked as the living ammunition chewed most of her face away in an instant and began burrowing down beneath her armour in search of a vital organ or two, which they seemed to find mercifully quickly, judging by the way what was left of her suddenly spasmed and collapsed. I’d have expected the others to react in some fashion, but the hideous demise of their comrade only seemed to make them even more determined to fight on to the death.
Well, frak them then, I thought, bringing the bolter to bear on a group of purestrain ’stealers emerging from one of the other alley mouths I’d noticed before. Time to be going. I gave it one more try.
‘If you don’t pull back now, you’ll not only die for nothing, you’ll let the swarm in through the hole you’ve left in our lines,’ I said, fighting the feeling that I’d be better off talking to the ’nids. Then inspiration suddenly struck. ‘And as soon as that happens,’ I went on, ‘they’ll head straight for the temple and slaughter every civilian taking shelter in there, praying to the Emperor for deliverance. If you really want to report to the Golden Throne after allowing that kind of desecration to happen when you know you could have prevented it, I suppose that’s a matter between you and Him on Earth.’ I turned to my aide. ‘Get us out of here, Jurgen. We’ve done what we can.’
‘Right you are, commissar,’ he agreed, as phlegmatically as ever, and swung the agile little vehicle around on its tracks.
As I caught my first clear sight of what now lay behind us, my bowels spasmed. My worst fears were being realised. A veritable flood of chitinous horrors was pouring into the square from the side streets, and we were almost cut off from safety already. Leaving the Sister Superior to work out her own salvation, I crouched as low as I could, blazing away with the pintel-mounted weapon at anything that seemed to get too close, searching frantically for the larger creatures that would be imbuing the mass of scuttling obscenity with direction and purpose. I cut down one of the warrior forms as it aimed a deathspitter at us, but it fired as it fell, spattering the hull of our Salamander with foul smelling bio-acid as its payload of maggot-like creatures burst against the armour plate. A few stray droplets began eating away at my greatcoat, but fortunately I was able to shrug it off before it fully penetrated the weave, wishing I’d had the foresight to don my precious set of carapace armour beneath it.
‘Jurgen, the flamer!’ I ordered, and my aide complied, clearing our way with a gout of blazing promethium, which fortuitously caught another of the warrior forms in the backwash along with the gaunts it was directing. It went down, shrieking as it burned, and a moment later the Salamander lurched as the hideous creature finally expired beneath our treads. I ducked as another flight of gargoyles swooped low over our heads, flinching in anticipation of a deadly rain of fleshborer beetles, but it seemed they had another target in mind, the tyranid intelligence no doubt considering that it had enough flesh and chitin between us and safety to pick us off with little difficulty, and right then I found it hard to disagree. The gargoyles soared over one of the Battle Sister squads, strafing them as they went, then beat their wings lazily as they rose to go around for another pass. Two of the women fell, and the others returned fire with their bolters, bringing down a handful of the swooping monstrosities. The Celestians I’d spoken to were at least attempting to break out now, but I had a horrible suspicion that they’d left it too late. That was certainly true of their comrades on the right flank, half of whom had got themselves entangled in the flesh-ripping growth of a barbed strangler. One of them managed to trigger her flamer, burning her way free, but it was too late for her companions, strange thorned growths bursting out through their unprotected flesh. Why they never seem to bother to put the helmets on those power suits of theirs is completely beyond me[76].
‘Sulla,’ I voxed, trying to keep an edge of panic out of my voice, ‘we’re coming in hot. The ’nids have broken through.’
‘Acknowledged.’ Her voice sounded infuriatingly calm, although for all I know she was working as hard at giving that impression as I was. ‘We’ll cover you as soon as you’re in range.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ I said, raising my voice a little over the racket of the hull-mounted heavy bolter, which Jurgen was using in conjunction with the flamer to clear a path for us. I swung the pintel-mounted weapon, taking full advantage of its all around arc of fire to keep the fleas off our backs as best I could, the main weapons on the sturdy little vehicle being fixed forward. (Not for the first time blessing my foresight in having the thing installed, I may add.) ‘Any idea when that will be?’
‘Any time now,’ Sulla assured me, which, vague as it was, sounded pretty good. ‘Fourth squad’s moving up to support your retreat.’ She paused. ‘And the local mob insisted on going with them, for whatever that’s worth.’
Not a lot, I thought, if they were all in the same state as the ones we’d met before, but every little helped, and even if they just ended up as ’nid bait, that would at least distract the creatures for a moment or two while we made a break for it.
‘Commissar,’ Jurgen said, ‘really big one, two o’clock.’ I turned in the direction he’d indicated, my heart hammering. True enough, just out of the line of fire of our main weapons, the unmistakable bulk of a hive tyrant loomed, pointing a venom cannon in our direction. I ducked reflexively beneath the armour plate surrounding me an instant before the deadly rain of poison shards pattered against it, bobbing up almost at once to grab the bolter before the creature could fire again. I managed to stitch a burst across its chest, and it staggered, but stayed on its feet, shrieking like a damned heretic.
‘Hold on, commissar!’ a new voice chimed in. ‘We’re on the way!’ With a sudden flare of relief I recognised it as Sergeant Grifen, whose courage and competence I had good reason to trust, having passed through a necron tomb with her on Simia Orichalcae. True she’d lost most of her squad in the process, but that was hardly her fault, and she’d got me out in one piece, which was what mattered to me.
‘Glad you could join us,’ I said, conscious of having an image to maintain, and tried to get a line on the tyrant again. If I could only take it down, I thought, that might just disrupt the swarm long enough for us to make it to safety. The hope was a forlorn one, of course, there would be plenty of other synapse creatures within range by now, but when it’s the only one you’ve got, I’ve always found, even a forlorn hope can look pretty good.
The hulking monstrosity’s shrieking intensified, and, forewarned, I ducked below the armour plate again just as it vomited a ball of bio-plasma at me and charged forwards, striking out with its rending claws. The thick slab of metal protecting me ripped like tissue paper, our hurtling Salamander slowed, and I rolled frantically, trying to evade the reaching talons. There was no time to reach the heavy weapon, even if I could have got round the massive bulk of the monster rearing over me. Instead I drew my chainsword, striking out with it purely by reflex, and was rewarded with a gout of foul smelling ichor as the blade bit deep. The creature roared with rage and made to strike at me again, and I parried instinctively, slashing across its thorax, deepening the wounds made by the bolter.
‘I’ve got it,’ Jurgen said, imperturbable as ever, turning in his seat as he spoke, and I just had time to glimpse the melta in his hands before the actinic flash of its activation and the smell of charred meat enveloped my senses. The thing fell back, and our battered but unbowed Salamander leapt forward, leaving the wounded colossus staggering in our wake.
‘Well done,’ I complimented my aide, breathing a little heavily I must admit, and regaining my feet a trifle unsteadily even considering the fact that his driving was understandably more erratic than usual. He smiled, displaying teeth that would have made an ork recoil, and returned his attention to the controls. To my chagrin, though not I must admit to my complete surprise, the bolter was beyond use, fused and melted by the plasma burst, so I drew my laspistol and started plinking away at whatever targets presented themselves, more in hope than expectation.
‘Heads up, commissar,’ Grifen voxed, and to my immense relief fourth squad’s Chimera appeared in the gap between a restaurant and a clothing shop, the window dummies of which continued to watch the battle with the air of elegant disdain in which they’d been posed, despite a couple of stray rounds from our remaining bolter taking the head off one, which appeared to be dressed in little more than a few square centimetres of gauze and lace. Jurgen triggered the flamer again, burning a path through what seemed like a solid mass of gaunts, and we both crouched as low as we could while fleshborers rattled off our armour plate like deadly hail.
Crushing a couple of the ghastly things that had fallen inside the crew compartment next to me under my boot heel, I ventured a cautious look over the rim, just in time to see the Chimera’s heavy weapons open up, shredding the wounded tyrant, which had continued to charge doggedly in our wake despite the lead we were opening up.
‘Good shooting,’ I encouraged the unseen gunners, just as the spark and crackle of lasgun fire began to erupt from inside several of the buildings on that side of the square. I caught a glimpse of a couple of our troopers behind a first floor window, evidently the residence of whoever owned the restaurant, aiming and firing methodically as they sought out the synapse creatures they could see from their elevated position. A warrior ’nid a few score metres away from us recoiled as their lasbolts hit home almost simultaneously. ‘Thanks, Vorhees.’
‘You’re welcome, commissar,’ the male of the pair assured me, the barrel of his weapon already tracking another target. ‘Janny, eleven o’clock.’
‘I see it,’ Trooper Drere assured us both, managing to get her shot off an instant ahead of him this time, the faint hiss of her augmetic lungs audible in my comm-bead. ‘Frak, it’s fast!’
I turned, seeing another warrior sprinting towards us, an entourage of gaunts at its heels. No more tyrants around, thank the Emperor, and I began to believe we might actually make it. The surviving Battle Sisters had managed to cluster together, my old friend with the unbecoming haircut still keeping them in good order, although they seemed to have been whittled down to almost half their original number, and were forging their way back towards safety with relentless determination. Fair enough, the surviving synapse creatures still seemed to think they were the major threat, and were keeping the bulk of the swarm on the offensive against them, which was fine by me. If anything, I felt, it served the Emperor-bothering imbeciles right for dragging me into this mess in the first place.
More lasguns opened up, less disciplined and purposeful than the incoming fire from the Valhallans, but welcome nonetheless, and I caught a glimpse of the blue and grey uniformed Gavarronians taking what cover they could, or flattening themselves against the walls of the side streets. Random as it seemed, the fire they were putting out was at least felling a few of the gaunts, and even the occasional ’stealer. More muzzle flashes betrayed the presence of at least half of fourth squad behind the protection afforded by their Chimera, their bare arms slick with sweat[77] as they aimed and fired at the surviving warriors.
‘Keep going!’ I encouraged Jurgen, and he triggered the flamer again, incinerating another brood of purestrains that was forging towards us with murder in what passed for their minds. Even if we could disrupt the hive mind again, the ’stealers would still remain a potent threat if they were allowed to survive, still functioning with a unity of purpose largely independent of the main overmind. I downed another with a lucky pistol shot to the head, and the survivors scuttled away, apparently convinced we weren’t worth the effort. Or, more likely, just willing to let more of their mindless brethren wear us down before moving in for the kill. ‘We’re almost there!’
A couple of the PDF had heavy weapons with them, I saw now, a two-man team manhandling their rocket launcher into position for firing. I ducked reflexively as their missile left the tube, hurtling past us uncomfortably close, to detonate its payload of frag in the middle of a dense pocket of gaunts closing in on the Sisters.
‘That was a bit reckless,’ Jurgen commented evenly, relying entirely on the flamer to get us through the press of chitinous abominations, as any bolter rounds we popped off would be as dangerous to our allies as to the enemy.
I nodded. ‘Tell that idiot to watch where he’s pointing his drainpipe,’ I voxed, but before Grifen could respond the rocketeers fired again. This time the warhead dropped, detonating among the gaunts still peppering us ineffectually with fleshborers, shredding the majority of them most satisfactorily with its hail of shrapnel. Rather less satisfactory was the metallic clanging as several pieces of the warhead ricocheted from our severely battered armour plate, to be followed almost at once by an alarming rending noise.
The Salamander lurched abruptly to the left, banging my head painfully against the bulkhead separating the crew and passenger compartments, and then, to my horror, Jurgen cut the engine. ‘One of the tracks is jammed,’ he reported stoically, as though this was a misfortune on a par with the laundry shrinking a pair of my underpants. He hefted the melta. ‘We’ll have to make a run for it.’
‘Great,’ I said, shooting the face off a hormagaunt that had bounded up to us and attempted to remove my head. Our chances of getting out of here on foot were non-existent. Even the sainted sisterhood was having a hard time of it, and they were in power armour, for the Emperor’s sake. I stood up to parry another scything claw with my gently humming chainsword, blessing my duellist’s reflexes as I did so. That bang on the head must have been worse than I thought. I felt weak and giddy, and if it hadn’t been for the urgency of the situation making such a luxury too time-consuming, I’d probably have jettisoned my lunch. Blinking back the brown haze swirling in the corners of my vision I hacked and blocked like an automaton, no doubt displaying a complete lack of finesse that would have outraged old Miyamoto de Bergerac,[78] but which at least kept my head on my shoulders.
As the crowd of gaunts gave way, encouraged rather more by Jurgen’s adroit use of his melta than my feeble efforts I’m forced to concede, I suddenly found myself facing something a whole lot worse. Another hive tyrant, apparently bred purely for close combat, reared up behind them, slashing down with its twin sets of scything claws. I tried to block the rain of blows, but stumbled, my legs giving way without warning as the dark cloud over my eyes rushed in, and I found myself pitching over the side of the Salamander to land on the cobbles at its feet.
The unexpected movement may, of course, have saved my life, the vile creature’s flurry of strokes doing no more than inflict another massive dent on our sturdy little conveyance, but as I sprawled there I truly thought my last moment had come. Jurgen couldn’t fire his melta while I was that close to it, he’d vaporise me as well, and there wasn’t a heretic’s hope in hell that he’d be able to reach his lasgun in time. Even if he did, he’d just annoy it. I struck out at its leg with my chainsword, hoping to cripple the thing just long enough to roll away, although if I did I’d only get ripped apart by something else, probably. The phantom cloud blanketed my vision, and a dull roaring sound filled my ears. I knew I was going to lose consciousness at any moment, and as soon as I did, that would be the end of me. At least I wouldn’t be awake to feel it.
Frak that, I thought, the fierce survival instinct that has served me so well through so many desperate situations kicking in with a vengeance. If I am going to die, I’m going to take this walking obscenity with me. I rolled to my feet and staggered after it as it hopped back from my feeble strike, keeping inside the reach of its claws, and searching desperately for any sign of vulnerability. Emperor help me, if it had one I couldn’t see it.
