The Emperor's Finest

FOUR

AT FIRST, TO my carefully concealed surprise, things seemed to be going well after all. Too naive or arrogant to appreciate the dangers of taking point, Mira led from the front, which clearly sat well with the troopers accompanying us, striding confidently through the echoing underground labyrinth as though we were simply out for a stroll rather than heading deeper into enemy territory with every step. That was fine with me. Apart from the callipygian spectacle she presented from that angle, she was certain to draw the fire from any enemies who might be lurking down here, or trigger any booby traps they might have set, in good time to warn the rest of us.

Entering the warren of tunnels had turned out to be surprisingly easy, simply a matter of dropping through an access hatch set in the floor of a corridor near the palace kitchens, and as I'd straightened up after flexing my knees to absorb the impact of landing, I'd immediately felt more comfortable than at any time since my arrival on Viridia. Accompanied by an absurdly dressed fire magnet or not, this was an environment I felt at home in, all my old underhiver's instincts flooding back. I glanced round, noting with approval the burned-off stubs of metal in the wall which had once supported a ladder leading to the hatchway overhead. Orten had assured me that all possible precautions had been taken to safeguard the palace and its environs from enemy infiltration, short of collapsing the tunnels completely with demo charges (which would have prevented DuPanya from fleeing if the palace fell to the besieging rebels, and was therefore unthinkable), and I was pleased to see that he appeared to be right about that. Apart from a regrettable tendency to believe intelligence assessments without asking too many questions, he seemed to be competent enough, and I felt a certain amount of satisfaction that my judgement about leaving him alive and in charge appeared to be sound.

Abruptly we were plunged into darkness, as the trapdoor above us was dropped back into place, and I felt my other senses reaching out as they always did in the absence of light. A faint current of air against my face provided a sense of direction, and the overlapping echoes of bootsoles against 'crete pinpointed the walls nicely. 'Close your eyes for a moment,' I advised. 'It'll help them to adjust.'

'Or we could just kindle the luminators,' Mira said, suiting the action to the word. A sudden flare of light made me squint, and a couple of the troopers followed her lead, filling the narrow corridor with dancing beams, which struck highlights from the pipes and cable runs fixed to the walls and depending from the ceiling. At least she'd had the sense to attach the thing to the bayonet lugs of her lasgun, leaving both hands free to handle the weapon, and the others weren't slow to do the same.

'Good idea, colonel,' I said, with heavy sarcasm. 'And how about a rousing chorus of ''Soldiers of the Throne'' while we're about it, so the enemy can hear us coming as well?'

'You're the one who said we're running out of time,' she rejoined, turning to lead the way at a brisk jog, which did interesting things to her over-filled uniform. 'We won't get anywhere stumbling along in the dark.'

Reluctant to admit that she had a point, I contented myself with hanging back enough to take advantage of the shadows, in the comforting certainty that my black greatcoat would be almost perfect camouflage in the dark, particularly against an enemy still dazzled after gunning down Mira.

After a few hundred metres, which by my estimate put us more or less beneath the outer wall, I was able to see the reason for her confidence. The corridor up ahead was blocked by a fresh rockcrete wall, into which a narrow iron door had been set, just wide enough for one man to pass through at a time. Mira stopped just ahead of it and slapped her palm down on the scanner plate of a genecode reader, which had evidently been wired into the locking plate by a tech-priest with rather more pressing concerns than doing a neat job. The device buzzed and hummed to itself for a moment, giving me time to catch up with her, then the latch clicked, and the door swung outwards. Unbelievably, I was the only one covering it.[15]

'How do you know the enemy aren't just waiting on the other side?' I asked, nettled by her smirk as she paused on the threshold to look back at me.

'Because none of the mines have gone off,' she answered. 'Better hurry, they'll be set again in thirty seconds.' Then she was gone, trotting off into the darkness beyond, her troopers pelting through the doorway in her wake.

I followed, the door booming back into place at my back, content to see by the relatively dim light from her luminator, and picked up my pace when I saw she hadn't been exaggerating about the mines. There was a big cluster of frag charges, fixed to the walls and ceiling, their curved casings designed to spread their deadly payload as widely as possible. In the open they'd be lethal enough, but in a space as confined as this, they'd quite simply shred anyone incautious enough to approach them into bloody mist.

I picked up my pace until I was sure I'd passed beyond the range of the lethal devices, hearing them rearm with a faint click! a second or two after I was through the choke point, and suppressed a shudder. 'Any more little surprises like that one?' I asked, keeping my voice steady nonetheless.

'None we'll have to worry about,' Mira assured me. In my experience, statements like that are just tempting fate, and, sure enough, before the day was out, we were to be presented with a surprise greater and more deadly than either of us could possibly have imagined. But since I was still in blissful ignorance, I turned and followed her, instead of running in the opposite direction as hard as I could.

ANOTHER HOUR OR so of brisk walking got us to our destination. According to the map Orten had provided, and which I'd immediately loaded into my slate, it wasn't the most direct route; but it did avoid having to pass through any choke points where we'd have had to crawl, climb or negotiate obstacles, which Mira had neither the build nor the temperament to deal with. Since I didn't think we'd lost any appreciable time by the detour, which had taken us through the usual collection of utility ducts, watercourses and sewers (the last of which had clearly raised Mira's fastidious patrician hackles, to my carefully concealed amusement), I didn't bother to call her on it.

Despite my fears, her luminator didn't seem to have attracted any unwelcome attention, which, contrary to what you might expect, did nothing to relieve the tension I was feeling. The longer we remained undiscovered, the more I became certain that we were surely about to be, and I found myself listening out for any trace of sound which might betray ambushers lurking ahead of us in the darkness. I heard plenty, of course, but instinct and experience enabled me to identify most of the noises almost at once, and discount them as any kind of threat.

Most common was the scuttling of vermin, running for cover at the approach of light and noise, but occasionally the scuffling was louder, indicating a human presence. Invariably these would be fleeing too, however, rather than advancing to contact, which meant they were civilians, with an understandably cautious attitude to men with guns. Whether they were artisans, trying to keep the fractured infrastructure of the city from falling apart completely, or merely the luckless dispossessed endemic to large-scale civil disorder, desperate or fearful enough to attempt to find some kind of refuge down here, I had no idea. They weren't shooting at us, and that was all that mattered to me.

'We're here,' Mira said at last, and I checked my chronograph, wondering what sort of progress Gries and his squad were making. From what I'd seen of them, I'd have laid pretty fair odds that they'd reached their objective by now, and were making short work of it. Once again, I found myself reaching for the comra-bead which would normally have been sitting in my ear, and rueing its absence. It had, of course, occurred to me to scrounge one from the command bunker, but such refinements appeared to be lacking among the Viridian PDF. The best they could offer me was a bulky portable voxcaster, which was currently bouncing along on the back of its operator. Stopping to use the thing would have taken up time we could ill afford, however, so I'd had to resign myself to remaining out of touch for a while longer, and trying to ignore my misgivings as best I could.

'Good,' I responded, surreptitiously checking my slate to see where ''here'' actually was. It turned out to be a sewer, running directly under the piazza the rebels had decided to use as an artillery park, and I began to get the first inkling of a battle plan. A little late for that, you may be thinking, and you'd probably be right, but I'd been bounced into this fool's errand by circumstance, not choice, and I hadn't had much of a chance to think about anything much, beyond the most immediate concern of ensuring my own survival. I beckoned the vox man forwards, and he came to join me, unclipping the bulky handset as he did so.

'Cain to Astartes,' I said, praying to the Emperor that the frequency I'd been given was correct, and keeping it short in case we were being monitored. 'In position. Query yours.'

'Engaging,' Gries responded, to my relief. 'Resistance light. The Thunderhawk will commence diversionary attacks in two minutes.'

'Thanks,' I replied, taking in the single squad of troopers accompanying me, and the distinctly unmartial figure of Mira, who was listening intently, but who, for once, seemed able to resist the temptation to shove her oar in, thank the Emperor. 'We're going to need all the help we can get.'

'Leave this channel open,' Gries said, then cut the link at his end.

'What did he mean by that?' Mira demanded, as if I knew the answer and was merely withholding it out of pique.

I shrugged. 'Probably wants an accurate position fix for the Thunderhawk, so we don't end up on the wrong end of some friendly fire,' I hazarded. Considering the amount of concentrated lethality that the gunship represented, it seemed a reasonable precaution to me. I turned to the sergeant in charge of the squad, whose name I didn't know. Mira hadn't bothered with introductions, if she'd even considered the men under her nominal command as individuals in the first place. 'We'll need to get up top and find out exactly where the artillery pieces are. With a bit of luck we can use the demo charges to collapse this tunnel underneath them, and cripple the battery without having to fight our way through the sentries.'

'If they're parked close enough to it,' the sergeant agreed, homing in on the weak spot of the plan without undermining my authority by actually stating it, like efficient noncoms[16] have been doing since humanity first swung down from the trees on Holy Terra and started hitting one another with rocks.

'Let's hope they are,' I said, 'or we'll just have to do this the hard way.'

From my time with the 12th Valhallan[17] I knew that each artillery piece would probably be fully crewed, plus a few sentries, logistical support personnel and a handful of junior officers and noncoms to make sure the conscripts shoved the shells in the breach the right way round. Given that we already knew, from the orbital picts, that there were five Basilisks in the battery, that meant anything from thirty to fifty men. Although I'd be happy enough taking on odds of three or five to one against mere PDF mutineers with proper Guardsmen behind me, the troops I had now were probably little better in quality than the ones we were facing. And that was without taking Mira into account, who was probably worth an extra squad to the enemy just on her own.

'Well there's only one way to find out,' she said, starting up the ladder leading to the manhole cover above our heads before I could stop her. Having already seen enough to know that remonstrating with her would be pointless, and shooting her would be out of the question close enough to the enemy for an alert sentry to hear, I'd just have to go along with it for now.

'Wait here,' I instructed the sergeant, who seemed more than happy to comply. 'Check the charges while I'm gone.' There was no point in having the whole squad blundering about up there, when I was sure Mira could attract the attention of the enemy perfectly well on her own. I could hardly leave her to her own devices, however, so I clambered up after her, having waited a moment to make sure that her emergence into daylight wouldn't be followed at once by a barrage of lasgun fire.

It wasn't, so I stuck my head cautiously out of the hole, finding myself in a street which looked much the worse for wear: the buildings on either side of it were pockmarked and perforated by the prolonged and indiscriminate use of heavy ordnance, while the carriageway a few metres ahead had been comprehensively blocked to traffic by the rusting hulk of a burned-out Chimera. Taking advantage of the cover it afforded, I popped up out of the hole like a sump rat scenting a fresh corpse, and scuttled into the lee of the derelict vehicle.

'Where are the others?' Mira asked, from roughly the level of my knees, having gone prone under the raised dozer blade for extra protection, the first sensible thing I'd ever seen her do. Her lasgun was unslung, aimed back at the manhole, evidently intended to cover my advance, and I breathed a silent prayer of thanks to the Golden Throne that she hadn't been spooked enough to pull the trigger.

'Down the hole,' I said quietly. 'I told them to stay put.'

'You did what?' She stood up and glared at me, the effect somewhat spoiled by the thick coating of grime now adhering to her jacket and the knees of her trousers; at least she'd blend into the background a little better now, which was something. 'We need them with us!'

'Did you ever go stalking on these hunting trips of yours?' I asked.

Mira nodded, sullenly. 'Of course,' she said, having the common sense to keep her voice down too, which was a welcome surprise.

'And did you have a demi-score of troopers crashing around the place while you did?' I asked reasonably.

Mira shook her head dismissively. 'Of course not, it would have frightened the game away...' Then the coin dropped. 'I see, of course. We're going to need to move quietly.'

I shook my head. 'I'm going to need to move quietly,' I said. 'You stay here, in case I need covering fire.'

I'd be the first to admit that taking the risk of scouting the enemy positions myself, instead of letting Mira get on with it, seems a little uncharacteristic, but I had sound enough reasons at the time. Firstly, I'd had more than enough practice at sneaking around in the immediate vicinity of the enemy without being spotted, whereas Mira's alleged stalking skills were an unknown quantity. Secondly, thanks to my time with the 12th Valhallan, I knew enough about artillery to assess just how big a threat the battery really was once I got a decent look at it, whereas the most useful thing Mira was likely to report was that the Basilisks were a horribly unfashionable colour. Thirdly, thanks to my innate affinity for underground environments, I'd know instantly, just by looking, how close they were to the sewer line, and where best to place the charges to cause the maximum amount of subsidence.

For a moment it looked as though Mira was about to argue the point, but before she got the chance the circling Thunderhawk pilot decided to provide the diversion Gries had promised me. Whatever she'd been going to say was abruptly swallowed by the muffled crump! of a distant detonation, and a plume of smoke nudged its way above the artificial horizon of the buildings surrounding us, followed a moment later by a faint tremor through the soles of my boots. It seemed he'd found an ammunition dump, or something equally combustible; at any rate, it was a pretty safe bet that the attention of the rebels had been effectively grabbed.

Taking advantage of the moment, I made a run for the nearest building, which seemed structurally sound, despite the number of holes blasted through its outer walls. It had evidently been an emporium of some kind, but what it used to sell I could only guess, as the looters had been there long before me and gutted the place. Entering through the long, wide gap where the window used to be, my feet crunching and slithering for a moment on the shattered glass, I made for the shadows at the rear of the shop, where, as in the tunnel, my sombre uniform would allow me to blend in more easily.

Luck, or the Emperor, was with me, and I found a staircase just the other side of a wooden door which had been kicked or rammed off its hinges. There was an elevator too, but I wouldn't have taken it even if the power was still on; the idea of being discovered by the enemy trapped in a small metal box was disturbing, to say the least. I took the stairs easily, five or six flights, before a chill draught arrested my progress, and I ventured out into what had evidently been one of the upper sales floors. Indeed, it seemed that irrespective of the number of storeys the emporium used to boast, this was now as high as it was possible to go. The ceiling was down across half the floor area, along with sufficient rubble to make me certain that whatever might remain of the original structure higher up, it was extremely unlikely to be able to bear my weight.

This storey was high enough for my purposes, though, as a quick glance was enough to assure me. The far wall was missing, the floor coming to an abrupt end about a metre from where it should be, affording a panoramic view across much of the city. I made for it cautiously, testing every footfall, but it all seemed solid enough, and within a minute or two I was close enough to the edge to look down into the rebels' artillery park, across the rubbled remains of the intervening building on the other side of the street. This had evidently fared far worse than the one I was occupying; though a few floors still remained, it had been reduced to about half the height of the shattered structure I was currently standing in.

The most cursory of glances was enough to tell me that my plan to collapse the sewer wouldn't cut it. Only one of the artillery pieces was in the right place to be disabled, the rest being dispersed around the square, backed into the remains of buildings for concealment and protection, and surrounded by sandbagged emplacements. No chance of being able to just run up and place a satchel charge either: we'd be cut down before we even got close. As the wind shifted, it brought with it the grumble of idling engines and the acrid tang of burned promethium; I'd been right about them being prepared to scatter if the Thunderhawk moved in their direction too. Perhaps if we mined the roads with the demo charges we'd brought with us we could bottle them up long enough for the gunship to take them out, but our chances of being able to place the explosives in the open without being spotted were minimal.

I was still musing over the problem when a las-bolt hissed past me, impacting against the stump of one of the columns which used to support the floor above. I turned, drawing my weapons and cursing myself for a fool. The very reason I'd chosen this spot to scout the enemy emplacement from also made it the perfect place to station sentries, and I should have anticipated an enemy presence here. Two men were running at me, lasguns in their hands, and firing as they came, but fortunately it's almost impossible to shoot accurately while on the move; if they'd had the sense to stand still and aim properly, they'd probably have dropped me before I'd even become aware of their presence.

Unfortunately for them, I wasn't so stupid, only taking a couple of strides to find refuge behind the sturdy pillar which had already stopped one of their las-bolts, before dropping to a crouch and cracking off a couple of rounds of my own. My aim was scarcely any better at first, one of the las-bolts from my pistol clipping the edge of the right-hand man's torso armour, but it was enough to make him hesitate. As he looked around for some cover I saved him the bother, putting a third and less hurried shot through the middle of his face. He went down hard, and beyond the usual reflexive spasms, didn't move again.

Which left the second man, who was going wide, towards the drop, hoping to flank me and get a shot in round the rockcrete pillar I was sheltering behind. I dodged back, trying to target him around the other side, but with a belated surge of common sense he switched to full auto, hosing my makeshift position down with a blizzard of fire too heavy for me to be able to risk popping out to take a crack at him.

Abruptly the firing ceased, and I seized the opportunity the momentary lull presented, lunging out to the side as I stood, my chainsword swinging to meet the anticipated charge, while my laspistol sought a target. To my surprise, however, he was already down, flat out on the rubble-strewn floor, deader than Horus. I approached the corpse warily, anticipating some kind of trick, but as I got closer I could see that the back of his head was missing, taken out by another las-bolt. From the angle of the wound, it had clearly come from somewhere down below, outside the building.

I edged cautiously to the brink of the drop and glanced down. Mira was still crouched in the lee of the burned-out Chimera, her lasgun raised and pointing in my direction. Seeing me, she lowered the weapon and waved, in a manner which, even at that distance, struck me as distinctly pleased with herself. Hard to resent that under the circumstances, though, so I returned the wave and turned back to the bodies of the late sentries. Neither had any vox gear on him, or anything else which might have provided some useful intelligence come to that, so I started to head back towards the stairs, intent on nothing more than getting back down the hole and out of sight before anyone got around to missing them.

I'd barely gone a pace or two, though, before the air seemed to thicken around me, the hairs on my arms bristling as if a thunderstorm was building, and a remarkably unpleasant sensation of pressure began to grow behind my eyes. It felt as if my sinuses were being packed with rockcrete, and I stumbled, my vision blurring. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the feeling ended, leaving me almost giddy with relief.

I hurried back to the hole in the wall, looking outside, anxiously, just as a rumble of displaced air echoed between the buildings, like one of the distant explosions where the crew of the Thunderhawk were continuing to amuse themselves. The rebel artillery park was in a state of complete confusion, with people running everywhere, like rats in a room when someone turns on the lights, and as the firing started, I began to see why. Towering figures in white and yellow armour were plodding unhurriedly through the pandemonium, shrugging off the las-bolts and occasional grenade sleeting in their direction with magnificent disdain. They were larger and bulkier than the Astartes I'd seen before; although I was to become familiar with it later, this was the first time I'd ever seen Terminator armour in action, apart from a handful of seconds aboard the necron vessel before losing consciousness. Most of the Astartes wearing it seemed to be carrying twin-barrelled bolters, which put out a staggering amount of firepower, ripping all traces of resistance to shreds with contemptuous ease, and one had a pair of missile pods mounted above his shoulders.

As I watched, the Terminator fired one from each, taking out a Basilisk which had started to move away in an explosion which knocked many of the defenders from their feet, but left the Astartes striding grimly forwards, apparently unmoved. Another of his fellows approached the nearest artillery piece and began literally tearing it apart, the long metal claws attached to his gauntlets shearing through the thick metal as though it was no more substantial than mist and shadows, a faint nimbus of arcane energies crackling about them.[18]

Panic-stricken crewmen bailed from it and ran in random directions, desperate to get away before those formidable talons found purchase in flesh.

Tearing my eyes reluctantly away from the spectacle, because it's not often I get so close to a battle without someone diverting my attention by trying to kill me, I glanced down to make sure Mira was all right. As it happened she was looking distinctly apprehensive, and who could blame her; apart from the disconcerting effect of being caught in the fringes of a teleport field, she'd be hearing all the noise without a clue as to what was going on. Catching her eye, I waved, as nonchalantly as I could manage, and started back down the stairs to reassure her. After all, annoying brat or not, she had just saved my life, which was always welcome, and she was considerably more decorative than Jurgen, whose job that usually was.

'What's going on?' she demanded, the minute I came within earshot.

'The Space Marines are taking out the artillery for us,' I told her, trying not to sound too pleased about it. 'That headache a few minutes ago was a bunch of Terminators teleporting in.' Which seemed a bit like overkill, given that a combat squad of ordinary Astartes could have taken out the rebels without breaking sweat, but only the Terminators had the training and experience to deploy by teleporter. A thought struck me, and I nodded in sudden understanding. 'No wonder Gries wanted the vox link kept open. They must have used it as a homing beacon.'

'Then we need to get the men up here,' she said, turning towards the manhole we'd first emerged from. 'The Astartes might need some backup.'

'I doubt it,' I said, keeping the relief from my voice with an effort. It could just have been the bulk of the intervening building, but it sounded to me like the firing was already reducing in both intensity and volume. 'But you're right about getting back under cover as fast as we can.' If I'd read the situation right, the few remaining rebels would give up trying to make a fight of it and start fleeing for their lives at any moment now, and that would be a bad time to get caught in the open. I fully expected Mira to argue about that, as she seemed to do more or less by reflex every time I tried to get her to be sensible, but if she was about to she never got the chance. Instead, she crouched behind the wrecked Chimera and raised her lasgun.

'Too late,' she said.