Fresh-Faced New User
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THE CHILD
Part 1
Drooda strained as he pushed with all his might against the nut. It must have been attached in the factorum before the engine was lowered into its housing in the rear of the Russ. Now, it was almost impossible to reach, buried a yard into the bay surrounded by hoses and wires. He could not even see it. Working by touch alone he had managed to get a spanner around it. The heat did not help. The hot desert sun made the engine bay feel like an oven. He pushed again, and then the inevitable happened; the spanner slipped. He lurched forward and banged his head on the rear of the engine. The hand holding the spanner went in the same direction and he punched something hard and pointy, deep inside the bay. The sharp pain made him drop the spanner. He pulled himself out with a long elaborate curse concerning the mating habits of a Catchens mother, and dropped onto his backside in the hot sand. The scorching heat seemed to find the bruise on his head. With his left hand he rubbed it as he sucked the cut across the knuckles of his right.
“Does the machine spirit need a blood offering, brudda?”
“What?” he asked in frustration and pain.
“The machine spirit, brudda. Did it ask for your blood?”
He looked at her with a mix of frustration and incredulity. Wherever he went, there she was. She could find him anywhere. She gave him no peace. Emperor’s breath knew why Voram kept her around, there had been plenty of opportunities to ditch the little brat, lots of little civie settlements where she could have been ensconced with her own kind. But no, the ‘mascot’, Fisala, was still with them. She hunched in a ball, her knees at her chin a few yards outside immediate hitting range – she had learned that much - and looked at him as though her question was the most natural thing in the world. He considered throwing a tool at her; the Emperor would forgive that surely, one little indiscretion, one tiny accident?
“Any joy?” said sergeant Voram as he walked up to them.
“None”, said Drooda as he continued to suck his hand. “That nut is on tight, almost welded on. Probably been like that since this heap was built”.
“Don’t say that!” interrupted Fisala, “don’t make the machine spirit angry!”
Mascot or not, he would smack her into the next region.
“Now, now Drooda, a little patience” said Voram smiling. “Go and help Hissran with the dinner, Fisala.”
“Yes Voram” she said and ran off.
“We need to find a Mech unit” said Drooda watching her skip away as he pulled himself to his feet, “there is only about a thousand clicks in the engine before it gives out”.
“Sand ingestion again”, queried Voram.
“Yea, but its getting into the sump now, I can empty the air filters but each time its a little worse. We really need a whole new engine.”
Voram sighed and stared at the open bay. Where was he going to find a Mech unit out here? Ever since the front collapsed, there where units all over the place. All scrambling to make it back to the safety of the airfields to the west of the sand sea.
“I’ll put out a vox call and see what I can find” he said.
“Thousand clicks” said Drooda, “that’s all she got.”
He fell to his knees and reached back into the Russ. Voram left him to his labours and climbed a sand dune. He looked out over the dunes that stretched all around, only to the north was the horizon broken by the Corvin Mountains. Everywhere else was the undulating sea of sand. Below him in the hollow between the dunes were the remains of his unit. One Leman Russ and a locally produced sand car, called a Berrot. A sturdy six wheeled vehicle that the locals used for everything from truck to ambulance to hearse. The Guard empresses thousands to act as the same for the Emperor. Re-sprayed and fitted with a stubber mount, they had worked well. And milling about the men of his unit. The Torkin twins, his side gunners, known as port and starboard, because that’s where they sat in the Russ. Hissram, his gunner, presently preparing dinner. Quize, his nose gunner who also worked the vox and Chiv, the Berrot driver who they had picked up in the retreat. Finally there was Drooda, the best Russ driver and mechanic he ever saw. Not much of a fighting force, not much of a fleeing force, but they where all he had. In the last week he had lost six men. Not even had time to bury them. That bothered him, leaving a man to lie in the air and parch in the desert sun. That did not sit well with him; they all understood, but some day he would have to explain that in the spirit word to the Emperor. That might be why he liked keeping the child with them. Saving her was his atonement for those sins. Keeping her safe was the only decent thing he had done on this sand strewn rock. The sun was dipping below the horizon. The cool night air would calm him. It would also condensate some water. Hissram smacked a ladle on a pot and called them all to dinner.
They all sat around the camp fire, eating the spicy bully meat stew. As always Fisala sat cross legged at Drooda’s feet. She called him brudda, brother in the local dialect. She had latched on to the big guy from the start. Emperor knows what had happened to her family. At first Drooda had wanted to drop her with some civilians, he was right, the belly of a Russ was no place for a 12 year old girl, but dumping her in a column of fleeing refugees was not safe either. They had passed through several towns and Drooda had said “here” or “here”. He stopped when they where some clicks from one they had passed through and saw it bombed to dust by the Orks. About 30 jets swooped down and raised the whole settlement.
After dinner, Quize brought out his mouth harp, after blowing out the sand he played a few tunes and they all sang songs. Fisala laughed at Drooda’s rendition of the ‘Cadians Lament’.
The fire was dieing at this point, so it was bed time. Fisala and the twins, after prayers, slept by the fire, Drooda and Hissran played a quick game of cards. Chiv stood first guard and Quize and Voram returned to the Russ
“Don’t know what I’ll pick up”, said Quize as he switched on the vox.
“A Mech unit would be delightful”, said Voram.
Quize scanned the airwaves for several minutes before he raised a hand.
“Well?”
“Hang on”, he said, “getting the code signal from a Mech unit talking to an Ack Ack outfit.”
“Where are they?”
“General call, the Mech unit is at an oasis and will stay there for another few days re-supplying”. He scribbled down some numbers and letters and handed them to Voram, “these are the coordinates”.
Voram turned and took out a map. Twice he checked. They where 376 clicks to the south west, over a salt pan. That was good news as they could travel faster over the flat ground in a day, with no mishaps. The bad news was they would be out in the open with no cover from the sun, or the Orks. But they needed repairs and it was well within Drooda’s thousand click forecast.
He turned back to Quize. “Tomorrow, we head south west.”
Soon, Part two
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