Duty Calls, page 23
‘Commissar, get down!’ Grifen’s voice barked in my ear, and I complied without thinking, my knees giving way again and pitching me onto the ground. The roaring noise was louder now, but only when it was joined by the unmistakable chatter of a heavy bolter did I realise that I’d been hearing more than the blood in my ears. Fourth squad’s Chimera was charging to our rescue, both its heavy weapons chattering angrily as it came, and the looming monstrosity that had so nearly taken my life came apart in the middle like an overused practice dummy on the bayonet range. Lumps of offal pattered around me like obscene hailstones as the hideous creature slumped ponderously to the ground.
‘Come on, sir.’ A short, redheaded woman appeared through the haze obstructing my vision, hefting her lasgun one-handed as she fired it insouciantly at a nearby hormagaunt. She reached her other hand down to me, and I took it gratefully, allowing her to haul me to my feet, where I stood, staring around in vague incomprehension. ‘There you go, commissar, up we get.’
‘Thank you, Magot,’ I said, the fog growing thicker than ever. I swayed again, buoyed up by a sudden, and surprisingly welcome, burst of Jurgen’s distinctive aroma. My aide appeared through the brown miasma, clutching my pistol and chainsword as well as his own weapons, an unaccustomed expression of concern on his grimy features.
‘I’ve got your kit, sir. I’m afraid the coat’s had it, though.’
‘Get moving! Chat later.’ Grifen took hold of one of my arms, Magot the other, and hustled me up the Chimera’s boarding ramp, while its turret rotated, scything down most of the ’nids in the immediate vicinity.
‘Much obliged,’ I said, as the hatch clanged shut behind us, and our driver gunned the engine, hurling us back towards the relative safety of our lines. There was something I ought to say, I thought, or do, something important, but it wouldn’t come to me what it was. Then the fog swirled in at last, and I lost interest in everything.
EDITORIAL NOTE:
Quite understandably under the circumstances, Cain picks up his account of events after a gap of almost three days. Such lacunae are far from uncommon in his memoirs, of course, and I habitually fill them in from other sources whenever appropriate material is to hand. Although it must be said that in very few instances are such interpolations quite as essential as they are here. Once again I feel I should apologise for including more of Jenit Sulla’s attempts to batter the Gothic language into submission, but as always her position on the fringes of Cain’s activities has left us with a potentially revealing insight into the wider picture, which he so seldom considers himself.
From Like a Phoenix on the Wing: The Early Campaigns and Glorious Victories of the Valhallan 597th by General Jenit Sulla (retired), 101 M42
The news that our gallant commissar had fallen was greeted with a mixture of incredulity and horror. We had all lost valued friends and comrades before, of course, for such is the lot of the common soldier, and all of us were equally willing to lay down our own lives in the service of the Emperor, but our hearts froze within us at the first intimation of these dolorous tidings.
My vox operator’s voice trembled noticeably as he informed me of the transmission he’d just received, and I must own to suppressing a faint cry of distress myself. Commissar Cain had forged and moulded the 597th, his inspirational leadership bringing us victory time and time again, even against the most hopeless odds, but it wasn’t just because of this that he embodied everything that was good about our regiment. During those tense few moments I found myself recalling innumerable instances of his unfailing courage, his constant concern for even the humblest trooper, and the many conversations we’d had in which his innate good humour, and evident regard for my qualities of leadership, had done so much to bolster my confidence in the dark times when the spectre of self-doubt had threatened to impair my effectiveness as a commander.
It was with no little sense of relief, then, that we received the joyful intelligence from fourth squad that their medic had examined him and pronounced him in no danger. Surely it would take more than a small force of tyranids to put paid to so redoubtable a warrior? The noble commissar, it seemed, had sustained a minor head wound, the effects of which had been exacerbated by the noxious fumes from a deathspitter round that had burst close to where he had fought so heroically against the tide of xenos-spawned corruption.
The Chimera conveying his unconscious form to safety rendezvoused with us before long, and I lost no time in ensuring that he was conveyed back to Hoarfell with the first transport shuttle to return with reinforcements, less than an hour later. By that time we had all too many wounded of our own to accompany him, but those of us who remained uninjured, or lightly enough so to continue discharging our duty to His Divine Majesty, persisted in the defence of Aceralbaterra, eventually prevailing by the grace of the Emperor.
It need hardly be said that Commissar Cain must take the greater part of the credit for this notable victory, for it was he alone who was responsible for dispatching no fewer than two of the hive tyrants directing the throng of scuttling foulness that beset us on all sides. Deprived of the guidance of these creatures the swarm began to lose cohesion, the remaining lesser creatures being too few in number to co-ordinate them effectively, and what had up until that point seemed an unstoppable advance began to falter.
As for the PDF lackwits whose ill-timed intervention had cost the commissar so dear, their fate remains shrouded in mystery. Loyal above all else to the righteous warriors of the Adepta Sororitas, to whose aid they had so disastrously gone, they remained to cover the holy Sisters’ retreat as best they could. Whether any survived, I couldn’t truthfully say, preoccupied as I was by ensuring the most effective deployment of my own troopers, and by my understandable concern for the welfare of Commissar Cain.
What that may have been I have no idea, but suspect it was to give thanks for their deliverance. For which, impious as the assertion may seem, I consider they had our noble commissar to thank at least as much as they did the Emperor Himself.
From Periremunda Today: The News That Matters to Your Planet, 287 933 M41
PERIREMUNDA IS SAVED!
TYRANIDS FLEE AS RELIEF FLEET ARRIVES!
The stoic resistance of our beleaguered citizens was rewarded late last night with the long awaited news that the task force dispatched from Coronus Prime has just emerged from the warp on the fringes of our system, and that a mighty flotilla of warships now protects our beloved homeworld from the looming terror of the approaching hive fleet. Not only that, the war on the ground has taken a positive turn too, with the arrival of two fresh battalions of Imperial Guard veterans, eager to mop up the remaining tyranid interlopers that continue to befoul the sacred soil of our Emperor blessed globe. With such a mighty force at their disposal, it can surely only be a matter of time before Periremunda is cleansed forever of the taint of xenos contamination.
In a full and frank interview, Governor Pismire commented, ‘Golly, that is good news. Are you sure about this? Who told you?’
Communiqué 47783/320/34598543, dated 292 933 M41
FROM: Admiral Bowe, commanding officer of Naval task force Divine Intervention.
TO: Lord General Zyvan, commanding officer Imperial ground forces, Periremunda system.
I’m pleased to report that deployment of our Naval assets has gone according to plan, and that eight separate flotillas of both Capital- and Escort-class vessels are standing ready to intercept the approaching hive fleet the moment it emerges from the warp. Our transport vessels are inbound, and should begin offloading your men within the hour. I’m sure you’ll know what to do with them.
Our astropaths can’t be entirely sure, with the shadow still blanking everything, but our best estimate is that the bulk of the tyranid forces will arrive in no more than a day or two, so you’d better get them deployed fast.
Hope we can get together for a drink and a regicide game once the dust settles.
Regards,
Benjamin
From Like a Phoenix on the Wing: The Early Campaigns and Glorious Victories of the Valhallan 597th by General Jenit Sulla (retired), 101 M42
The opening salvos in the final battle for Periremunda were to be fired before long, and as that storm broke around us, I found myself considering how frustrating Commissar Cain must have found it to be confined to the medicae facility while the regiment went into action against so vile and inhuman a foe.
The battle began, of course, in deep space, the living ships of the hive fleet vomiting forth from the warp as though even that abominable realm was unable to stomach their foulness, to be met head on by the cream of the Imperial Navy. The struggle that ensued in the never-ending night among the stars must have been titanic indeed. From our position on the ground we were able to discern quite clearly innumerable flashes in the heavens, as living behemoths of unnaturally sculpted flesh met metal hulls sanctified by the Adeptus Mechanicus in the name of the Emperor, the cleansing fire of their mighty weapons, and the indomitable courage of their crews[79].
Though the fighting spirit of both crews and vessels alike remained undiminished the sheer number of tyranid organisms facing them eventually began to tell, in a manner strikingly similar to those instances when their ground dwelling monstrosities face the unyielding resistance of the Imperial Guard. Admiral Bowe quite properly concentrated much of the fire from his battleships against the larger behemoths, hoping thereby to diminish the effectiveness of the fleet as a whole, leaving the smaller tyranid creatures to his cruisers and escorts. Successful as they undoubtedly were in this task, despite the number of vessels crippled or destroyed by the vengeful monstrosities they faced, a goodly number of these insidious organisms were able to slip through the cordon, and, as we’d feared, begin to rain mycetic spores onto the planet below.
By great good fortune the vast majority of these seeds of destruction fell in the wasteland between plateaux, leaving relatively few to drop on the inhabited areas, many of which had been garrisoned by Imperial Guard troopers scarcely less able than those I was privileged to serve with. Suffice it to say that, whatever hopes of an easy victory the malign, inhuman intellect of the hive mind may have entertained, it was in for a rude awakening. Plateau after plateau was able to repulse the invaders, while those centres of population unfortunate enough still to be reliant on the Planetary Defence Forces for succour were evacuated as rapidly as possible.
On Hoarfell, I’m pleased to say, Colonel Kasteen’s far-sighted preparations proved more than adequate, and only one incursion actually succeeded in posing a serious threat to our position in Darien.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘It could simply have been an accident,’ Kasteen said, a faint edge of doubt in her voice. ‘You said yourself they were totally exhausted, and the PDF aren’t exactly the best soldiers in the galaxy to begin with.’
Broklaw nodded, and handed me a bowl of tanna, which I took, grateful for the augmetic fingers that let me hold it steady enough to drink without spilling. That morning I’d finally had enough of being prodded and mauled by our medicae, despite the obvious attractions of lounging around in bed while the regiment took on the latest tyranid incursions without me, and hauled myself upright, trying to ignore the waves of nausea that continued to overtake me every time I turned my head too suddenly. The notion that the ’nids might be moving in on our garrison while I lay there oblivious, suffering from nothing worse than what felt like a severe hangover, nagged at my innate sense of paranoia, to the point where nothing would settle my apprehension short of a trip to our command centre to check out the tactical situation for myself.
‘I’d advise against it,’ the chirurgeon had told me, holding up an indeterminate number of blurry fingers in front of my eyes. ‘Concussion’s a tricky thing.’ He nodded at the pair of augmetic digits on my right hand. ‘Frak up your brain, and I won’t be able to replace it as easily as those.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ I told him shortly, and smiled to ease the sting of my unthinking retort. ‘At least for as long as I’ve got one.’
‘Well, if you’re determined,’ the fellow said, shrugging. I’d been expecting more of an argument, to be honest; only later did it dawn on me that, thanks to my undeserved reputation, he must have taken it for granted that I’d be itching to get back to the front line as quickly as possible and would be in no mood to take no for an answer. Either that, or the prospect of finally being able to rid his hospital of the health hazard posed by Jurgen, who had taken it upon himself to camp in the corridor outside my room for the entire duration of my stay, was too good to pass up. By the time my aide had appeared, a second or two after my nose had first registered his presence, bearing a clean uniform and my battered old weapons, I’d swung my legs off the bed and was beginning to feel more than satisfied with my decision.
It was only after we’d left, of course, that I began to doubt the wisdom of it, the first blast of a breeze, quite mild by Hoarfell’s standards, making me stagger as the outer doors swung closed behind us. Jurgen held out a supporting arm, which, after a moment’s understandable hesitation, I took, reasoning that I was at least upwind of him, and that it would do the morale of the regiment, not to mention my status as a Hero of the Imperium, no good at all if I keeled over flat on my arse in front of a building full of sniggering troopers.
‘Not far now, sir,’ Jurgen assured me, leading the way to a comfortably appointed staff car that he’d managed to appropriate from somewhere, apparently having decided, quite correctly, that I was in no condition (or mood, come to that) to be bouncing around in the back of another Salamander at the moment. I settled into the soft upholstery with an involuntary sigh of relief, reminded of our eventful journey in Keesh’s limousine so shortly after our arrival, although of course this particular vehicle was nowhere near as luxurious as the arbitrator’s personal transport had been.
As Jurgen pulled away from the kerb I found myself recalling that earlier eventful trip, the first occasion after our arrival on which someone had tried to kill me without warning, in some detail. That time, at least, my assailants’ motives had been clear enough. Keesh was the intended target, and I’d simply been the victim of an unfortunate case of mistaken identity.
The other attempts on my life had been very different, though, intended to kill me specifically without a shadow of a doubt, but that had been pretty much the only thing they’d had in common. Try as I might, I still couldn’t see any reason why a renegade techpriest would throw in his lot with a coven of Chaos cultists. Nor, for that matter, why either would go to so much trouble to eliminate me, who hardly posed much of a threat to either of them. At least no one had tried again.
My palms began to tingle, in that old familiar fashion I’d learned to trust over the years. The PDF troopers with the rocket launcher could simply have been over-excited or incompetent, of course, but they’d come within a hair of killing me just the same, and in a fashion no one could possibly consider deliberate; not unless they had a mind as nasty and devious as mine, anyway.
I voiced my suspicions as soon as I was alone with Kasteen and Broklaw, the two people in the regiment who were as close to friends as it was possible to be, given our respective positions, and the two whose judgement I was most inclined to trust.
Both officers listened in silence as I spoke, nodding as I finished speaking and sat back in my chair with an expectant air.
‘If you are right,’ the major said, resuming his seat and picking up his own tanna bowl, ‘you’re going to have Horus’s own time proving it. If they really wanted to kill you out there, why not just lob a krak round at you and make sure of the job?’
Kasteen nodded her agreement. ‘That would have taken out a Salamander pretty easily,’ she pointed out. ‘Frag warheads are next to useless against an armoured vehicle. It was just a fluke your tracks getting jammed like that.’
‘Normally I’d agree,’ I said, sipping the fragrant liquid gratefully, ‘but I was in an open passenger compartment, standing up at the pintel mount. If they’d hit a little closer, I’d have been taken out by the shrapnel as readily as the ’nids.’
‘And don’t forget most of fourth squad had a clear view of what was going on,’ Broklaw added helpfully, having apparently been struck by a fresh idea. ‘If it really was another assassination attempt, popping off a krak round against a dispersed target would have seemed distinctly odd to most of them.’
‘Whereas a frag rocket was exactly what anyone watching would have been expecting them to use. If they had shredded me, no one would have suspected a thing.’ I shrugged ruefully. ‘Let’s face it, I’d hardly have been the first commissar to be killed by a friendly fire accident.’
‘That’s true,’ the colonel conceded, with a meaningful glance at Broklaw. It wouldn’t be entirely true to say that as many of my colleagues fall at the hands of the men they’re serving with as to the guns of the enemy, but far more do than is generally admitted, which, given the nature of our job, is hardly surprising. That, incidentally, is why I try to get the young whelps I’m responsible for these days to realise that they’ll do far better by relying on tact and commonsense than the letter of the regulations. (Or at least last a bit longer.) ‘But why would they want to? It’s not as if you’d executed any of their friends, is it?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. I sighed, already regretting the impulse to get out of bed. My head was throbbing gently again, as though I’d drunk about three glasses of amasec more than was sensible, but without the consolation of having had the convivial time that ought to have left me feeling that way. ‘But why would a Chaos cult and a renegade techpriest I’d never heard of be gunning for me either?’
