For The Emperor, page 15
I hosed down their pursuers again, hoping to throw off their aim at least, but for every one I felled, another seemed to replace it, moving with an eerie precision which seemed somehow familiar. There was no time to worry about it now, though. I reached down to grasp the fingers of the old scribe, which to my total lack of surprise were also augmetics, and haul him aboard.
‘Much obliged,’ he said, dropping into the crew compartment, and glancing around with evident interest. ‘An Imperial Guard Salamander. Good solid piece of kit. Manufactured on Triplex Vall, unless I miss my guess...’
I left him to gather whatever wits he had, and turned to the others.
‘Jurgen!’ I shouted. ‘Help the women!’ Orelius took a las-bolt to the shoulder, dropping his handgun. I wasn’t about to lose him now, not after going through all this, so I jumped down, drawing my laspistol, and went to help him up.
‘Commissar Cain?’ He looked slightly confused until I remembered my makeshift smoke mask and pulled it down; it wasn’t doing a damn bit of good now anyway. The whole building around us was ablaze, the heat terrific, and I suddenly remembered the promethium tanks of the heavy flamer aboard the Salamander. Well, it was too late to worry about that now. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I heard you needed a lift,’ I said, hauling him to his feet, and aiming a couple of speculative shots in the vague direction of the enemy. I dragged him back to the vehicle, where Jurgen was doing his best to help the women, but Rakel wasn’t exactly cooperating. She seemed terrified of him, struggling against her companion’s grip in an effort to get away.
‘He’s nothing! Nothing!’ she shrieked, which seemed a little harsh to me. All right, he wasn’t the most prepossessing trooper in the guard, but once you got past the smell and the interesting collection of skin diseases, he had his good points. Then she convulsed suddenly and passed out, dribbling foam between her clenched teeth.
I hustled Orelius aboard, hefted Rakel’s dead weight like a sack of tubers, and let the scribe take her. He lifted her easily with his augmetic limbs, and I climbed up myself beside the woman in black as Jurgen returned to the driver’s compartment and gunned the engine.
‘Jurgen! Get us out of here!’ I yelled, and he opened the throttle fully.
‘With pleasure, commissar.’ The Salamander leapt forwards, breaking for the shattered loading door we’d come in by, and clipped the frame as we passed through, gouging a shower of sparks from it. As we gained the street, the furnace heat seemed to drop away, although it was still hot enough to raise blisters from our paintwork. I sagged with relief, trembling with the reaction, still trying to comprehend what an insanely risky thing I’d done. As if to underline how close we’d come, the building collapsed behind us with a roar of tumbling masonry.
Well, there’s no point cheating death with an act of insane bravery if no one’s in a position to praise you for it, so I voxed Crassus.
‘Crassus,’ I said. ‘The inquisitor’s safe.’
‘So I am.’ The woman in black dropped her hood, revealing a face I’d thought about often in the last few days. With blonde hair and blue eyes, she was even more beautiful than I’d remembered, and the voice I’d last heard singing sentimental ballards still had the faint edge of huskiness that had made my heart skip.
Amberley Vail gazed at me with what I took to be faint amusement as my jaw dropped open, an inquisitorial electoo flashing into visibility in the palm of her hand. ‘Thank you, commissar,’ she added, smiling sweetly.
Editorial Note:
Once again, it seems prudent to insert a little material from other sources here, as the Valhallans’ expedition against the xenoist defectors was to have unexpected repercussions. Cain, as we might expect, has little to say on the matter himself as his attention was elsewhere.
The first is extracted from the after-action report of Major Ruput Broklaw, made on 593.931 M41, shortly after the engagement was successfully concluded.
After the preliminary bombardment ceased both infantry platoons disembarked from their Chimeras, which had been dispersed around the perimeter of the rebel-occupied zone in accordance with the previously determined deployments. Third Platoon was supported by First Sentinel Squadron on the left flank, Fifth Platoon by Second Squadron on the right, leaving Third Squadron with the company command element as a mobile reserve.
Resistance was light, as anticipated, and Fifth Platoon rolled up their flank with little difficulty apart from a couple of heavy exchanges of fire with dug-in survivors of the bombardment. Lieutenant Faril called in Sentinel support for the two squads thus engaged, which committed our reserve squadron. The flamer-equipped Sentinel in each group clear out the entrenchments with little difficulty after the other two laid down suppressive fire from their multi-lasers to allow them to approach.
On the left, things didn’t run quite so smoothly. As Fourth Squad of Third Platoon came under crossfire from two enemy positions, pinning them in place. The flamer Sentinel sent to assist was struck and disabled by a krak missile, forcing its fellows into a defensive posture which severely attenuated the effectiveness of their suppressive fire.
At this point, Lieutenant Sulla broke the deadlock by leading her command squad in a flank attack against one of the enemy positions, while Second Squad under Sergeant Lustig hit the other. By luck or good judgment, both were able to carry the positions almost simultaneously, allowing the remaining Sentinels to close and Fourth Squad to advance.
I am still undecided as to whether Lieutenant Sulla’s action was bold or reckless, but it was undeniably effective.
Extracted from Like a Phoenix From the Flames: The Founding of the 597th, by General Jenit Sulla (retired), 097.M42.
Notwithstanding Commissar Cain’s assurances that resistance would be light, as indeed was to prove the case, I felt more than a touch of apprehension as the barrage ceased and Major Broklaw gave the order to advance. Not at the prospect of combat itself – the pitiful handful of rebels we faced seeming little to fear after the tyranid hordes we’d bested on Corania scant months before – but at the realisation that my first real test as an officer was upon me, and the fact that one of the most renowned heroes in the Segmentum had reposed his trust in me was an added burden which I felt ill-equipped to bear.
All went well at first, however, with the squads in my platoon advancing swiftly to contact. My readers may well imagine the frustration I felt as I sat in my command Chimera, listening to the vox chatter, reliant on the reports from my subordinates for a full tactical analysis, for until my unlooked-for promotion, I would have been among them, facing the Emperor’s enemies head-on, as a soldier should. My impatience increased as it became clear that one of my squads, women I’d served alongside and men I was beginning to know and respect, was pinned down, taking casualties and unable to advance. As the Sentinels which should have relieved them ran into trouble themselves, I could stand by no longer, regardless of the commissar’s admonition to be cautious. Especially since, knowing his reputation, I was certain he would not have hesitated to put himself in danger for the good of his fellows were he to find himself in a similar position.
Calling on my troopers to follow me, and taking but a moment to switch the command channels to the combead in my ear, I jumped from the rear ramp, eager to join the fray.
The sight which met my eyes was to give me pause. The elegant buildings and thoroughfares through which we’d driven were no more, their places taken by heaps of rubble through which barely recognisable pieces of their original form could still, in places, be discerned. A thick pall of dust and smoke hung over everything, reducing the bright afternoon sun to a sullen grey, and for a moment, I couldn’t still the flicker of regret which rose unbidden in my breast. Even tainted by the alien as it had been, the architecture had been undeniably elegant.
I had little time for reflection, however, as the crack of las-fire reminded me forcefully of the dire peril my soldiers were in, and with a cry of ‘For the Emperor!’ I led my doughty quartet to the rescue. A quick study of the tactical slate in the Chimera had shown me that I had an unengaged squad sufficiently close to the most distant of the enemy positions to flank it with a high probability of success, and after a few terse instructions to the sergeant leading it, this indeed was to prove to be the case. That left the nearest to us.
We took them completely by surprise, a couple of frag rounds from our grenade launcher bursting among them and causing great dismay, before charging home to dispatch the survivors with pistols and chainsword. Cowards all, as those who oppose the Emperor invariably are, they broke and ran, exposing themselves to the vengeful fire of the squad they’d been pinning down, who were only too keen to even the score. I’m proud to say that of the team under my direct command only one man was wounded, taking a las-bolt to the leg as we charged, while none of the traitors escaped alive.
[From which we may safely conclude that, whatever her martial abilities, Sulla was no literary stylist.]
NINE
Things are very seldom what they seem. In my
experience, they’re usually a damn sight worse.
– Inquisitor Titus Drake.
It goes without saying that, given my profession, I’ve had more than my fair share of unpleasant surprises. But to find that the woman I’d spent a pleasant social evening trying to impress with my half-formed speculations about events she was privy to, and, it must be admitted, had been quite smitten by (insofar as I’ve ever been susceptible to such things[32]), was really an undercover inquisitor came pretty close to the top of the list. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the expression of tolerant amusement on her face at my utter stupefaction increased my discomfiture a thousandfold.
‘But I thought... Orelius...’ I said, barely making sense even to myself. Amberley laughed as the Salamander hurtled through the streets back to the fortified compound where Zyvan had established the headquarters of our expeditionary force. Through the vox bead in my ear, I could hear the firefight in the Heights continuing. Sulla had apparently done something stupid, but we were winning comfortably with few enough casualties for things to be fine without any further interference from me, so I felt justified in ordering Jurgen to take us back to the staging area as quickly as possible. Rakel and Orelius quite clearly needed medical attention, which gave me the perfect excuse, and I supposed it was my duty to see the inquisitor safely on her way as quickly as possible.
As it turned out, of course, I was to see a great deal more of her before we left Gravalax, and even that would be just the beginning of a long and eventful association which was to leave me in mortal peril on more occasions than I care to contemplate. Sometimes I wonder whether, if I’d had some premonition of who she really was the first time I saw her, I’d simply have left the room and avoided all the horrors to come in the ensuing decades; but I doubt it. Her company, on the rare occasions I was able simply to enjoy it for its own sake, more than made up for all the times I was left fleeing for my life or facing imminent painful death. Hard as that may be to understand, if you’d met her you’d think the same, I’m sure.[33]
‘Orelius?’ She braced herself as Jurgen swung us around a bend most other drivers would have thought too tight at half the speed. ‘He helps me out on occasion.’ She smiled again. ‘He seemed very impressed with you at the governor’s party, by the way.’
‘Then he’s an inquisitor too?’ I asked, my head still spinning. Amberley laughed, like water over stones, and shook her head.
‘Good Emperor, no. He’s a rogue trader. What in the warp made you think he’s an inquisitor?’
‘Just something a friend said,’ I said, thinking that would be the last time I took Divas’s word for anything. But I suppose, to be fair, he hadn’t been all that wrong as it turned out, and he hadn’t been responsible for my own febrile imaginings.
‘And the guy with the beard?’ I indicated the scribe, who was leaning over the lip of the driver’s compartment carrying on an enthusiastic conversation with Jurgen about the finer points of Salamander maintenance.
‘Caractacus Mott, my savant.’ She smiled fondly. ‘A mine of information, some of it useful.’
‘The others I’ve met,’ I said. I indicated Orelius, who had taken out a medkit and was tending to Rakel as best he could with a damaged arm. ‘What’s wrong with her?’
‘I’m not exactly sure,’ she replied, a thoughtful frown appearing for a moment on her face. That, I was later to discover, wasn’t entirely true; she had her suspicions, but the truth about Jurgen wouldn’t be confirmed for some time yet.
To cut a long story short, we made it back to HQ without further incident, and dispersed to our various duties. Amberley went off with the medicae to ensure that her friends were properly patched up, although as I was to find out for myself on subsequent occasions, having an inquisitor hovering in the corner doesn’t exactly help them to concentrate on stemming the bleeding or whatever. I went off for a shower and a change of clothes, but was still smelling faintly of smoke when Broklaw and the others returned in high spirits.
‘You did well, I hear,’ I congratulated him as he disembarked from his Chimera. He nodded, still a little high from the adrenaline.
‘Cleared out the whole nest of them. Minimal casualties, too.’ He broke off to return Sulla’s salute; her face was shining as though she’d just been out on a heavy date. ‘Well done, lieutenant. That was a tough call.’
‘I just asked myself what the commissar would have done,’ she said. At that point I still didn’t have a clue what either of them were talking about, but I assumed she’d distinguished herself in some way, so I tried to look pleased. It turned out later she’d pulled some damn fool stunt that had almost got her killed, but the troopers thought she was the hero of the hour, so it had all turned out for the best. Besides, it was the sort of thing I was assumed to have done myself, so I could hardly chew her out for it when the reports came in, could I?
‘And then did the opposite, I hope,’ I said, then raised an eyebrow at her expression. ‘That was a joke, lieutenant. I’m sure whatever decision you made was the correct one under the circumstances.’
‘I hope so,’ she said, saluting again, then trotting off to check on the wounded from her platoon. Broklaw watched her go with a thoughtful expression.
‘Well, it worked, anyway. Probably saved us a heap of casualties too. But...’ He shrugged. ‘She’ll probably do well in the end, if she doesn’t get herself killed first.’
Well, he was right there, of course, although none of us could see at the time just quite how far she’d go. Like they say, it’s always the ones you least expect.[34]
After a few more words of little consequence, Brocklaw went off to report to Kasteen, and I went to look for a drink.
I found it in a quiet booth at the back of the Eagle’s Wing. The place was almost deserted, in an eerie contrast to my visit here with Divas, but I supposed it was still a bit too early in the evening for things to be lively, and anyway the solitude fitted my mood. I’d noticed, on my short walk to the bar, that the streets were unusually quiet, too, and the few civilians I’d seen had seemed nervous, scuttling away from me as they caught sight of my uniform. Our show of strength against the rebels in the Heights had put everyone on edge, and if anything, anti-Imperial sentiment seemed to be gaining ground.
I can’t say I blamed them entirely, either. If I’d been a Gravalaxian, I’d probably be thinking that the tau might be blue, bald, and barmy, but at least they hadn’t blown up part of the city. My opinion of Grice would have fallen even further for ordering us to intervene, if that were possible.
As the amasec started to kick in, I found myself brooding over the events of the afternoon: a hairs-breadth escape from death does that to me, I start to contemplate my own mortality, and wonder what the hell I’m doing in a job where I’m liable to be killed pretty much all of the time. The answer, of course, is that I didn’t have a choice – the assessors at the Schola Progenium decided I was commissarial material, and that was that.[35]
I was just working myself into a perversely comforting mood of gloom and despondency when a shadow fell across me and a mellifluous voice asked, ‘Do you mind if I sit here?’
Normally, I’m never averse to feminine company, as you’ll know if you’ve read much of these memoirs, but right then all I wanted was to be left alone to contemplate the unfairness of the universe in a self-pitying haze of alcohol. However, it never pays to be impolite to an inquisitor, so I gestured to the seat across the table and masked my surprise as best I could. She’d found the time to change and freshen up too, I noticed, into a mist-grey gown which showed off her colouring to the best advantage.
‘Feel free.’ I gestured to the waitress, who looked vaguely disappointed as she delivered our order. ‘Two more, please.’
‘Thank you.’ Amberley sipped delicately at the drink, a faint moue betraying her opinion of its quality, before replacing the glass on the tabletop and regarding me quizzically. I tried to pull away from her depthless blue eyes, then decided I didn’t really want to after all. ‘You’re a remarkable man, commissar.’
