03 - Savage Scars (13 page)

A shadow swung across the periphery of Lucian’s vision, and his plasma pistol
was up and pointing right at it in an instant. Floating two metres off the
ground directly in front of Lucian was a small, dome-shaped machine, a single
lens blinking red as if it were studying him. Beneath the curved dome hung a
cluster of multi-jointed limbs, each terminating in an empty socket that Lucian
guessed was designed to use the tools arrayed across the walls.

Lucian kept the plasma pistol levelled at the drone as it bobbed in the air
in front of him. “So you’re the hired help,” he said, marvelling that the tau
should use such a wondrous machine for the simple task of tending crops and
fixing broken fences. The red-lit lens blinked, and the machine emitted an
electronic chatter, less harsh, but not unlike the sounds Lucian was accustomed
to hearing around the cogitation terminals aboard his starship.

“Intelligence,” he said, lowering his plasma pistol a fraction. “Of a sort at
least. You’d be popular with the tech-priests. They’d take you to bits, not be
able to put you back together again, then declare you a heretic…” he added
wryly.

As if in reaction to Lucian’s comment, the drone backed into the shadows with
a sharp movement.

“You understood that, didn’t you,” Lucian said, part of him feeling faintly
ridiculous, another estimating how much the machine might fetch amongst those
who collected such items of “cold trade” curiosity. “Of course,” Lucian
muttered. “Your masters have been in contact with isolated colonies for
decades.”

“My lord!” Major Subad said as he burst into the room. “I have it covered,
back away slowly…”

Lucian could not help but smile as the Rakarshan commander entered the room
in full combat stance, a gold-chased laspistol fixed on the bobbing drone. “It’s
just a glorified shovel, Subad,” Lucian said, but the major’s expression told
him the man was on the verge of blowing the harmless drone to pieces. The drone
seemed to see this too, and backed even further into the corner of the room.

“My lord,” Subad said, not taking his eyes from the drone. “This is heresy.
Crusade intelligence warned us of them. You must have read the briefing slates.”

“Those were gun drones, major,” Lucian said. “This is no war machine.”

The major looked far from convinced. “But it thinks, my lord, look at it!”

“Aye,” Lucian said. “That’s curious, isn’t it?”

Major Subad’s eyes widened and he turned his glance to Lucian. “
Curious
,
my lord?”

“Well enough,” Lucian sighed. He could hardly expect the man to share a rogue
trader’s attitude to the unknown. “Why don’t you post a guard at the door and
we’ll keep it safe in here?”

The major nodded fervently at Lucian’s suggestion, and began backing away
towards the door. When Lucian had stepped out into the light, Subad sprang out,
his laspistol still trained on the shadows inside.

Lucian pressed the command rune and the door hissed shut, locking the
infernal thinking-machine inside the building.

“Major,” Lucian said as the officer finally lowered his weapon. “You and your
men are going to have to learn the difference between a gun drone and the sort
of machine in there. If the tau use such machines as warriors, they probably use
even more as menials.”

“They employ techno-heresy as servants?” Subad said, his expression
incredulous.

“I would guess so, major. We know they espouse some extremist collectivism
they call the Greater Good, so perhaps…”

“My lord!” Subad hissed. “Please, we have our orders. That obscene doctrine
is not to be mentioned. It is
unclean
.”

“Yes,” Lucian sighed. “I’ve heard that Cardinal Gurney fears the troops might
desert in droves if they got wind of the notion that all were equals…”

“Indeed, my lord,” Subad said, apparently not noticing what Lucian had hoped
was a witheringly caustic tone. “The Commissariat are alert for signs of taint.”

“Pfft!” Lucian said. “Myopic fools who can’t see past the muzzles of their
own bolt pistols. Please, if one of those jumped-up demagogues so much as looks
at one of our boys, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”

Now Major Subad’s face was a mask of horror.

“Come on, major,” Lucian said, deciding it would be better to steer the
conversation away from such dangerous topics as techno-heresy and
xenosyndicalism. He slapped a hand on the officer’s back as the two walked away
from the building towards the main body of the troops. “Update me, if you would
be so kind.”

Subad nodded, visibly composing himself. “Yes, my lord, forgive me…”

“Nothing to forgive,” Lucian interrupted. “I’ve just seen much more of the
galaxy than you. I should have taken that into account.”

Subad straightened up and tugged down the front of his battle dress. “The
assault went as planned, my lord, with one exception, for which I offer my most
humble and sincere apologies.”

“Go on, major,” Lucian said raising an eyebrow.

“A number of the enemy escaped using carriers we had not previously detected.
If you want patrols platoon flogged I can—”

“Flogged?” Now it was Lucian’s turn to be horrified. “Why would I want them
flogged?”

“You want them put to death, my lord?”

“No!” Lucian said, exasperated. “Neither. Not now, not ever. Is that clear?”

Major Subad managed to look both relieved and confused at the same time, but
nodded his understanding before continuing. “The battlegroup inflicted at least
one hundred and twenty kills.”

“Captives?” Lucian asked.

“Captives, my lord?”

“Yes, major. Captives. Band’im.”

“Oh. Band’im, yes. Just the one.”

“The one I took.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Have the Band’im passed back to Gauge’s staff cadre at sector zero,” Lucian
said. “Not to Grand’s goons. Understood?”

Major Subad nodded his understanding, though he looked distinctly uneasy at
the mention of the inquisitor’s name. Lucian pressed on. “Casualties?”

“Twelve dead, my lord. Twenty or so light wounds, twelve are being mustered
for medicae evacuation to sector zero.”

At least the wounded wouldn’t be flogged for getting in the way of enemy
bullets, Lucian thought, though he kept the idea to himself in case it gave the
officer ideas. “What of the general advance? Any reports?”

“Yes, my lord,” Subad said, producing a data-slate from a pouch at his belt.
His face grew dark as he scanned the first few lines of text.

“Initial advances pushed back what few enemy units opposed them,” Subad said,
paraphrasing the information presented on the slate’s screen. “But the main
advance has been opposed by multiple hit and run attacks and ambushes. It has
broken up into separate thrusts, and each is facing increasingly heavy
resistance.”

Lucian scanned the settlement, which was crawling with riflemen dashing to
and fro doing whatever it is soldiers do straight after a firefight. “Then we’d
better push on then, hadn’t we, Major Subad? Remind me,” Lucian added absently.
“What’s the tau name for the city we’re taking, major?”

Subad consulted his data-slate. “Gel’bryn, my lord?”

“Gel’bryn,” Lucian said. “Something tells me the road to Gel’bryn isn’t going
to be an easy one, major.”

The Gladius Pious stalked ponderously away, its huge armoured feet uncaring
of the destruction wrought in their passing amongst the plantations and farm
buildings. Princeps Atild had informed Sarik that the Warhound had been ordered
to reinforce another of the spearheads. The Iron Hands had encountered heavy
resistance in sub-sector delta twelve, while the spearhead Sarik led had made
far better progress once it had broken through sector beta nine.

Sarik’s Rhino ploughed onwards along the road towards the distant city of
Gel’bryn, the column heading westwards as it penetrated ever deeper into alien
territory.

According to Sarik’s command terminal, the city was still some fifty
kilometres away. His force was the furthest forwards, a fact that stirred fierce
warrior pride in Sarik’s heart, even though the White Scars made up only one
part of the spearhead he commanded. The column, consisting of three squads from
Sarik’s own Chapter, two from the Ultramarines and three from the Scythes of the
Emperor, plus supporting Predator tanks and Whirlwind missile tanks, had
sustained multiple casualties and three deaths as it had pushed onwards. The
fallen had been evacuated by Thunderhawk gunship, and the composite Space Marine
company was travelling through a sector almost entirely given over to
agriculture.

“All squads,” Sarik said into the vox-net. “Remain vigilant for ambushers.
Maintain overwatch on all arcs.” The terrain was closing in again, the crops and
plantations offering ample hiding places for the spotters that had directed the
tau grav-tanks to fire so effectively on the Warhound.

“Lead,” Sarik transmitted to the Ultramarines Rhino travelling ahead of his
own. “Watch your forward sinister. There’s cover there the enemy might use.”

The Rhino’s Ultramarines tank commander swung his pintle-mount storm bolter
in the direction Sarik had indicated, covering the dense stand of fruit trees as
the vehicle rumbled by.

The Ultramarines carrier cleared the trees and the column wound its way past
a cluster of what appeared to be abandoned agricultural machines. Sarik studied
the machines as his Rhino ground past, studying their pristine white, gracefully
rounded forms and considering for a moment whether he should order them
destroyed in case the enemy should use them as weapons.

Even as Sarik decided the machines were no threat, the air was split by a
hissing roar. Sarik recognised the sound of a fusion reaction boiling the air up
ahead, and shouted from his open hatch: “Ambush! Pattern Nova!”

A sharp explosion split the air and the lead Rhino shuddered to a halt, its
left track splaying outwards as its armoured flank was flash-melted to white hot
slag. The Rhino veered right as flames belched from its left-side traction unit,
shedding the track entirely.

Sarik hauled himself from the top hatch of his Rhino and vaulted over its
side, bolt pistol drawn in one hand and chainsword in the other before his
armoured boots had even touched the ground. The rear hatch slammed down and his
squad emerged, each brother taking position to cover a different arc with his
boltgun.

Last out was Brother Qaja, his plasma cannon tracking back and forth as he
came to kneel beside Sarik. The battle-brother had been patched up following the
injuries he had sustained at the sensor pylon, but Sarik had been told by his
force’s Apothecary that the warrior would need heavy cybernetic
augment-treatments when Operation Pluto was concluded.

“Target, brother-sergeant?” Qaja said as he swept the land ahead with his
heavy weapon. “Do you see them?”

“I see nothing, brother. Get the squads dispersed,” he said, before running
forwards towards the lead Rhino, which was now almost entirely engulfed in
flames as the melted armour on its flank began to solidify. None of the
Ultramarines riding inside had yet disembarked.

As Sarik reached the rear end of the carrier, a secondary explosion burst
from its foredeck. It was the pintle-mount’s ready ammo cooking off, telling
Sarik that the damage was far greater than was visible from the outside.

“Sergeant Arcan!” Sarik bellowed over the roar of the flames. “Sergeant, do
you hear me?” When no answer came, he sheathed his bolt pistol and chainsword
and moved right up to the rear hatch.

“Can anyone hear me?” he bellowed. Again, no answer. There was only one thing
for it. Flexing his armoured gauntlets, Sarik fed power to their fibre-bundle
actuators to bolster his own, already formidable strength. He reached an arm out
to either side of the hatch, locking the armoured shells covering his fingers to
provide an anchor. After a final deep breath, Sarik hauled on the rear door with
every ounce of his strength. The carrier’s armour was designed to be proof
against the many and deadly threats it would face whilst fighting across the
numerous battlefields of the 41st Millennium, and was not so easily beaten.
Sarik took a second deep breath and bled more power from the fusion core at his
back to his armour’s actuators. Warning tones sounded as the armour’s war spirit
protested its mistreatment, then the hatch buckled at either side and Sarik
hauled one more time.

With a roar, Sarik tore the rear hatch from its mounting and flung the metal
down. A dense cloud of greasy black smoke billowed out to engulf him and Sarik’s
genetically enhanced senses filtered and analysed the taste and scents
assaulting him. The strongest was burning flesh.

“Apothecary!” Sarik bellowed before diving inside the stricken carrier. In a
moment the smoke had begun to clear and Sarik’s eyes, well capable of operating
in darkness, beheld a tragic sight.

The blast that had struck the Rhino’s flank had burned a concentrated jet of
nucleonic fire into the passenger compartment. Sergeant Arcan had been standing
in the open rooftop cupola, and his entire lower body had been seared to atoms,
its upper half still slumped in the hatch. The three battle-brothers nearest the
wound in the side of their vehicle must have been boiled alive inside their
armour, which had been melted into a hideously deformed parody of its former
shape.

A movement caught Sarik’s eye as an Ultramarine stirred. A second fusion
blast sounded from somewhere outside, and Sarik heard running footsteps
approaching from behind; the Apothecary, he hoped.

“Help is on the way, brother,” Sarik told the Space Marine, whose once deep
blue armour had been reduced to scorched black by the titanic energies unleashed
inside the vehicle. “Hold on, and have faith.” Another secondary explosion
sounded from the forward area of the troop bay as more ammunition detonated,
showering the sergeant with micro-shrapnel. He reached forwards and grabbed the
nearest Ultramarine by the shoulder plates, hauling the stunned warrior from the
open rear hatch as the Apothecary joined him.