[Imperial Guard 04] - Desert raiders Read online

  “I am his superior. I do not need to discuss anything with him.”

  “You do when you’re using Imperial law to favour your tribe above his. We’ve been through this, colonel. You have no tribe when you wear that uniform, and all soldiers are equal in their duties to the Emperor. If you truly wish me to treat this matter seriously, you will include the lieutenant-colonel in any discussions involving colonising this planet.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Look to the sky too often and you open your throat to the knife.”

  —The Accounts of the Tallarn by Remembrancer Tremault

  1

  Day Eighty-Five.

  The mood had lifted considerably at camp in the last couple of days. The fresh fruit, meat and water reinvigorated the soldiers, and different squads were allowed to help explore the caves in shifts. So far, they’d uncovered seven caverns spread out over nineteen kilometres, with new tunnels and passages discovered daily. There was no telling the extent of the network, but for certain, they had only touched upon a fraction of the true paradise beneath.

  The tunnels and caverns continued descending deeper into the earth, where the jungles grew thicker and wilder.

  The Sentinels couldn’t navigate the jungles of Caverns Cathedral and Emperor, while the trees of Golden Throne grew in such tight clusters that the squads could only advance a few metres every ten minutes. Nobody had yet found the cavern where the Sentinel had fallen, and one squad reported discovering an underground lake. Unfortunately, their pathfinding skills proved insufficient to find it again through the maze of tunnels.

  Still, it was all done in high spirits, the lack of supplies and the events of last week ignored in favour of the recent good fortune.

  Both Sergeant Ballasra and Captain Toria were on extended patrol, venturing so far underground that they couldn’t be reached by voxes and micro-beads. Sergeant Ballasra’s last report indicated that he had found the head of a beautiful waterfall that plummeted into the dark mists below. Meanwhile, back at the camp, the Guardsmen had built a fire pit from collected shrubs, and were enjoying a rare feast of seven Khadar pigs, hairless albino-like creatures with snouts and no eyes, slaughtered and mounted on spits.

  2

  Turk, Nisri, Rezail and Tyrell sat in the shade of the command bunker. The door was closed and two Guardsmen waited outside. The laughing and the reverie of the men drifted through the walls, and the smell of succulent roasted Khadar pig tickled the nostrils. Nobody wanted to be inside, but the argument was too heated to walk away from it.

  “Absolutely not!” Turk said. “My tribe has as much claim to this world as the Turenag.”

  “This paradise is not befitting idolaters,” Nisri said, growing more heated.

  “Oh, but it is promised to murderers and butchers?”

  “We kill the undeserving. You should thank us for saving you from—”

  “The undeserving? You misbegotten—”

  “Keep it civil,” Rezail warned, casting an eye on both men.

  “Fine,” Turk responded, throwing his arms in the air. “What of the ruling of the Commissariat, Colonel Dakar? This means nothing to you? Some would say that is treason!”

  “The Commissariat already commended us on the execution of the Orakle—”

  “And on our just actions against your tribe!” Turk countered.

  “Oh yes,” Nisri snapped back, “because the murder of innocent women and children is the kind of nobility I’d expect from—”

  “Don’t speak to your betters about nobility—”

  “Gentlemen,” Rezail said, briefly entertaining the idea of shooting them both, “we’re not here to argue who’s in the right. You’ve been doing that for… how many generations?” he asked Tyrell.

  “Forty.”

  “That many?”

  “No, commissar, not forty specifically Among the tribesmen, forty means many. It means too many to count.”

  Rezail nodded. “You’ve been fighting for countless generations with no end in sight. Back to the matter of this planet.”

  “The Banna Alliance will never agree to the Turenag’s claim on this world,” Turk said. “It is either shared, or it belongs to no one.”

  “No,” Rezail said, correcting him, “actually, it belongs to the Emperor. Who acts as custodian, however, is another matter, one that makes this entire debacle moot.”

  “Commissar Rezail,” Nisri said with a grand sigh. “What is the purpose of this meeting?”

  “The purpose of this meeting, gentlemen, is to demonstrate that neither of you holds any legitimate claim to this world. At best, and that’s a highly slim ‘at best’, you may be able to make the request as a regiment, but not as an individual tribe. By doing that, you’re splitting your nonexistent odds even further.”

  “I am fine with that,” Turk said with a smile aimed at Nisri.

  “We would no longer be at each other’s throats,” Nisri said.

  “Fine, admit your mistake in murdering the Orakle, and apologise.”

  “No,” Nisri said, sitting against a console. “We were just.”

  The room was quiet for a moment, both men spent of their argument. It was long enough to realise that everything was too quiet. The noise outside had abruptly died. One of the Guardsmen hammered on the door.

  “Sirs, you need to see this….”

  The four men quickly exited the command bunker.

  3

  The dream threw Kamala into a storm’s pitch of images. A silence pressed her against the wall and did obscene things to her. She fought it, her fists connecting with nothing, her body wet with blood. For a moment, she forgot about her powers, her ability to defend herself. The shadows whispered at her and encouraged her to fight back.

  “Here,” they said in disjointed chorus, “take more power. We have more to give, much more, enough to split open your skin.”

  Kamala fought the siren allure of their voices. She struggled against their promises, and recited a Canticle of Purity. The silence was trying to worm its way into her brain through her ears and eyes, nose and mouth. They shoved it into her mouth, that raw, moist thing that empowered her.

  Energy flared within her breast, and she shattered the silence for a moment. The static of stars washed through again, if only for a moment. The quiet rushed back in, the way blood fills the empty heart. It was inevitable.

  Kamala Noore sat straight up from sleep, her sheet soaking wet, the ghost fire of remnant psychokinetic energy pulsing around the tent. Clothing and personal articles were strewn across the room, scattered by her poltergeist mind. Kamala rose and dressed quickly. Something was terribly wrong. She could feel the panic welling up inside the minds of everyone around her. They battered her, and she stumbled. She pulled the psyker hood over her head, drowning out the fear.

  A moment later, Kamala pushed past her tent flaps Everyone gathered around the fire pit stared at the northeastern sky.

  A grey moon of oddly spiralled craters hung in the heavens and neared the horizon at astonishing speed. Its underbelly glowed with a near-incandescent white light.

  4

  Major Hussari led the two other Sentinels through the night-blessed desert. The Sentinel was an ungainly vehicle with a cockpit box mounted over two reverse-joint legs, and was armed with a single weapon. The squadron affectionately referred to them as “birds”, because they didn’t seem all that graceful until they were in a full run, like now.

  Their long, fast strides kicked up a dust storm and filled the air with the steady hiss-thump of their gait. It was among the few times in recent months that they could bring their vehicles to full sprint, and their fast run through the desert felt incredibly liberating. Still, while the wind that blew through their canopy was deliciously refreshing, the men were eager to reach camp and partake of the feast.

  “Runner One, does Khadar have a moon?” the new Runner Three pilot asked.

  “What?” Hussari asked into the micro-bead. “Negative.”

 
; “Then what the hell is that over there?”

  Hussari checked Runner Three’s co-ordinates before he turned to his left and slowed his bird to a stop. The others followed suit and stared at the north-eastern sky, where the grey moon’s fast orbit brought it to the horizon.

  “Emperor’s Light,” Hussari muttered. “Runner Two, get on the vox and ask them to confirm.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sir, is that a meteor?” Runner Three asked.

  “No, no… it was a moon,” Runner Two exclaimed, “and it was on fire.”

  “It wasn’t on fire,” Hussari replied. “It was entering the atmosphere.”

  “Oh, Emperor’s Love,” Runner Three said, whining. “It’s going to impact. It’s a meteor strike.”

  “No it isn’t!” Hussari barked. He watched the moon dip below the horizon. He was almost whispering into his micro-bead. “It was decelerating. Whatever it was, it just landed. Runner Three.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mark its relative position. Dust Runners, back to base camp, full gait.”

  The squadron of Sentinels lurched forward again, their movements almost ungainly until they finally opened their strides into full-out runs.

  5

  The camp was in full motion. Guardsmen ran to their positions along the compound’s battlements, and lined up at the quartermaster’s shed where Kortan and Sabaak worked through their injuries. Over the vox, a priest offered one Canticle of Courage and another of Devotion. Three birds with the Dust Runners squadron strode into the courtyard, through the main double gates. Soldiers automatically moved clear of them, the ballet of warfare fully choreographed and in motion. Nobody seemed to pay attention to one another, and yet they avoided each other with practice and near-subconscious fluidity.

  The Sentinels slowed their gait and stopped at the vehicle stable where Captain Abantu and Armoured Support were getting the vehicles fuelled and ready. Tech-crews ran to Hussari’s Sentinel as the legs folded beneath it and dropped the cabin close to the ground. Hussari leapt out and headed for the command bunker.

  “Full complement of fuel and ordinance on all my birds,” Hussari called back to the squadron crew. “We’re not here long.”

  “Yessir!” someone snapped back.

  Soldiers ran past the major with a stack of ammunition crates between them. Hussari smiled; no tribesmen or tribal politics here today. Only soldiers were invited to this party. He entered the command bunker into the full-blown chaos of organising warfare, and offered Nisri a sharp salute.

  “Report,” Nisri said as Hussari saluted him. “Did you see what crashed?”

  “No sir,” Hussari responded, “only what you saw, and it didn’t crash. I swear it was decelerating before it vanished.”

  “Auspex,” Turk called out, “anything yet?”

  “Negative,” the operator called out. “We picked up a slight impact tremor, but nothing even close to a meteor or orbit strike. “Whatever it was, it made a controlled landing.”

  “It was guided down, sir,” Turk told Nisri. “Anything on vox?”

  “Negative,” a vox operator responded. “More background static than normal. Whatever fell or landed disturbed the sand and generated an electrical field like the ones we’ve experienced. If there’s a vox signal anywhere in there, they can’t hear or receive.”

  “No contact,” Nisri instructed. “There’s no reason to alert them to our presence just yet.”

  The command bunker was bursting with activity. All the operating stations, including vox and auspex, were on active sweeps, not to mention the command staff waiting on intelligence, and the platoon leaders waiting for their orders. “Options?” Nisri demanded. “Send scouts to uncover what landed before the invaders can mobilise; if there is a ‘they’,” Turk said.

  “Anyone else? Sergeant Noore?” Nisri said, talking to Kamala, who was standing in the shadows, her hood covering her face. “Sergeant Noore?” Nisri repeated.

  “Sorry, sir,” Kamala finally replied. “I was trying to pierce the silence.”

  “Silence?” Nisri asked.

  “It’s nothing. Whatever landed, it’s invisible to me. But, I can tell you this, the ghosts of those who died here before are growing more restless.”

  “The ghosts?” Nisri repeated. “I thought you found no evidence of an Imperial presence before.”

  “Nothing… tangible,” Kamala said, her voice distant, “but their spider-web echoes linger. Whatever killed them was powerful enough to wipe away everything around them, and while I can hear nothing from whatever it was that landed, the echoes of the ghosts are growing stronger, despite the silence.”

  “You mean death?” Turk asked. “No,” Kamala said, “I mean silence.” Again, the room fell quiet. A collective chill passed through the spines of everyone present, and a few Guardsmen spat on the ground to ward away the evil spirits. Kamala turned back to the shadows. After a moment, the noise seemed to return to the command bunker, much to everyone’s relief.

  “Major Hussari,” Nisri said, “I want you to take your squadrons on reconnaissance. Find out what landed.”

  “How many, sir? I have twenty at full strength and one at half-strength.”

  “Take six squadrons just in case. I want the remainder on picket duty until we know what we’re dealing with.”

  “We’ll be ready to leave in less than thirty minutes.”

  “How long to get there?”

  “I’ll have to check the terrain, but I’d say a few hours. Whatever landed did so two hundred kilometres away, I’d estimate.”

  “It was that big?” Turk asked.

  “We could only triangulate between two points… our patrol’s position and base camp. Still, it indicates something mammoth.”

  “Find out what it is,” Nisri replied. “Meanwhile, the camp is on alert. I want scout snipers five kilometres out, and I want regular vox contact. Nothing sneaks up on us. Nothing surprises us, again.”

  6

  Major Hussari’s squadron of three Sentinels, the Dust Runners, took the lead. The other five squadrons, each three birds apiece, assumed arrowhead formation behind the Dust Runners.

  The blue sun was beginning to break over the horizon, throwing cobalt spears of light through the distant cloud cover. It was a clean, crisp morning, a fine day for a run. The squadrons followed the dry bed of an ancient river that measured kilometres across. It was a circumspect route, but it allowed the birds to move faster than the dunes permitted, and it minimised their dust trail. Nobody spoke. The pilots wore their kafiyas over their mouths and noses, and their oculars over their eyes.

  At about two horizons out from the estimated landing zone, the squadrons left the river bed and began threading the dunes at reduced speed. By midday, they could see the wall of dust, agitated by whatever had landed. It was an orange clot on the horizon, masking all particulars of whatever had newly arrived. Lightning sparked and flashed inside the cloud, briefly illuminating the silhouette of a gigantic dome.

  An hour later, the Guardsmen disembarked, and Major Hussari and his two best spotters proceeded on foot. Private Harros Damask was a hawk of a man in features and attitude, while Private Shanleel Qubak was short, squat and quick, both on his feet and with his tongue. Qubak was one of the few Turenag Sentinel pilots in Hussari’s squadrons, but Hussari liked him just the same. The Turenag carried the vox on his back.

  The three men remained low to the ground as they threaded their way around the dunes. The two scouts carried their lasrifles in swaddling cloth while Hussari kept a grip on his plasma pistol. The sand was coarse of grain, and there was very little of the fine dust to mark their passage, not that anyone inside the storm was likely to see out for the time being. At the crest of the first dune, they could see more, if barely.

  A mountain of rock had fallen to the planet, but it was too spherical to be natural. The storm of sand shrouding it was highly localised and appeared to be in wild flight. No currents or direction guided it. It seeme
d agitated and unsettled, yet never lifted from around the dome. Lightning sparks manifested from thin air and arced in upon the enormous rock-like structure. The electricity was keeping the sand in flight, sheathing the dome in a turbulent orange mist. The wash of heat watered their eyes and prevented them from properly identifying the rock, although there seemed to be strange patterns etched into its surface. Even through the oculars, heat shimmers and vapour clouds masked its design, but it was huge, the size of a battle cruiser and easily a factorum tower in height. The area was still heated from its entry into the atmosphere. The nearby dunes appeared as though melted away.

  “Whatever’s in there won’t be coming out yet,” Hussari whispered. “I bet you a week’s pay the surrounding sand’s still molten.”

  “I’ll take that bet,” Qubak said.

  “It was a rhetorical bet,” Hussari whispered.

  “Closer, then?” Damask asked.

  “Closer,” Hussari agreed, “but not close enough to be struck by lightning.”

  Four kilometres from the crash site, the three Guards men encountered their first black river of molten glass The top of the dune had melted away and poured down the steep slope. It collected in the trough between dunes, and bled a small river of glass. Sand insulated heat efficiently, and the pool looked as if it was in no hurry to crystallise. It could well remain liquid for days.

  As the three advanced, the heat soared and a foul smelling miasma penetrated the air with a mixture of rotten eggs and spoiled meat. Hussari covered his fact and wet his kafiya with water from his canteen to keep out the stench; the others followed suit. They continued closer into the furnace-like heat of the landing zone and into the periphery of the storm. The dunes were smaller, their tops melted down along their slopes Melted silicate collected in large pools and streams. The scouting team couldn’t approach any closer; the ground was melted and the heat suffocating. Even the particulates in the sand storm felt hot, a shower of heated glass spray. Still, in the distance, they could hear a strange cracking thunder, like thinning ice. The men glanced at one another, and Hussari pointed them up the nearest dune.