Cain's Last Stand, page 11
We did hit the rockcrete with a noticeable thump, which made Sprie wince, but in all honesty I’ve been in fully controlled landings heavier than that, and I was up and out of my seat even before he’d finished powering down. ‘Thank you,’ I said sincerely.
‘Not one of my better touchdowns,’ he replied, a touch ruefully, ‘but it’s done the job.’ He hit the control for the boarding ramp, and the smell of burned fuel and suppressed panic hissed in from outside, along with the growling of engines and a babble of voices.
‘And it’s time I got on with mine,’ I said.
‘You’d better make it quick, sir.’ Sprie indicated the auspex screen, on which a small cluster of fast-moving dots had just appeared. ‘We’re about to have company.’
EDITORIAL NOTE:
This seems as good a time as any to append the following, which gives a slightly wider overview of the subsequent action than Cain is able to supply from his own position in the thick of things.
From In Blackest Night: The Millennial Wars Appraised, by Ayjaepi Clothier, 127. M42.
Though the first incursion was driven off by the combined efforts of the Lucre Foedus and a concerted assault by the tactical fighter wing based at Rytepat aerodrome on the outskirts of Havendown, the fleeing heretics left a poisonous legacy behind them. Assault shuttles began to land in several places, where their occupants were able to wreak considerable havoc before the local PDF garrisons brought them to heel; none more so than in the planetary capital itself, which bore the brunt of the attack. It was in this action that Commissar Cain was first involved in the unfolding drama, having hastened to offer his services to the gallant defenders, who were, no doubt, suitably grateful.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘Who’s in charge here?’ I asked, hurrying down the ramp with a carefully assumed air of purposeful energy. If I’d read the auspex right, we had only a handful of minutes before the enemy arrived, and I wanted to be comfortably ensconced in a nice cosy command bunker before that happened.
The sergeant in charge of the group of troops lined up beside the truck I’d noticed before saluted, a little nervously. ‘That would be me, sir. Sergeant Benten.’
‘Commissar Cain,’ I said, as though he wouldn’t already know. ‘Good of you to come and meet me.’ I nodded at the nine troopers accompanying him. ‘Although I wasn’t really expecting an escort.’ That was the sort of thing a modest hero was supposed to say, of course, so I supposed I ought to say it. I never like to disappoint people, especially if there’s a chance that they’re going to live long enough to hold a grudge. I can’t deny I was pleased to see them, though; if I was about to be caught out in the open when the enemy arrived, it wasn’t going to hurt to have half a score of lasgun-toting troopers standing between me and a horde of Chaos-worshipping psychopaths. On the other hand, it would take precious moments to get them all embarked again. I returned the salute, trying to conceal my impatience, and took a step towards the cab of the truck. ‘Perhaps we’d better get going. I’m afraid we don’t have much time.’
‘No, sir.’ Benten clambered up after me, while the driver swung into his seat and gunned the engine, which, thank the Emperor, he’d had the sense to leave running. ‘We’ve got incoming contacts. But I’m sure you already know that.’
‘It was kind of hard to miss,’ I told him, wishing I was as relaxed as I was trying to appear. At least the dolts in the command post appeared to realise what was going on, though, and were reacting to it with some semblance of efficiency. A squadron of Hydras roared past us as we got underway, deploying around the landing pads and the runways used by the heavier cargo lifters[32], their quad barrels sweeping the sky for the first sign of the approaching enemy. Over by the perimeter, more troopers were running to man fixed weapon emplacements, and as we began to pick up speed towards the PDF compound adjacent to the aerodrome I could see similar efforts under way around the complex of stores and barrack blocks beyond the chain link fence separating the two installations.
‘Get those luminators doused,’ I voxed the command centre. There were no more friendly aircraft behind us, and the bright lights around the runway and the landing pads would only serve to guide the enemy to their target. After a moment they went dark, along with the external floodlights dotted around the PDF compound, and a few seconds later the lights in the buildings began to flicker out too. As the gathering night overtook the military sites, the distant lights of the city seemed to shine clearer and stronger by contrast, and I began to wonder if perhaps there was a flaw in my strategy; if the enemy pilots overlooked us entirely, and aimed for the most visible target instead, they’d be coming down smack in the middle of the planetary capital.
Oh well, too late to worry about that now, and I didn’t suppose it would make much difference in any case; in my experience the forces of Chaos would far rather slaughter unarmed civilians than get into a stand-up fight with real soldiers. (Or, in this case, the dregs of the PDF, but they were all we had, so I’d just have to make the best of it.) Our driver reached out a hand to the headlight switch on the dashboard, then hesitated before flicking it.
‘Wait,’ Benten told him. ‘Let your eyes adjust.’ We’d have the advantage in the initial exchange of fire now, our night vision already working, whereas the enemy would still be trying to get orientated as they stumbled out of the landing craft.
Relieved that the sergeant understood, I nodded. ‘It’s not as if there’s much out here to hit,’ I told the driver encouragingly, just as another Hydra loomed up out of nowhere, forcing us to swerve. In a moment or two, though, our driver’s confidence returned, and he accelerated through the thickening evening twilight. The gate in the chain link fence was growing closer, seeming to glow faintly in the yellowish radiance of the city in the distance, and I began to think we might just make it to safety before the attack began.
Of course I was wrong. Something big and dark howled overhead, shrieking like a daemon getting its first whiff of Jurgen, and ploughed into the rockcrete ahead of us, gouging a trench as it went, bouncing our hurtling truck on its springs. The driver swung the wheel frantically as the crippled shuttle slithered towards the fence in a shower of pulverised ‘crete, sparks and flames spewing all around it as though it had just been vomited up by hell itself, demolishing the fragile barrier before finally coming to rest. We clipped the edge of the furrow it had left and began to roll, bouncing back upright again by a miracle, and roared through a pool of blazing promethium. A second or two later our burning tyres burst, unable to sustain the pressure of the expanding air inside them.
‘Everyone out!’ I commanded, as we slewed to a halt. We’d be sitting ducks in an immobilised vehicle. Time to leg it, and find some more solid cover.
I glanced around. The Hydras were engaging the incoming shuttles in earnest now, their guns hammering, lighting up the darkness with vivid orange flashes, and ripping most of the enemy drop-ships to shreds. Hardly surprising, too; as one exploded in midair a few hundred metres away, raining fire, debris, and body parts onto the apron below, I could see by the light of its destruction that most of the formation was made up of unarmoured civilian craft, apparently pressed into service, rather than the more robust military ships I might have expected. That meant that this little expedition had been dispatched ahead of the main fleet in a hurry, although there wasn’t time to ponder the full implications of that at the moment.
‘This way, sir!’ Benten gestured towards a blockhouse standing off to one side, the kind of thing you see scattered around starports and aerodromes all the time without ever stopping to wonder what might be in them, and we began to run towards it. This particular example, once the door had been persuaded open by a couple of las-bolts and a swipe from my chainsword, proved to house firefighting equipment. (Rather ironically, I found myself thinking at the time.) We piled inside, grateful for the thick walls, and I set the troopers to rolling the most solid pieces of kit we could find across the entrance to set up a tolerable firing position.
‘This seems defensible enough,’ Benten said, and I nodded grimly.
‘It’s going to have to be,’ I said. Despite the best efforts of the Hydra gunners, several of the shuttles were down more or less in one piece, and dim figures were piling out of them, silhouetted nicely by the flames of their arrival for the most part, looking for a target to engage. They were finding them too; local troopers were hurrying to intercept them, trucks and light utility vehicles hurtling across the runways, pintel-mounted stubbers blazing away as they came, while slower-moving Chimera troop carriers followed in their wake, the multi-lasers in their turrets seeking out the largest concentrations of enemy soldiers.
They weren’t getting it all their own way, though; some of the intruders were armed with rocket launchers, engaging the oncoming armour as smoothly and efficiently as Imperial Guardsmen, working in cohesive heavy weapons teams. I felt a prickling sensation in the palms of my hands, and flinched as one of the Chimeras exploded; instead of wasting time in hysterical jubilation, like the Chaotic rabbles I’d generally faced before, the enemy troopers simply prepared to fire again.
‘Aim for the heavy weapon teams,’ I told Benten, who relayed the instruction to the rest of the squad with undisguised enthusiasm. The enemy hadn’t seen us yet, although it could only be a matter of time, and I didn’t want to squander the advantage of surprise. If we could take out the rocketeers, and let the Chimeras advance unmolested, I’d be able to complete my interrupted journey surrounded by armour plate, which ought to be proof against whatever small arms the invaders carried.
Our first volley took them in the flank, dropping a couple of the gunners and a brace of loaders, and attracting the attention of their small-arms toting squad mates. To my surprise the answering fire which began to patter off the reassuringly solid rockcrete surrounding us was a hail of las-bolts, rather than the odd mixture of rounds from obsolete firearms and whatever else they’d been able to scavenge which I’d expected, and my palms began to itch even more strongly than before. Something about this situation definitely wasn’t right.
‘We’re getting reports from the tribunes in Havendown,’ a voice in my comm-bead told me, tense with stress. ‘Three enemy shuttles are down inside the city. The enemy’s deploying, and firing on the civilian population. The tribunes are mobilising riot squads, but they’re unable to contain them.’
‘Get a platoon or two in there to back them up,’ I instructed, wishing I’d made it to the bunker, where I’d have a nice big hololith to help me keep track of which units were where, not to mention a distinct lack of heretics trying to part my hair with a las-bolt. Then inspiration struck, and I fished my data-slate out of my greatcoat pocket[33]. ‘Patch a tactical update to my slate.’
Fortunately their tech-priests were quick off the mark with the correct incantations, and my commissarial override codes got me into the core of the PDF datanet without any problems, so I was able to run a quick eye over the troop dispositions while Benten and his men played pot the heretic with every sign of enjoyment. The walls of our makeshift redoubt were strong, and so far we hadn’t sustained any casualties, to my carefully concealed surprise.
‘Third company, first, fourth and sixth platoons,’ I said. ‘They’re mounted up and unengaged.’ At least according to the data I had they were, sitting in their Chimeras ready to lead a death or glory charge down the main road to Havendown the minute a non-existent heretic horde showed their faces.
‘But that would leave the southern perimeter virtually undefended,’ my unseen interlocutor objected.
‘There’s nothing to defend it from, until the enemy in the city gets tired of murdering civilians,’ I snapped, hoping I was right. ‘Take the fight to them, and put a stop to it.’ Right then, of course, I was more interested in saving my own neck, but I knew that if we wanted to have even a prayer of holding on to this world in the long term we needed to convince the proles that we could defend them. Otherwise morale would go through the floor, and we wouldn’t have a hope in hell of maintaining order.
‘Yes, sir.’ Whoever it was in command clearly didn’t like my call, but that wasn’t my concern; mindful that I’d been left with a distinctly unwelcome errand for the Inquisition, I was keeping the bigger picture in mind, as well as the more pressing matter of staying alive long enough to say ‘I told you so.’
‘They’re advancing,’ Benten told me, abruptly shattering the illusion that I’d found a reasonably safe bolt hole from which to observe things until the noise stopped. ‘By fire and movement.’
‘Are you sure?’ I asked. In my experience the forces of Chaos advanced in a single, un-coordinated rush, screaming blasphemous gibberish, and obligingly dying in droves without displaying anything remotely like sensible tactics.
Benten nodded, clearly piqued by what must have sounded like a lack of confidence in his abilities, and gestured towards the doorway. ‘See for yourself,’ he said.
‘I’ve no doubt you’re right,’ I said, repairing the damage as best I could, ‘but that’s extremely unusual.’ I peered out at the twilight battlefield, unable for a moment to distinguish friend from foe in the deepening gloom, which in itself was disturbing. The Chimeras and the fast-moving light vehicles were rolling up the enemy flanks, now we’d put a dent in their anti-armour capability, and the main bulk of the Chaotic force was pulling back in our direction. Not good. I ducked back reflexively as a volley of las-rounds gouged little craters from the rockcrete walls defending us, and sent a couple of shots back from my laspistol in reply, with no noticeable effect. As the sergeant had said, while half the group facing us fired, forcing us to keep our heads down, the rest of the shadowy figures hurried forward, racing for the refuge of the next piece of cover or patch of darkness.
‘Is it?’ Benten asked, and I nodded, beginning to feel seriously concerned. It would only be a matter of time before one of those figures got close enough to lob a grenade in here, at which point all bets would be off.
‘It is. I’ve seldom seen Chaotic troops so disciplined,’ I said, paging through the datafiles in search of the callsign I wanted. I could always have gone through the command centre, of course, but as you’ve no doubt deduced, I didn’t have a lot of confidence in them, and where saving my skin is concerned I prefer not to delegate. Finding the one I wanted, I cut into the comnet with my commissarial clearance. ‘Vacca Ferreus, this is Commissar Cain, requesting pickup for my escort detail.’ As always, I was careful to phrase things so that my primary concern would seem to be the welfare of the troopers I was with, rather than my own miserable skin. ‘We’re pinned down, and about to be overrun.’
‘Vacca Ferreus responding,’ a faintly overawed voice replied, and the nearest Chimera accelerated in our direction, spitting incandescent death from the multi-laser in its main turret, while the forward-mounted heavy bolter chewed away at the heretics advancing on our position. A volley of small-arms fire greeted it, peppering its armour plate with scorch marks, and surrounding it with a nimbus of sparks from the flecks of paint which vaporised with every hit, but nothing vital seemed to be damaged, and within moments it was slewing to a halt next to where we were holed up. The driver rotated the heavy vehicle on its tracks, keeping the hull-mounted anti-personnel weapon and the heaviest armour pointing at the enemy troopers, and the rear boarding ramp clanged to the rockcrete ahead of us.
‘This way!’ The vehicle’s commander was waiting inside, a laspistol in his hand, and gestured us forward. ‘We’ll cover you!’
‘Much obliged,’ I told him, hanging back a little to make sure none of the troopers got shot by an unsuspected flanking unit on the short but nerve-racking journey across the open space in between. No one did, so I followed a moment later, secure in the knowledge that, by being the last to leave our refuge, I’d just consolidated my undeserved reputation for being concerned for the welfare of the common troopers yet again.
I was halfway across the open space when I caught sight of a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye, and the coin finally dropped. Of course the enemy had outflanked us, just as I’d feared: they just weren’t stupid enough to betray their position by potting a few expendable troopers when there was a Hero of the Imperium there to gun down instead. I raised my pistol, then hesitated; the figures in the gloom seemed to be wearing standard Munitorum issue flak armour after all.
‘Commissar! Wait!’ The leader of the soldiers running towards me called out as he came. ‘I’ve got a message from the command bunker!’
I shot him, all doubts abruptly dispelled, and he fell, but his fellow troopers came on, bringing up their lasguns to fire. Fortunately, in order to perpetrate their little masquerade, they’d held the barrels down, and had to bring them back on aim before they could shoot at me; that gave me a split second to act, and I took it, diving for the open hatch of the Chimera, from which warm, yellow light was spilling. A volley of las-bolts followed me, but fortunately it’s almost impossible to shoot accurately and run at the same time, so I hit the deck and rolled to my feet with little more to show for the experience than a thick smear of grime on my greatcoat, and a few scorched holes around the hem where the heretic scum had got almost, but not quite, lucky enough.
‘Commissar! How did you know?’ the Chimera commander, a Sergeant Blease according to the name stencilled on his torso armour, asked, looking stunned.
‘If the bunker had a message, they would have voxed it,’ I replied, as the heavy armour plate rose to shield us from the blizzard of shots. Just in the nick of time, too; even on the run you can put enough las-bolts into the air to make things extremely unhealthy, if you switch to full auto, which most of the heretic squad seemed to have done. The turret above us rotated rapidly, with a whine of servos, the multi-laser barked once, and it all went quiet outside again. I turned to Benten. ‘Back outside,’ I said. ‘Let’s mop them up before they can regroup.’
