Choose Your Enemies, page 26
‘There might be some political angle too,’ Pelton suggested, cutting in on the same frequency. ‘Shoulder to shoulder with the Skysiders on the front line, that kind of thing.’
‘That’s possible,’ I conceded. I’d run across innumerable politicians over the decades, and was long past being surprised by any piece of idiocy they’d commit in order to curry favour with the populace. The average Imperial governor’s position isn’t nearly as secure as they like to pretend, with innumerable relatives, rivals or both poised to take advantage of any perceived weakness; not to mention oversight at the subsector level or higher, which can remove any of them from office if they don’t appear to be up to the job.[174] Accordingly, the more prudent ones would go to great lengths to maintain their popularity among the citizenry. ‘Or maybe he just wants to be around to take the credit for the relief flights in person.’ Particularly as Mott had already deduced that their primary purpose was to stiffen the resolve of the defenders.
Amberley snorted. ‘No maybe about that if you ask me. But he’s not a bad governor as these things go, so good luck to him if it helps. Do you think Defroy’s our man?’
‘He could be,’ I said, a little warily. So far I’d seen nothing which pointed towards Chaotic leanings in the household guards’ commander, but if he really was a cult member who’d managed to infiltrate the highest levels of the governor’s staff then he’d hardly be parading around in a pink bandana[175] prattling about how much more fun it was indulging every conceivable vice in a Slaaneshi shrine than listening to some ecclesiarch droning through a sermon in a temple to the Emperor. Then honesty impelled me to add, ‘but he hasn’t shown any heretical tendencies so far.’
‘Well, he wouldn’t, would he?’ Amberley said, to my inexpressible relief. ‘Better stick with him for a while. If he is clean it wouldn’t hurt to have another pair of eyes on the governor, and if he isn’t, you just might be on the spot to prevent a coup d’état.’
‘If you think that’s best,’ I said, trying not to sound too elated.[176] Rejoining the others would mean getting dragged into a hands-on heretic hunt, and I’d already been down more than enough utility conduits with gun-toting loonies lurking in ambush at the other end for one lifetime.
‘I do,’ Amberley said, sounding faintly amused about something. ‘Besides, I’d rather keep Jurgen as far away from Rakel as possible at the moment. Her talents could come in useful.’
‘I’m sure they could,’ I said diplomatically. In my experience they very seldom did, but Amberley knew the psyker a great deal better than me, and to be fair, I’d generally seen her when Jurgen was in the vicinity, which probably[177] didn’t help much. ‘Is she coming up with anything at the moment?’
‘Hard to say,’ Amberley said. ‘Listen.’ She must have opened another channel, because the psyker’s voice was suddenly in my ear, along with her own, although it was hard to be certain for a moment; instead of babbling gnomic gibberish, as I’d expected, the woman was singing – some complex, wordless melody that seemed to veer through several conflicting emotions like a drunken Guardsman ricocheting his way through a bar room full of tables in an attempt to find the exit. ‘She’s been doing that ever since we left the docking arm. Something on the orbital’s affecting her.’
‘More spirit stones?’ I asked, jumping to the obvious conclusion.
‘Could be,’ Amberley said. ‘She’s been trying to commune with the ones we found, but they’re so far outside anything she’s experienced before that she can’t explain any impressions she can pick up in terms we’d understand.’ Business as usual, in other words, I thought sourly.
‘So we’re time-wasting following her wanderbouts instead of finding some dregs we can gun,’ Zemelda put in, a trifle irritably, her mauled arm apparently causing her even more discomfort by now.
‘So we’re seeing if she can lead us to whatever she’s sensing,’ Amberley corrected, in the calm, reasonable tone everyone naturally found themselves agreeing with, if they had any sense at all.
‘Good luck with that,’ I said. ‘Heard anything from Vekkman?’
‘No,’ Amberley said, clearly happy to have it remain that way. ‘Caractacus says he just turned round for a moment in the main concourse and when he looked back he was gone.’
Which wasn’t my problem, of course. ‘I’ll check in if anything happens,’ I said, and turned back to my aide. ‘We’re sticking with the governor’s people for now.’
‘Very good, sir,’ Jurgen replied, his inevitable response when he didn’t see the point of something but assumed there must be one because someone in authority had just made a decision.
I waved to Fulcher and Defroy, and began walking towards them in the exaggeratedly leisurely manner of someone who expects to be waited for. ‘It seems we’ll have the pleasure of one another’s company for a little while longer,’ I said, as I came within easy conversational range. ‘The inquisitor has just suggested I review your security arrangements here, to ensure His Excellency’s safety.’ I glanced at Defroy as I spoke, for any sign of discomfiture; if I was a heretic infiltrator, a broad hint that an inquisitor didn’t entirely trust me wouldn’t exactly put my mind at rest. But Defroy was nodding, an expression curiously like relief spreading across his face.
‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ he said. ‘Under the circumstances, I’d feel a lot happier knowing a man with a reputation like yours was helping to guard the governor.’
‘As would I,’ Fulcher said, with a brisk business-like nod. He glanced past my shoulder, got his first real look at Jurgen, and his affable smile curdled for a moment before reforming into the expression of faint disbelief most people adopted when being introduced to him. ‘And this is your aide, I take it?’
‘You take it correctly.’ I nodded briskly, and made the usual back-and-forth gesture concomitant on exchanging the names of third parties. ‘Gunner Jurgen,’ I said. ‘Governor Fulcher.’ I watched the Emperor’s anointed coming slowly to terms with this unexpected development, and wondered if he’d hold out a hand to shake from sheer force of habit, but perhaps fortunately for all concerned he overcame the impulse. ‘You won’t find a better man to have at your back.’
‘I don’t doubt that at all,’ Fulcher said, while Jurgen positively glowed from the compliment. ‘Anyone serving with a man like you must be equally exceptional.’
Jurgen shook his head. ‘Plenty more like me in the Guard, sir,’ he said modestly but, thank the Emperor, completely inaccurately.
‘Then our victory against the eldar must be all but assured,’ Fulcher said, determined to have the last word. He turned to Defroy. ‘Have all the relief supplies been offloaded?’
Defroy listened to a voice in his vox-bead. ‘They have,’ he confirmed after a moment.
‘Then I don’t see any point in waiting around.’ Fulcher put his helmet back on, no doubt fondly imagining that he now passed for a soldier, a delusion I rather uncharitably felt I’d like to see challenged by one of the drill sergeants the Guard relies on to knock similar notions out of the heads of raw recruits.
‘Neither do I.’ Defroy turned back to the loading ramp, where a single utility truck was trundling its way towards us. It bounced almost imperceptibly on its tyres as it made the transition to the deck plates, then growled in our direction at a little more than walking pace. It had a few crates stacked in the open cargo compartment behind the driver’s cab, with a couple of guards perching uncomfortably on top of them, their hellguns at the ready.
‘If everything’s been unloaded, what’s that?’ I asked.
Defroy shrugged. ‘Something that looks like it needs an escort,’ he said reasonably. ‘Can’t smuggle His Excellency into the estate disguised as a guard if there’s no reason for new guards to be arriving, can we?’
‘I suppose not,’ I said, although it sounded pretty thin to me. I’d probably have commented further if I hadn’t left my comm-bead tuned to Amberley’s command frequency, which meant I was being distracted by Rakel’s caterwauling despite my best efforts to remain focused on what was going on around me. There was something faintly hypnotic about it, but switching frequencies again might mean missing some urgent or vital vox from Amberley, so I just let it run and tried to ignore the noise as best I could.
The truck drew up next to us, and a single glance at the guards in the back was enough to convince me that they were no more real troopers than Fulcher himself. They seemed alert enough, eyeing Jurgen and I with clear suspicion, but like the governor they held their hellguns awkwardly instead of with the instinctive ease of the seasoned warrior. Bodyguards, then, more used to easily concealable weapons like pistols and throwing knives.
I held up a hand as Fulcher reached out for the passenger door of the truck, and shook an admonishing head. ‘You’ll have to sit in the back, I’m afraid. Unless you want people to wonder why a common trooper’s riding in style while his commanding officer’s rattling around with the luggage.’ The ersatz guards already up there almost succeeded in suppressing visible grins.
For a moment something dark and ugly kindled in the back of Fulcher’s eyes, then a bland and rueful grin spread across his face. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘you’re absolutely right.’ Slinging the hellgun across his shoulders he clambered awkwardly into the flatbed, shrugging away the proffered hand of the nearest bodyguard.
‘Mind your backs,’ Jurgen said, swinging easily aboard in his wake, despite the added encumbrance of the melta. He kicked the nearest crate to assess its robustness, and settled on it, scanning our surroundings with wary eyes. ‘Got a good view from up here, sir.’
Rakel’s voice in my vox-bead wavered, and stopped.
‘What’s wrong?’ Amberley cut in at once, her voice freighted with concern.
‘A disturbance in the warp,’ Rakel said, with surprising lucidity. ‘Some of the voices suddenly went silent.’
‘What about the others?’ Amberley asked.
Rakel hesitated a moment. ‘Still there,’ she said, ‘but they’re fainter. And she’s almost here.’
‘Sounds like you’re busy,’ I said, then made the offer everyone was expecting me to, given my fraudulent reputation. ‘I can be right with you if you need backup.’
‘Stay with Fulcher,’ Amberley said. ‘Between the cultists and the eldar, he must be the biggest target on the orbital by now.’
‘Can’t argue with that,’ I said, rather wishing I could, and that I wasn’t so close to him.
Editorial Note:
Given the short gap which now ensues before Cain picks up his narrative again, this seems a reasonable point at which to insert a brief account of the state of affairs back on Ironfound. For those readers wishing to skip it, the short version is ‘not good.’
From Like a Phoenix on the Wing: the Early Campaigns and Glorious Victories of the Valhallan 597th by General Jenit Sulla (retired), 101 M42
Despite the heroic efforts of the local defenders the eldar continued to advance up through the underhive, seeping ever higher, like the effusions of a blocked and defective sewer. Though resisted at every step, they gained ground inexorably, striding over the cadavers of the fallen, pausing only to loot the bodies of their own stricken comrades,[178] a display of barbarous venality which roused the righteous ire and disgust of every woman and man who witnessed it.
My own company was the first element of the 597th to be called into action, and I’m proud to say not a single trooper shirked their duty. Checked at last in their upward rise by the cunningly deployed mines laid at General Porten’s behest, the first few to detonate demonstrating beyond doubt even to these degenerate zealots that the price in blood of attempting to persist in that particular endeavour would be a fortune fatal to squander, the xenos interlopers reverted to a new and different strategy. Rather than running the gauntlet of explosive destruction, and lacking the sorcerous means to nullify the threat,[179] they began to enlarge and divert the tunnels leading off laterally from those rising towards the well-defended gates barring access to the upper hive and the spire beyond that.
Our first intimation that a new and dangerous strategy was being used against us came in the form of a request for aid from the Ironfound Defence Force on the lowest levels of the industrial district above the gates. The burrowing eldar had reached the surface outside the hive, where battle was swiftly joined against the native troops patrolling the lethally desolate landscape in anticipation of just such an eventuality. Alas, despite their gallantry, they were outnumbered and outgunned, and swiftly overwhelmed.
With resistance on the surface overcome, the invaders turned their attention to the external gates used, in less straitened times, for the despatch and receipt of the overland convoys which transferred goods and citizens between the hives in quantities unfeasible by air. Though sufficiently solid to withstand the very worst the elements of Ironfound could throw against them, and reinforced against just such a contingency, they simply couldn’t hold for long against a sustained enemy assault. But hold they did, for just long enough: as they broke through into the cargo bays and loading docks used by the inter-hive crawlers, the xenos were met by the spearhead of the 597th.
From my position in the cupola of the company command Chimera I had an excellent view of that moment of first contact and, I must admit, felt a moment of trepidation as I regarded the horde we were facing. As in our previous encounters, they were relying on speed to evade incoming fire and consequently we were facing light units for the most part: walkers; jetbikes swooping low as they swept through the enclosed spaces in an attempt to flank us, taking advantage of the thirty-metre-high ceiling of the main crawler bays; and of course a never-ending tide of infantry.
Perturbing as they were, however, these were as nothing to the eldar sorcerers bounding forward at the head of the horde, eldritch energies crackling around the primitive-looking spears in their hands. These were no mere symbols of authority, I would swiftly discover, flying from the hands of their wielders to bring death and destruction wherever they struck. In those first few horrifying seconds I saw one rip through the hull plating of one of fifth platoon’s Chimeras, tearing it apart like a paper model, the very life sucked from its luckless occupants.
Reasoning that our troopers would be sitting targets cooped up inside their transports, I ordered everyone to disembark, taking the fight to the enemy with las-bolt and bayonet in the time-honoured tradition of the Astra Militarum, an order which, I’m gratified to say, was followed with alacrity by every woman and man under my command.
Taking what cover they could behind the abundance of buttresses, parked vehicles and abandoned cargo containers, the daughters and sons of Valhalla formed a formidable defensive line, the combined firepower of which checked the initial onslaught of the oncoming infantry horde, while the heavy bolters of our Chimeras opened up to engage the swooping jetbikes. Apprehending that the sorcerers were the greater threat, however, I ordered our vehicle commanders to engage those, only to find them protected by potent sorceries which blunted the impact of our bolts. Nevertheless, a few of them fell, the rest pulling back behind the advancing walkers for protection.
These, then, became our primary adversaries, ravening energies sweeping ahead of them, destroying every vehicle they touched. Though at first we gave as good as we got, toppling several, the sheer weight of numbers eventually began to tell, and, with a heavy heart, I was forced to order a retreat in good order to the secondary defensive line which our dogged resistance had given Second and Fifth Companies enough time to prepare behind us.
Though trusting as ever in The Emperor’s guiding hand to bring us ultimate victory, I found myself missing the inspirational leadership of Commissar Cain, who would surely have had a heartening aphorism or resolve-stiffening quip appropriate for the occasion. As it was, however, his duties had taken him elsewhere, so I did the best I could myself, with most gratifying results, and wished him well wherever he was.
TWENTY-FIVE
I wasn’t sure quite what I’d been expecting Fulcher’s Skyside estate to look like, but it turned out to be a compact version of the mansion at the tip of the spire. There were even gardens surrounding it – an unbelievable luxury on an orbital – which, as we drove towards the cluster of low-lying structures at the centre of the armourcrys dome enclosing the estate, became suddenly bathed in sunlight as the orbital moved out of the shadow of the planet below.
‘He should be safe enough here,’ Defroy said, raising his voice a little over the growling of the engine. ‘No one’s getting through the gates without authorisation.’
‘They seemed secure,’ I agreed, without committing myself to anything more complacent. He’d thought exactly the same thing about the mansion on Ironfound, after all. But here, at least, the gates were airlock chambers large enough to admit several vehicles at once rather than simple barriers, penning anyone entering or leaving the domed area in a confined space where they could be minutely examined before being allowed to proceed. ‘How many more gates like that are there?’
‘Two,’ Defroy said. ‘This used to be a docking bay for bulk ore transporters before the new processing plants opened on Skysides Twelve and Twenty-Six. When the ore traffic moved out in M-thirty-nine, they just built the dome across the space and landscaped it. The old airlocks weren’t strictly necessary at that point, but the governor at the time wasn’t exactly popular, so they were left where they were to control access more tightly.’
