Fresh-Faced New User
|
Hey all, I worked up this short story a little while ago and thought you guys might be interested in it. It's an Imperial Guard story I suppose, but don't expect too many battle scenes! I'm just interested in what you guys think of it, so let me know!
The sky thundered and the entire building shook as the three men ran at a stooping jog into the sepulchral war factory. Lines of half-completed battle tanks lurked in the gloom of the vast shed and the three men raised up to look around. They wore the imperial battledress of three different regiments and each was covered in a clay textured pinkish layer of intermixed gore and filth.
Get that door closed! Bellowed the oldest one, a great, greying, battle scarred veteran whose hair and beard flew about him in the gale blowing in through the shutters which the men struggled to close
Lend us a hand then, called back the second man. Younger than the first, he was a man of middle age, wiry of build with a duelling scar across his right eye.
On three, shouted the third. The youngest of the three survivors he nevertheless stood the tallest, his helmet lost revealing his buzz cut hair and his dress tattered and muddied for all its newness. With a mighty effort all three men hauled down on the metal shutterdoor, finally slamming it home, shutting out the elements and deadening the sounds of battle. Relieved, the three men slumped down leaning their backs on the corrugated door, their breath steaming in the cold.
The oldest was the first to move. Holding two fingers to the side of his head he walked away from his fellow soldiers shouting into his helmet microphone. The scarred one watched him go then flipped out form some compartment of his dress a packet of the Lho smoking sticks popular amongst many regiments on that world. Lighting one up he worked it to the far side of his mouth then offered the youngest his hand, saying Lucian Stancato. I'm guessing that we're here for the foreseeable so how about we find something that'll burn?
The kid took the hand, levering himself up. Stancato was surprisingly strong, helping the boy up with no apparent effort, brushing himself off the boy smiled and with surprising formality introduced himself as Private Jongen, saying that he was pleased to meet the older man. Bit of a cluster out there, eh? He said.
Stancato looked at the boy, then laughed. Nothing new there boy, now there must be some fuel around here somewhere.
~
They had a good fire going when the old one joined them. Jongen had found and broken up a great deal of the wooden crates used to transport the parts the machines which fuelled the war outside forged into the machines designed to fight it. While the boy gathered had sheetmetal around them in a circle to form a wind break and drawn up empty and rusted barrels to serve as seats Stancato has poured promethium onto the mulched packing from inside the broken down crates holding munitions to serve as kindling, then piled the wood high as the flames took hold.
So, old timer, said Stancato, looking up from his work at the fire, how long are we stuck here for.
The old man regarded Stancato disapprovingly from over his moustaches. Less of the old timer, he said. Command say we are to hold position while they try and reinforce our position
Reinforced our position? The younger one blurted out. There's nothing here to reinforce.
The old man looked at him. I know that, he said. However, command do not and have decided to find out for themselves, so we may as well get comfortable. He sat on one of the drums and warmed his hands at the fire. They were all three of them steaming slightly in the warmth of the fire and the mud was drying on the uniforms and faces and crackling as the moved. I gather you two know each other, he said looking about. The boy and the smoking man introduced themselves, then the smoking one removed the burning tube from his mouth and held it between fore and middle finger then pointing it at the older man asked,
and what about you? What's your story old man?
The greying veteran glared at him for a moment but then smiled grimly. I am sergeant Joseph Serra of the fourth Cadian rifles. I lost my squad out there, I assume in the same bombardment that separated the tow of you form your commands. At this the other men nodded sagely, remembering the brief rain of fire which had driven them into this place of production. The three sat in companionable silence for several minutes before Jongen spoke up finally
Do you guys know any good stories? I knew a guy back in basic that had a hundred of em, used to make sentry fly by they did.
Stancato regarded the boy with a cynical eye. Why dont you start us off then kid? Since you've got these great stories from this guy of yours
Jongen looked taken aback for a moment then began. He spoke quickly and without hesitation or much movement.
Well let me tell you boys about the last time I got stuck in one of these tight spots. It was about a year ago now an we was fightin them little grey Tau guys on Sumeria or Delph or one of those holes out in the galactic east somewheres. Anyway, all hell was goin on and we got holed up in one of those big old war factories they got out there and all those damn missiles was slammin into the ground and the whole damn place was shaking and all this dust kept fallin out of the roof and every now and then one of these big old girders would come plummeting down and stick in the ground, just like a javelin. So there we was, a bunch of new fresh recruits, all keeping our damn heads down and out of the way while all the smoke and flames came leapin in through the busted-out windows and through al that, all the dust and the smoke and the flames comes this old-ass commissar lookin like the vengeance of the emperor hisself. He'd been in a few scraps, that one had. His face all puckered up with long-healed scars and one eye gone completely, just gouged clean out, and over all that some newly-burnt skin from the heat outside and a new trail of blood leaking down from all around his scalp like he was wearin some kinda spiked crown or somethin. Anyway, this old boy comes all stormin in, I guess he lost his own guys somewhere along the way and he starts in on all this shoutin and hollerin like they used to give us back in boot. Get your asses up he starts in with an goin on about how we was all flithy and wrong in the eyes of His Holiness and all the whole we're, whitecaps all, just sat there in this nice safe little hole we'd done made for ourselves and just starin up at this bloody, burned and bellowing ball of fury and rage and we just dont know what to do. We just freeze up there, looking up with our stupid wide whitecaps' eyes and so he takes another step and comes completely into the factory to better yell at us. Get to closer range I suppose. And just at that exact moment, just as he starts in on yelling at us, standing brace-legged in the doorway, in silhouette against all the madness that was going on out there and gesturing with one of those big old officer's power swords they give em, right then, at that very moment there's this huge bang. A missile or something must have finally hit the place, cos I swear the whole damn place shook like it was an earthquake or somethin and the ground bucked up like a scared horse. That last one must have done something really bad to the place cos over even this old boy's bellowing I hears this screaming, tearing noise and all of a sudden this massive Aquilla, and I mean massive, this thing must have been for one of those Leviathans command uses sometimes, I mean, this thing was longer than a baneblade, looked heavier too. This huge Aquilla just comes spinning out of nowhere and BAM, lands right on this old guy just where as he's standing there, no more than twenty feet away. The whole thing was so close to us that we all get splattered with this old guy's blood, all across my face and chest, and all across the other guys' faces too and so we're all lay there, in the middle of this warzone with all the fires ragin and the guns goin off and now we're all covered in the gore from this old guy and we just start laughing. Laughing and laughing our asses off. We just couldn't stop till we'd laughed ourselves until we'd laughed ourselves hoarse. Funniest thing I've ever seen. Right to this day. Funniest damn thing.
As he finished Jongen leant forward and slapped his knee and laughed. Stancato let forth one laugh, like a dog barking in the darkness of the shed. Serra smiled a thin and weary smile. Good story, lad, he said. Good story.
How about you, Stancato? Said Jongen. You got one you'd like to share with us?
Stancato smiled and leaned forward. He was still smoking and as he began his story he pushed his helmet of his head. When he began to speak at length Jongen and Serra noticed for the first time that he spoke Gothic with a heavy accent they had not encountered before. The funniest thing? He took a pull on the small lighted tube held between index and middle fingers of his right hand, then leaned back, crossing his legs in front of him at the ankles, resting the elbow of his right hand in the palm of the left which lay crossed across his chest. As he spoke, he flicked his wrist back and forth, the small flame leaving a faint trail of dirty smoke in the air.
Funniest? I dont know about funniest. In fact I think I lost my sense of humour about these kind of things quite long ago. What I will tell you is that the thing that made me realise, really brought home to me, as you might say, exactly where we sit in whatever plan it is that He has come up with. I was a part of a small operation brought together by an agent of the Inquisition. There were not that many of us, perhaps a dozen or maybe a few more. We were veterans all, so we thought. This agent pulled us out of the crusade which went through the crypt worlds out past the halo worlds a few years ago and called us all to this planet the crusade had passed by as completely empty of all life, faithful to his holiness or not. We all arrived, all of us removed from our comrades, out of our regiment. I remember thinking that perhaps this would be a, a
here again he gestured vigorously with the smoking tube
relief, I think perhaps I mean, from the front lines, where we had all seen men die. In any case, we all arrived on this planet, shuttled down there from the division cruisers, all to help this agent, whoever he was, explore what we thought was this totally deserted world. He was waiting for us, his face covered by a hood and his armour covered in the purity seals our priest used to hand out sometimes. It had been made clear to us that the orders this man gave were not to be questioned, and so we set out after him into this underground complex which seemed to be made of ancient stones. At first I thought that there was light coming into the place from the surface, but as we got deeper into it, it become clear that all the stones were emanating this grey light. We got to the fifth level and came up against a wall and then this agent told us to be on our guard and he plugged himself into something in the wall and opened it. Inside this place were what I thought were statues standing in alcoves. We were told to move quietly and we did, following this man who we had never met before and whose face we would never see past these serried ranks of silent manshapes. We had almost reached the end of the corridor then the door the man had opened slammed closed and this green light came upon us. The first of the manshapes to move caught a man by the arm and with a single wrench tore his shoulder from its moorings. The second dropped like a shadow from the ceiling, caught another man by the jaw and carried him back up into the darkness of the rafters before anything could be done. After that we ran. The agent led us on, deeper into the complex, and we laid down our own covering fire, blindly shooting behind us as these things stalked after us in the darkness like nightmare insects. Finally, they stopped chasing us as we reached another flight of stairs, which led down to anther wall. One man threw himself against it and was consumed by green fire, his flesh stripped away to his bones, flayed in an instant. The agent stepped up and once again plugged into something hidden on the wall. Again it opened and again we entered a greenlit corridor. There was nothing in the corridor. At least not at first. I remember, a wind brushed my cheek and behind me two men were snatched from their feet by what I would swear to this day was a flying snake. Again we ran, but the thing did not come again. Eventually we reached a final door, one much larger than those that had gone before. The agent began to work on the door. As he did, the manshapes came again. We held them off as well as we could, losing man after man as they slowly came time and again toward us. The door finally opened to reveal what we had come for.
Here he uncrossed his legs and leant forward, the smoking tube casting dramatic upward shadows across his face.
The door opened to revel nothing. The room was utterly bare. There were no markings of any kind. The agent ran around the room, looking for some hint as to the chamber's purpose. We would have laughed the see the capering form which just a few moments ago had spoken with the voice of the Emperor himself, but the manshapes pushed in on us, clawing and tearing with steel fingers. We fought our way out and back to the surface. As we reached the final level only I and the agent remained. As we reached the final door and the agent worked to close it he was thrown back by a final arc of light as the door sealed itself once again. As he died, the agent pressed into my hand a data crystal which he claimed held all the intelligence he had gathered and that I should take his shuttle and explain to his masters all that had happened.
I walked across the dead world's surface through a howling gale which whipped the surface dust into a stinging cloud, clutching the crystal to my chest with one arm and shielding my eyes with the other. The ship's autopilot took me to a black ship utterly devoid of marking, which I had not noticed during the descent to the planet. I explained to the docking authority what had become of the men I had served with down in the crypt and they opened the doors and welcomed me in.
I'll be damned, the young one said. You're a full-on hero! What did you do to get busted back down here amongst us grunts?
This is the point of my story, he said. I handed the crystal over to those hooded men who greeted me on the ship and they assured me of a safe placement once the data had been collected. I waited aboard the ship for two days while their cogitators and logic engines puzzled over what I had brought back. On the third day on old man came to my room, revealed his lined and aged face and told me that although the data collected from the crystal was complete, it was the rantings of a madman, referring to star formations and even entire galaxies which either no longer existed or had only existed in the agent's diseased mind. I was dropped off at the nearest front-line planet and reunited with my unit with the last words the old man had said to me still ringing in my ears. He told me that those who had died on that empty world for a data crystal filled with useless and deranged knowledge had died doing their duty. Doing their duty.
He sighed, pulled his helmet back down to its original position and flicked the tube away. It spiralled briefly in the air before disappearing finally into the darkness, its spark finally extinguished.
As he finished, Serra's headset began to squall and he picked it up again and moved out of the lee of the assembled sheets to answer it. Jongen leant forwards and spoke earnestly to Stancato, Is that true? He said, that the agent you worked for was insane? That the mission was all for nothin?
Stancato smiled. Perhaps then there is another point to the story he said. Does it matter if it happened or not? It could be true, kid, and is that not enough?
Serra re-entered the glow of the fire. He took off his helmet and ran a hand through his grizzled and matted hair, then finally he put his headset down and sat down heavily on one of the unturned promethium drums.
Well boys, we are officially stuck here for the night now. Command'll start shelling again bout dawn tomorrow, so we may as well get comfortable
What about you, old timer? Stancato said.
Yea, Jongen joined in, you've been in the guard for years! You must have some great stories!
The old man sighed.
Yes, boys, it's true i've bin in the guard for just about longer than I can remember, and I've probably seen some stuff that'd make you boys piss yourselves laughin, or just plain piss yourselves. But the damnedest thing I ever heard I heard back in basic on Cadia.
So you gonna tell us or what? Jongen piped up
Well, giving us one of those things wouldn't hurt your chances, said the old one, smiling and gesturing to Stancato's Lho packet. Stancato looked hard at the old man, then sighed and passed both the packet and the adapted flamer pilot light he used as a lighter across the fire to Serra, who palmed them both with a nod.
Well this story, the old one began, leaning back against a support pillar, I heard from this guy. Young one, he was, who swore blind that it was as true as the primer. Kid got so messed up about it, he ended up finding hisself wanting before old Commissar Bone back there on Cadia ever got a hold of him
You mean.... The Young One began
Fraid so, young 'un, the old one said. Stuck a bolt pistol in his mouth the day before we was all ready to ship out. God knows where he got hold of it, but took the emperor's mercy into his own hands.
Serra tapped the packet on his knee then took out and lit one of the sticks and leaned forward and passed the packet and lighter back to Stancato, then leant back once again, pinching the stick between thumb and index finger, breathing the smoke in through his mouth and out through his nose ad he began his tale.
Anyways. This kid, before he blew his brains all over the bunkhouse floor this kid told me this story. Said he found it all out when he went back home for his grandfather's funeral or some such thing. This kid's grandfather, or was it his great-uncle or whatever, was a hangman. Retired from the service on some medical grounds or other.
Hah! Jongen started, I knew this guy back in basic who wanted to get out on a medical, so he took his sidearm and he....
Jongen stopped here, silenced by a glance from Stancato. Serra nodded his thanks then went on
An' the thing we all knew was that this kid came from a world which we had never heard of, not a one of us. So we go all through basic together, make it all the way along to where we're ready to go get passed out and we get all this way along without ever once mentioning home. I guess basic's a bit like operations like that, a man dont hardly talk about where he's come from cause he knows he aint gonna be seein it again. So we get all this way along and like a month before the parade this kid bugs off home to some backwater agri-world no-one's ever heard of and he comes back like three weeks later and comes back lookin the most strung-out I've ever seen an man, and that includes those I've seen comin out of forests covered in bug slime. We were rooming together by this point, being seniors and all, and we get to talkin and I ask this kid how home was and he tells me the damnedest thing.
Serra leant forward and blew smoke from his nose in two jets over the fire, then stared into the coals for a moment before going on.
This kid tole me that his home was damn near blown up for harboring a damned Slaaneshi cult. Think about it! Some green rock with the population of about seventeen and this thing goin on! That was the real reason he was called home. Of course, I'm amazed by this an I ask him how come it is that the place wasnt blown all to hell and why it is that the kid is allowed to come and be in the guard with all this his world's past an he tells me that it weren't no cult and that this is what's gotten him buggin out. The hangman who was this kid's grandfather or granduncle or whatever the kid always assumed had never done gotten marred. You know, there were no kids and no sign of any missus at all. Seemed odd, but not that odd as the only thing the kid ever knew about this man in life was that he crawled himself into a snakebite bottle and did his damndest to stay there. But when this ole bastard was finally laid in the family crypt, he got laid alongside this woman, all preserved like, just like they have for war heroes. So this kid gets all suspicious and starts pokin around. Asks the old boy who lives across the way. The old boy remembers the wife for sure but tells the kid to go ask his father, it aint his news to tell, inquisition on the way or no inquisition on the way. So the kid goes and asks his dad and confronts him. Asks him about it all; the inquisition getting set to blow them all to pieces, the woman, what the ole boy had tole him, everything and the dad, who had gotten pretty drunk by all accounts tells him. The hangman came back out of the guard. He was born on this rock, you see, and asked to be sent back there after he got wounded. And he brought this girl with him. Beautiful, she was, tall, slim, dark black hair, and about twenty or thirty years the 'sar's junior. Now on this rock was the rest of the hangman's family; paw and maw and three grown up little ones, the second one all ready to be shipped out to the guard. The old man takes his young wife and sets up home not far from the family homestead. The second kid is sent out there with some servitors to fit up the old place to the ex-hangman's requirements. Kid works hard, fixes up this old house, even basically rebuilds this fallin-down chapel the old guy wanted to have use of and one day, just as he caps off the church and sends the servitors home finally this young wife comes out to have a look at what he's done. You boys can imagine what happened, I'm sure. The 'sar's wound seemed to mean that he couldn't be the husband she wanted, this young and energetic women and by contrast this boy who had built this beautiful chapel was the guy for her. The meet a couple more times, she riding out to meet him all over the place. The hangman finds out, of course, and the time he catches them, their in the very chapel he had had made. He killed them. Both. The kid he shot in the head, the crippled ole man plain beat this young kid to the draw. The women he beat with his hands. This kid I knew didn't know if he really meant to kill her or not, but she ended up dead all the same. The 'sar had brought a damned torch servitor with him and had the thing burn the the place to the ground, sacred to the Emperor or no, then had it drag the kid outside and branded the mark onto the kid's head, right there in the smoke and the flames. The wife he carries off himself and makes it look like suicide back home. Then he reports the thing to the Inquisition. But they take so damned long getting round to the place, out there on the Eastern Fringe an all, that the damned hangman is dead an buried in the ground by the time the ship comes around.
So what happened? Jongen asked, wide-eyed. This kid's planet get blown up?
That was the damndest thing of all, the old one said, flicking the spent tube away. The kid goes back to his world, gets all this out of his old man and they let the planet go! The kid turns this all in to the inquisitor in charge of the op and they just turn right around and leave. No word of thanks, no judgements, they just up and go. Kid said that he could have taken it if there had been a cult in the family, what he couldn't get was not the horror at something horrible; the cult, that he could deal with. What he had himself was a horror at the horror this old man felt, and the way he used and twisted the thing that we all rely on, that faith that keeps us all goin, at least through basic, even if some of us do lose a little along the way once we hit operations, the fact that this guy, the guardian and keeper of that thing was the one to use it was the thing he couldn't take, the horror at the horror. I growed up fast in the guard that day, I tell you.
But how did he find all this out? Jongen asked. I mean, how did the father know?
The old man turned to look at him. He held his gaze a long time and then said
The kid's old man helped. The hangman told him his uncle was in a filthy pact with the dark powers and that he and the girl were in it together and the father went with him to burn the chapel. Hell, the kid told me that the father held the smoking branding iron to his uncle's forred hisself.
The young one sat back, then crossed his arms across his chest, hugging himself against the chill in the old factory. The old one spat into the fire where the black spittle evaporated with a brief hiss.
Stancato leant forward and looked up at Serra through the smoke of the fire
I guess that means that you hate the guard as much as I do
Serra leant forwards and looked at the ground for a long time. He muttered something.
Pardon me? Asked Stancato
I said, no. I don't hate it. I dont. I really dont.
Outside, the shells continued to fall, indifferent to the stories shared by the companions sheltering in the grey factory of war.
|
