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Summary: Mordecai and the Retinue investigate a number of missing convoys

Part 1: The Imperial Highway

In a flash of light, the Razor Descent exploded into being from the cold, mind-lashing insanity of the immaterium.
Below it, the Hive City of Medrogus reached into the sky with colossal spires that could easily be seen by those present on the bridge of the ship.
It's sleek, red bulk dropped into orbit, awaiting permission for it's crew to make planetfall.
On the bridge, Admiral Anton Gambit patted the console in his command pulpit affectionately, smiling as the ship hummed, almost as if in response.

He glanced up as the elevator doors slid open, and three men stepped out onto the bridge.
The first had hazel-brown, close-cropped hair and cyan eyes, and was clean-shaven.
This was Benjamin Mordecai, an Inquisitor and the go-to person in the sector for any issues regarding aliens, heretics or monsters.
The second had black hair, close-cropped, with emerald green eyes and a constant smirk.
A messy stubble ran across his face.
This was Fenton Muir, Benjamin's close friend and his left-hand man in the retinue.

The third was a Tau, an alien with a flat, smooth, gray face with a leathery texture to it, crimson red eyes with no pupils, and legs that bent back awkwardly to form hooves.
Shas'Vre Mon'Wern'A had somehow managed to find the paints that the Artificers used for repainting the team's armour after an engagement, and used it to paint his own armour to match the rest of the group's attire.
Anton didn't have any great love for the Tau; Mon'Wern had a habit of fiddling with the ship's comms and navigation systems.

"So, Inquisitor, what has this contact of yours told you?" Anton queried, straightening and folding his arms across his chest.
"Well," Benjamin began, "As you know, the newly opened branch of the Imperial highway running out of Medrogus Hive stretches out as far as Bleakpoint in the dust wastes."
"And what significance does that play?" Anton raised an eyebrow curiously.
"The Planetary Governor has been trying to keep things under wraps, but several entire convoys have been going missing in the last two weeks." Benjamin tapped a few buttons on the command pulpit's log, bringing up a detailed map of the region where the frozen hinterlands gave way to the harsh dust wastes.

"Why would the Governor try to hide this?" Fenton put in, brushing a hand against his stubble thoughtfully.
"Lord-Inquisitor Havard said he'd look into the matter," Benjamin replied, "We're going to find out what's disrupting the convoys, and we're going to put a stop to it."
"Sounds like a plan." Mon'Wern smirked lightly.
Anton frowned, turning back to his console.

***


Rennard Osbourne placed both hands on the rim of the hatch and hauled himself up out of the dimly-lit confines of the Chimera.
The Chimera was only a troop transport, and wouldn't lend much to firepower; It made Rennard feel unsafe.
Better to be where he could see what was coming, instead of waiting for an unexpected end.

The dry wind of the dust wastes whipped his face as if to try and ward him off, or warn him.
Turn back.
Rennard was the kind of man who'd spit in that warning's face.
Thickly-muscled, broad-shouldered, with a shaven head and a scar stretching from the right corner of his lips up to his cheek bone, Rennard Osbourne looked every bit the career soldier in his dark green combats and his silvery flak-armour.
He was captain of the 12th Jurdani Tygers, and it had been his duty to see the supply convoys to Bleakpoint.
Three convoys had gone missing in the last two weeks, and now Rennard had had enough; Anything that wanted to try and take him could kiss his Plasma Gun.

The low rumble of six Chimeras sounded in his ears, and the sun beat down upon his body, making him sweat intensely.
There were sixty of the Tygers in all, twenty each to three of the Chimeras; the other three were given over to the actual supplies.
Bleakpoint was an isolated settlement, and they would not be able to survive without the supplies purchased from Medrogus Hive.
Osbourne suddenly became aware of the sound of feet thumping against the metal bulk of the transport vehicle.
He turned around to see Veteran Sergeant Drevan Stubbs dangling his feet over the side of the tank.

Drevan was a career soldier, and much older than Rennard.
He was a painfully thin man, his weathered face and hollow cheeks suggested just how much action he'd seen in his service.
A thin mohawk of white hair topped his slender head, and he sat with his left arm in a sling.
Drevan had lost the use of that arm during the Tyrannid invasion years ago, but being a stubborn bastard, had refused amputation and bionic replacement, instead bearing the pain of the bio-acid slowly burning away his flesh.

"Drev?" Rennard asked, half-crawling over the tank's hull to his old friend, "Everything alright?"
"There's worse things to come, Renn." Drevan whispered.
"What?" Rennard cocked his head to one side, "Drev, did Kelner give you those meds this morning?"
"I'm not off my rocker, Renn!" Drevan insisted, "Don't you remember the convoy wreckage we passed at the border?"
"Yeah." Rennard replied grimly, "No corpses."
"But they left the goods, Rennard," Drevan turned his head, looking at his captain directly in the eyes, "Its not bandits, Renn, and we're not going to make it to Bleakpoint."
Rennard sighed, "I hope you're wrong, old friend...I hope by the Emperor's light that you're wrong."

"Captain!" One of the scouts came darting down the steep rocky bank at the side of the highway, dropping into a walking pace alongside the Chimera.
"What is it?" Osbourne asked, turning to face the woman.
Drevan pulled himself over to look more closely at the woman.
Lyra Medara was of a sleek build, muscular in an athletic way, with a long mohawk of hazel coloured hair topping her head, and enough skill with a Chainsword to make a Space Marine blush.
"Another convoy wreckage ahead, Captain," she said formally, despite the fact she seemed close to choking on the dry air, "Eight Chimeras, all at the side of the road."

"Go get something to drink, Medara, we'll halt the convoy when we're close enough and go to check it out."
The scout nodded, falling back to one of the other Chimeras.
"Stopping would be foolhardy," Drevan said quietly.
"But so is carrying on." Rennard countered, "Better we figure out what's behind this, rather than going in blind."

***

The Valkyrie lifted off in a haze of dust that washed over the three men as they began their trek towards the site of the last convoy.
All three became enveloped in a grim silence as they proceeded, weapons drawn.
The low hum of the Inquisitor's plasma pistols and Mon'Wern's Pulse rifle were accompanied only by the harsh whistling of the wind over the barren land and the soft, muffled thump of footsteps.

Even Fenton felt the full weight of what they were doing.
Gone were the humorous jokes at the Inquisitor's expense, the grumbling about the weather or the task at hand.
Fenton was an Acolyte; And it was, truly, a solemn duty.
Benjamin keyed in his vox bead.
"Anton, how far?"

"A few kliks, Inquisitor," Came the static-laced reply, "The dust is playing havoc with our sensory systems, so I can't give an accurate estimate. Just follow your course."
"Understood, Bridge-Admiral." He shut off the vox link.
The land began to rise as they approached the Imperial Highway, gently sloping upwards before dropping in a steep bank that then gave way to the stone plated road that cut through the dust wastes like an open wound, stretching all the way back to the frozen bulwark of Medrogus Hive in the far north.

"So, what's so strange about these disappearances that our contact felt you ought to know?" Fenton muttered finally, breaking the silence, "I mean, its strange, but this is PDF stuff, not Inquisitorial business."
"The convoy vehicles were left untouched, so were the supplies." Benjamin replied, "Only the personnel went missing. It is, indeed, strange."

The silence resumed with an air of nervousness.
They all knew they would be walking into a trap, three men walking into the maw of a beast that had snapped up entire platoons before them.
They passed a particularly large rock formation, it's shape eroded by the wind to form a hollow ring that hummed every time the wind picked up; It was an eerie sound, enough to make each of them shiver.

"Wait." Mon'Wern paused, looking from left to right, the two optics of his domed helmet scanning the area around the rock formation.
"What is it?" the Inquisitor asked cautiously, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"The predator is not the larger animal, it is the craftiest." Mon'Wern hissed back.
Benjamin nodded, indicating with his hands.
He pointed two fingers to one side of the rock formation, and one to the other.

Fenton and Mon'Wern darted quietly to edge around the left side, whilst Benjamin took the right, his back pressed firmly against the rock, both Plasma pistols held ready.
His breathing intensified, his heart quickened.
The nervousness had gone, replaced only by the concentration of a warrior preparing for battle.
He stepped out from behind the rock, coming face to face with a short, serrated blade, pointing squarely at his neck.

The girl couldn't have been older than twenty.
She stood in a suit of skin-tight black leather, only interrupted by plates of steel across her chest and her left arm and leg.
A belt with pouches full of grenades and explosives was wrapped around her slender waist, and her hair was tied in a tight top-knot at the back of her head.
Her dark, youthful eyes stared at him fiercely.
The blade she had pointed at him was attached to her left gauntlet, just above the knuckles.

"You don't look an awful lot like a bandit." She commented finally, slowly lowering the blade.
Benjamin keyed in his vox bead, making three sharp taps.
The other two came out of hiding, their weapons lowered.
"I'm an Inquisitor," he explained, "I was here to investigate a missing convoy."
"Funny," the girl murmured, "I came for the same reason."
"And you are?" Benjamin asked inquisitively.
"Going." she stated firmly, "I travel light, and alone."

"And you hope to succeed where several fully equipped detachments of Guardsmen have failed?" Benjamin called after her as she began to walk away.
"I am stealthy," she countered, "They were not."
"Well, you're heading the wrong way." Fenton put in.
The girl stopped, and turned, a frown creasing her face.
"And you would know?"
"We have a ship in orbit." Benjamin folded his arms, "It's difficult not to know."
"Very well," she began to walk back to the group, "Men have a habit of tripping over their own feet. Let's see how amusing you prove."
Fenton muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like "demon woman" as they trudged onward.

***

Rennard Osbourne dropped to the ground as the convoy grinded to a halt, slamming a fresh cartridge into his plasma gun.
Ahead of them lay the wreckages of eight PDF chimeras, their navy-blue hulls blackened and charred.
Twenty Jurdani Tygers followed behind him, las-rifles lowered and loaded, their expressions alert, watching.
A few yards behind, the other soldiers stood ready to engage, should the need arise.

He knelt, his knee pressing into the soft earth, he picked up a handful of charred sand, and let it run through his fingers.
Something sharp pricked his skin, causing him to drop it.
He gazed at the object, approximately a centimeter long, its sharp, jagged surface had a somewhat streamlined appearance to it.
He stood up, striding over to one of the Chimeras; Drevan Stubbs stepped up beside him.
The old Veteran traced his fingers along a gaping rent in the vehicle's side, where something had sliced clean through it and out the other side.

Even the low, throaty rumble of the Chimeras had stopped long ago, and now it seemed as if the planet itself was waiting for a verdict on the missing PDF and Guardsmen.
"What did this?" Drevan murmured under his breath.
Rennard didn't answer; his gaze fell upon a set of blood-marked footprints lacing the highway.
Whoever had left them had been sprinting, and had been wearing standard-issue heavy boots.
The same make as the ones every soldier in Rennard's platoon wore.

He paced along the side of the Chimera, and then climbed in through the open rear hatch.
The holo-log at the far end was still active.
He approached it, and keyed in his passcode, his face illuminated by a streak of blue light in the dim confines of the vehicle.
He navigated the console, checking for the most recent log.
His ears were greeted by the sounds of distant screams burbled through the log, and a bloodied face appearing on-screen.
The man was panicked.
"Command was right," the man sobbed in a high-pitched voice, muted only slightly by the holo-log, "By the Lords, the myths were right! We should have taken more care, should have listened!"
The man's sobbing became a scream as a pulse of light burst through the side of the Chimera, searing his arm from his body.

Rennard looked to his right, staring through the hole created by the beam of light.
In that second, Rennard Osbourne came to a decision.
He hopped out of the derelict Chimera and started back to the convoy at a brusque pace.
"Renn?" He heard Stubbs ask.
"Board transports!" He shouted, "Start the engines, and keep your weapons loaded! I want five men per group scouting along the road!"
He lowered his voice slightly, a fear he had not known his entire life twisting his gut.
"We're heading back to Medrogus."

Sergeant Pax, a good man and a senior officer, looked about as a low whining noise cut the air.
He was a middle-aged soldier, who had signed up with the Guard to keep his wife and daughter fed.
Chelsea would be five this year; Pax thanked the Emperor every day he was so fortunate as to work close to home.

He gasped, feeling nothing but coldness as the shrapnel dart slammed through his flak-armour and buried deep into his skin, before detonating in his chest and slicing a horde of needle-like shards deep into his skin, with yet more fragments bursting out of his chest to lacerate the Guardsmen either side of him.
Pax and two others died in an instant.

"feth!" Rennard Osbourne snarled, bringing his Plasma Gun to bear.
He keyed in his vox.
"Pull the Chimeras in a tight circle, get behind them and start laying down crossfire!"
He herded his Guardsmen into the circle as the Chimeras pulled formation.
He could still hear Pax's dying gasp in his head as the sleek, lithe warriors leapt out of hiding, their bronze-coloured armour reflected the blood-red of the setting sun.
"I doubt if we'll live to see morning..." Drevan murmured quietly, slamming a cartridge into his Plasma Pistol.

Feel free to reply.

Positive feedback and tips, if you please...

I sensed a coming slaughter and I was correct it seems. I have noting negative to say about the story, the pacing s well done. Although I am no fan of the Tau. But that is a minor thing and not relevant to the quality of the story.

May I guess at either Corsair eldar or Dark Eldar?

Part 2: A Welcome Interruption

They crested the ridge overlooking the Highway, only to be greeted by a gory sight.
Six Chimeras sat in a tight circle, Guardsmen in dark green and silvery-grey Flak-armour glancing off potshots between the gaps, taking down a pitiful number of the bronze-armoured assailants, who fired sleek, serrated shells from long, slender rifles into the midst of the Guardsmen, killing many and maiming more.

Judging from the corpses, only thirty Guardsmen were currently holding the line; the others were either dead, or getting that way.

One stood apart from the rest, his head shaven and a Plasma Gun in his hands, he stood atop one of the Chimeras, firing off concentrated pulses into the enemy ranks as they swarmed around the vehicles, only to be greeted by plasma fire and the stabbing bayonets of the waiting Guardsmen.

"What are they?" Mon'Wern asked quietly.
"Eldar witches of some description." The girl answered.
Meera Shanton was her name, she was a freelance mercenary who had been the daughter of a noble back in Medrogus.
Tired of her confined life, Meera had run away from home, learned the mercenary's trade from a man who had once been an Imperial sniper, and had started hiring herself out.

She had told them this as they were walking, a way to ease the boredom and the overall sense of foreboding.
"How do we proceed?" Benjamin asked, his mind flashing back to the Elder Ranger they had encountered while recruiting Mon'Wern a few months before.
"Keep a blade close and your wits about you." She cautioned, before leaping the ridge and darting towards the horde of Dark Eldar.

"Drinks are on me when we come out the other side." Fenton muttered, before following suit.
Benjamin readied his Plasma Pistols, turning to Mon'Wern.
"Stay hidden, offer covering support, and warn us of any blind spots."
The Tau nodded, loading a fresh cartridge into his Pulse rifle.
Benjamin leapt onto the warm rockrete of the Imperial Highway, firing rounds of superheated plasma as he ran towards the engagement.

***

Rennard Osbourne unloaded the empty plasma cartridge, watching as the overheated cylinder dropped into the bared, slender face of an Eldar warrior, sending the Xenos tumbling backwards into his comrades.
Loading a fresh cylinder, he took little notice of the serrated darts flying around him; for some reason, maybe luck, none touched him.
His heart wrenched every time he heard a Guardsman screaming in his or her death throes.

"Emperor's hairy bollocks." He muttered, lifting the Plasma Gun and launching a stream of superheated blue light into a group of bunched warriors, searing flesh, bonding armour to skin and dissipating exposed skin.
The enemy's ranks parted as a tall, athletic female warrior bounded towards him.
Rennard managed two shots before she reached him, all of which went wide.

Her grin revealed teeth sharpened to a point as she leapt onto the deck of the Chimera; her slender Eldar features both beautiful and deadly at the same time.
She carried a barbed net attached to one arm, and a dagger in the other.
"Accept your fate, youngling, you already belong to me." Her tone was feral yet graceful, a lady of the hunt who had cornered her prey.

"Bitch." Rennard retorted, a Guardsman, doing a Guardsman's job, speaking like a Guardsman.
He'd never been much good at comebacks, anyway.
The Wych launched herself forwards, drawing her dagger in a swift vertical slice for his chest.
Rennard stepped inside the blow and brought his Plasma Gun up to block.
The dagger scored his weapon, and then sliced into his flak-armour, tearing a long gash in it.

He grunted, ignoring the pain, he raised his arm to elbow the Wych in the face.
But her face was no longer there; Moving with a fluidity and grace that a human could only dream of, the female Eldar ducked his counterattack and darted to the side, before slamming the hilt of her dagger into the back of his neck.
Rennard stumbled forwards, feeling as if he'd been kicked by a Krootox.

The Wych kicked out, her foot slamming Rennard's head into the metal decking of the Chimera's hull.
He lay there, dazed as a foot was placed firmly on top of him.
"You belonged to me as soon as you set out from that wretched city of your's, filthy ape."
She whispered the words softly into his ear, before running her tongue over his cheek.
Rennard managed to shift around just enough to see what she was doing; she was readying the barbed net, did she intend to carry him away?

He glanced around, and saw others like her doing the same.
He closed his eyes, all but giving up.
He felt that wretched, serrated blade of her's pressing against his unmarked cheek.
"Such a shame you don't have more of those handsome scars," She whispered softly, "Well, we can always make more."

There was a bright light, and a scream, and the Wych toppled backwards off the Chimera, a gaping hole burnt through her chest.
An arm reached out to haul him to his feet; a bionic arm, he noted.
Rennard took the offered hand and pulled himself up.
The man that stood before him, clad in dark red and black, bore the seal of the Inquisition, and carried two plasma pistols.
"Captain." He nodded.
"That was a welcome interruption, Inquisitor." Rennard replied with a grin.

Picking up his Plasma Gun, he leapt off the Chimera, followed closely by the Inquisitor.
"I want Melta detonators," he yelled into his vox link, "And flamers to the fore!"
He grinned, almost manically, "Let's clear these buggers out!"

***

Meera Shanton fought like a cornered rat.
Separated from the others by a thick crowd of Dark Eldar, she was a blur of movement; her blade stabbing at vital points or breaks in armour and her feet and fists breaking bones and snapping necks with near enough every blow.
Occasionally one of the warriors landed a glancing blow, but she shrugged the pain off; there was no time for pain in combat.

She heard someone step in behind her.
She turned and lashed out with her foot, taking one of the Kabilite warriors in his unprotected face, the sharp snap told her his jaw had dislocated.
She caught a glimmer of a blade swinging at her face from the left.
Spinning, she caught the barrel of the rifle on her gloved hand and knocked it away to one side, before launching a bladed fist at the Eldar's neck.
She was greeted by a spray of blood lashing her face.

She felt a lance of pain run across her back as she was forced to the ground.
Meera rolled away from her assailant, dropping into a crouch and doing her best to ignore the pain.
Before her, a black-skinned, white-haired creature glided across the battlefield towards her, it's eerie green eyes glowing with malice, sigils glowing and undulating upon it's unnatural skin.
It seemed to merge with the ground it moved over, part of the shadows and yet not.
Even the other Xenos seemed to stay out of its path.

Meera started to feel faint as she noted the liquid-covered sickle in the creature's hand.
Had it poisoned her?
No, she couldn't afford to think on that right now.
She launched herself at the Mandrake, her blade scything in a wide arc for the creature's throat.

It darted aside, as if made of liquid, and Meera felt the icy touch of a clawed hand raking across her cheek.
She dropped to the floor once again, shuddering; it felt as if death itself had touched her.
She lay shivering as the creature stood over her, readying it's sickle for the final blow.

***

Mon'Wern'A had never missed a target; Not in his time as a Fire Warrior in the Ro'Yal Cadre, not as a Mercenary plying his trade on Medrogus Lunaris, and not in his time in the Retinue.
But now he saw the creature looming over the human girl, he shuddered uncontrollably.
He cursed to himself, readjusted his grip on the Pulse rifle, and sighted again.
He was still shivering, but less now.

He closed his eyes, breathing deep; he held his breath and fired.
Blind.
He opened his eyes to a gore of red mist.
Had he failed?

***

They pushed the Dark Eldar back.
Melta charges flew over the circle of Chimeras, blowing those caught in the initial blasts into chunks of burning flesh and puddles of smeared gore, whilst the rest fell swiftly back to avoid secondary charges.
The Guardsmen took this opportunity; Leaping the gaps between the Chimeras, they formed swiftly into Aquila formations, with two flamers per formation.

They laid down a fearsome barrage of Las-fire and promethium that forced the Dark Eldar back.
This lightning attack had become a siege; Now those under siege were breaking it.
Benjamin Mordecai was at the fore of one of these formations, with Fenton alongside him.
The Eldar fired off potshots at them, but a good deal went wide of the target.

Fenton gave no ground, and had taken a flamer from one of the Chimeras in the midst of the battle.
Roaring like some kind of wild beast, he scorched the earth in long gouges of promethium, charring whole swathes of the enemy.
The Dark Eldar lines broke and ran, leaving the battlefield en-masse.
They left their dead.

***

Meera Shanton slowly opened her eyes.
Before her knelt the legs of what had terrified her so only moments before.
Its upper half was nowhere to be seen, but her bodyglove and everything within three feet around her was covered in a fine spray of blood.
She stood, and saw a glimmer of movement on the ridge above her.
The Tau offered a salute, and she returned it with her bladed fist.
She wiped the blood from her face, and laughed.
***

"Inquisitor Benjamin Mordecai." Benjamin offered a hand to the Imperial Guard Captain as they observed the backs of the retreating Dark Eldar.
"Captain Rennard Osbourne, 12th Jurdani Tygers." Rennard shook the offered hand.
Drevan Stubbs stalked over, his wound already patched up by Medic Kelner.
"This isn't the end," he pointed out, "Most likely they'll regroup and come back with a larger force."
"Then we'd best be ready for them." Rennard replied with a grimace, "There's an Astronomic beacon not far from here. Send some men to secure it and sent a transmission to Medrogus."
Drevan turned to leave, but was stopped by the Inquisitor's hand on his shoulder.
"If I might suggest an idea?" Benjamin quizzed.
Rennard folded his arms across his chest.
"I'm listening."

***

Meera Shanton looked away as Kelner jabbed the needle into her arm.
It stung, but it would ease the pain of the wound in her back.
He'd done a good job bandaging it.
He was a young man, with a slight mohawk crammed under the cap he wore to mark him out as a medic.
Why were mohawks so popular in the Guard?
"That'll ease the pain and let you think straight," He announced, "But you should have proper medical treatment once we get back to Medrogus Hive."

"Thank you." She smiled, leaning back against the hull of the Chimera.
"How long have you served?" Kelner asked.
"Served?" Meera replied skeptically.
"With the Inquisitor."
"I just met him." Meera explained, "Coincidence, that's all."
"He seems like a good man," Kelner replied, "Better than other Inquisitors you hear about."
"Yes," Meera glanced over to where Mordecai and his retinue were discussing a plan with the Guard Captain, "A good man."

***

As the bloody dawn marked the start of the next sweltering day, three supply vehicles, escorted by only ten Guardsmen rolled down the Highway.
In the cupola of the lead vehicle rode Lord Commissar Zach Herse, his Power Fist-clad right hand gripping the rim of the hatch as he observed the remaining Guardsmen of Osbourne's detachment cleaning up the dead.
"Captain." He grinned, climbing out of the cupola and down the side of the supply vehicle to greet Osbourne, "I thought we might only find corpses."
"A minor nuisance, Lord-Commissar." the 12th Company Captain replied, "One we intend to eradicate with the help of the Inquisitor here."
He gestured to a brown-haired man clad in red and black behind him.
"So, Inquisitor," Herse said brusquely, "Shall I unload our cargo?"
"Best if we wait until our mutual friends arrive." The Inquisitor replied.
"An ambush within an ambush," Zach mused as he watched the sun rising, "Who would have thought it?"

As much as I would like to say I enjoyed this it would be false. Make no mistake. its well told and has very good flow but the fight between Dark Eldar and Guardsmen should not be this one sided, And melta detonators would be a bad thing to use in such close proximity to the ones trowing them.

Thanks for the advice.

I'll keep it in mind next time; I think maybe I tried focussing on too many characters at once.

Seems like a rather idiotic attack for the Dark Eldar.
They appear to be charging en masse rather than their usual hit and run assaults...
Your sentence structure could also use work. Maybe try shorter sentences in order to create a faster pace. You do seem to have focused on too many characters as you have said, maybe instead of using many viewpoints you just use one and describe what the others are doing from that viewpoint.

Ah, now there is a reason behind the unusual en-masse methods the Dark Eldar are using.
It'll be explained in the next chapter, suffice to say the Dark Eldar are not working under their own vices...

Then you should probably draw a bit of attention to it (Inquisitor would do well for that) because it currently looks like they're idiots...

Thanks.
I'll bear it in mind, though I'm sure you didn't mean to make your post sound that brutal, it came across that way just a little bit...

I do appreciate feedback, but could you put it, for want of a better word, more nicely, in future?
I do see how its easy to think I was being reckless with that particular detail, though...

Castra

I apologise if you thought I was being rude but sometimes things need to be said in a way where there is no room for misunderstanding. I don't believe in sparing someone's feelings if that's what I think they need.
I'll try to be a bit less brutal if I can.

Thank you.

I do appreciate the input, I don't get enough of it and it makes it difficult to judge if what I'm writing is good or not.

Part 3: Kharshai

Archon Kharshai of the Crimson Dawn Kabal moved silently between the slave pens, the putrid smell of human waste was as sweet as the scent of any garden to his scarred nostrils.
He stood, tall and proud in his bronze-coloured armour, rimmed in silver etching and adorned with spines and blades on the arms and legs.
Around his waist, a pelt made of the skins of various races hung between his legs.

Kharshai was angry; He didn't let it show.
Pacing alongside him was Sethsil, his Lhamaean and his occasional sleeping partner.
A wicked grin adorned her slender face as she gazed at the prisoners with hungry eyes.
Behind them marched four Incubi, white-masked warriors who carried long, thick and curved blades that could tear a man in half with one fell swipe.

Despite them, Kharshai felt just a little of his confidence flee him at the shadow that fell over him.
Eight feet tall, clad in ceramite adorned with dark sigils of corruption, and wearing a terrifying visage upon his horned helmet, stood a Chaos Space Marine.
In the early morning desert light, it was clear to see the markings that announced him as a Word Bearer, though this distinction made little sense to Kharshai.

All told, all humans were the same.
"You wished to have a word with me, Seraphos?" he asked politely, a cruel tone edging his voice.
He had never examined the biology of a Space Marine before; Sethsil often told him that he should have become a Haemonculus.
But Seraphos was not a man to anger.

"This defeat tells of a wavering in your ranks, Archon." The Word Bearer uttered in a harsh tone, "Maybe you are not the correct instrument for this task."
"We are the discreet dagger behind an unassuming back, Aspiring Champion, not a hammer wielded by a screaming Berserker." The Archon snarled, letting his anger change the tone of his voice just a little.

"You are what Lord Uriah wills you to be." Seraphos countered, pointing an accusing finger at Kharshai, "The fact that you surround yourself with a wall of expendable bodies proves your cowardice in my eyes."
"But not those of your master?" Kharshai raised a thin brow, "In any case, it is not a problem to crush an enemy, it is merely a case of using the correct tool in the correct fashion."

"Very well," Seraphos waved a hand dismissively, "You may let your men die in a way you see fit."
"Had I more of my Kabal at my disposal," Kharshai growled through gritted, sharpened teeth, "I would destroy your pitiful warband and return to Commorragh with your head as a trophy."
"The Church's gaze spreads further than you think, Archon," Seraphos reminded him, "and whilst you are stranded here, you are in no position to bargain or threaten."
"The...church?" Kharshai questioned, "Is that the name of your pathetic Warband?"
Seraphos chuckled, a feral, cruel sound that emanated through the grille of his helmet.
"The less you know, Archon, the less you have to occupy your mind with."

Kharshai had to mentally restrain himself from putting a splinter round through the Chaos Marine's skull.
"I will direct my own forces this time," he sneered, "And you can see how a true shadow strikes."
If he couldn't get at Seraphos, he could simply lash a few of the slaves before "The Church" came to take them away.
He was no stranger to blackmail, but stranded here, on a human world, sandwiched between the Imperials and Seraphos' so-called "Church", he had few options open to him.

***

"That wasn't Dark Eldar tactica," Benjamin Mordecai said as he unscrewed the lid of his canteen and took a swig of lukewarm water.
"How so?" Fenton replied, accepting the canteen as Benjamin passed it to him.
"Don't you remember the deployment to Monthrax with Lucent?"
"Aye," Fenton's look turned sour, "They lured the Guardsmen into the city and picked off the individual deployments one by one."

"Their armour isn't made for prolonged engagements," Mon'Wern put in; he held a scrap of bronze armour in his hand, careful to avoid the jagged spikes jutting from it.
"Which is exactly why they crumbled so easily once we became organised." Benjamin finished off.
"You think they're being pushed?" Captain Osbourne put in; He'd been standing just outside the door of the Chimera the group were currently sat in, he'd evidently been there some time.

"Its the most likely explanation." Benjamin offered Osbourne his canteen, but the Captain declined, "Evidently they weren't prepared for a prolonged engagement, and they didn't just vanish and attempt another strike."
He placed a fist against his chin, his elbow resting on his knee, "There's no strategy behind it."
"And that's the worrying part." Osbourne finished off, "So we proceed as planned?"
Benjamin nodded, "They'll strike at night, when we're vulnerable. Did you send the transmission to Medrogus?"
"Yes," Osbourne sat on the edge of the bench, "They came up with some shyte about how Valkyries were a resource they couldn't spare just so we could have a quicker trip."
"They can't be that ignorant as to what's going on," Fenton put in, "There's rumor flying left right and center back in the Hive."
"Which suggests our enemy has influence in the city." Benjamin narrowed his eyes.
"In any case, we're on our own."
***

"Are they trying to counter our ambush?" Archon Kharshai muttered amusedly.
"Evidently." Zhure replied; the ritual scars carved into the male Wych's face stretched as he smiled, his pearly white eyes fixed on the tasks undertaken by the humans below.
Zhure never spoke unless directly questioned or ordered to speak, and he never said any more than what was necessary.

He was a killer, not a talker.
Both stood atop a rocky outcrop some distance away from the Imperials.
The outcrop was placed such as to allow them to see the humans, but the humans would not see them.
"We will let them believe that their trap works," Kharshai decided, "we will allow our enemy to think he has subdued us, and then we will strike with a hidden blade."
"The feline that hides in the long grass." Zhure said, his grating, dry voice almost made the Archon shudder.
Almost.

***

"Plasma dets have been laid, sir." Lyra Medara performed a salute before retreating.
Captain Osbourne nodded.
"Now we wait." Mordecai spoke as he observed the setting sun.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Meera, heading back along the highway towards Medrogus.
The Inquisitor jogged over.
"Where are you going?" He asked as soon as he was within hearing distance.
"Back to Medrogus, where else?"

"Will you not stay and help with the ambush?" Benjamin reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, but she brushed it off.
"I was sent to investigate, not to help a suicidal Inquisitor."
"You don't think this will work?" Benjamin stopped, folding his arms.
"I don't know," she turned to him, her face troubled, "But you're a good man, fighting for a good cause. I walked out on a good life when I left home."
She turned and began walking again, "Good luck, Inquisitor."

***

As night descended, the Imperials became uneasy.
Traps were checked and then checked again, Las cartridges were changed, and banter amongst the thirty or so remaining Guardsmen simmered down to worried whispers.
They had arranged the tripwires and Plasma detonators in a way that they would force any enemy coming from either side of the Highway to funnel between the Chimeras and transport vehicles, whilst in return allowing the Imperials to pick off the enemy while they navigated a safe path.

It wasn't exactly an ambush within an ambush, but the term would do for now.
"I just hope it works." Benjamin thought to himself.
"What did you say?" Fenton looked quizzically at the Inquisitor.
"Nothing." Benjamin replied.
The waiting continued, maybe for minutes, maybe hours.
Eventually, a call was raised over the vox channel.
"Weapons up, to arms!"

They came over the ridge off to the left of the Highway, a lot less than Benjamin had expected, their bronze plating shining in the dim glow of the Chimera spotlights.
As expected, they charged right into the plasma detonators, most of them were destroyed in a shower of gore, and those lucky enough to make it across were shot by Las and Plasma fire.

"Why are there so few?" Fenton asked through the vox link.
"Questions later, Fen." Mordecai advised, though the overall lack of Dark Eldar was intriguing.
Fenton's question was answered shortly as a concentrated burst of shrapnel fire tore into one of the transport vehicles and ignited the engine, blowing it and five Guardsmen across the highway.

"Frag it!" Benjamin jumped from the Chimera as another burst of fire raked over it.
Around them, the Guardsmen were doing the same.
"They knew!" Rennard Osbourne bellowed over the vox, "Raiders, three of them, open-topped, full of the damn Xenos!"
"Stay together!" Benjamin roared as morale was quickly forgotten, "Follow me and keep your faith in the Emperor!"

The battle quickly turned, with eight Guardsmen killed in the initial attack, and seven more dying as they ran into their own carefully-laid traps.
Another was executed by Lord-Commissar Herse for screaming about surrender.
The Guardsmen fled into the rocky formations of the dust wastes, jumping at shadows and shooting at nothing as they went.

Benjamin ran until they reached a relatively defendable position; a small gap between two sheer rock formations, a few large boulders dotted about for cover.
With him were Mon'Wern and four Guardsmen, including the female scout that Osbourne trusted so much.
"Take cover behind those rocks!" He ordered, "I want men on both entrances, but stay quiet, if anyone sees anything coming, give two taps on the vox mic."
One of the soldiers stayed put, a snide man by the name of Fiskel; He was terrified of the conflict, and he needed someone to blame.

"What about your Greyskin?!" He pointed wildly at Mon'Wern with his Lasgun, "He could be with them, feeding them information. He's a Xenos too!"
Benjamin lifted his Plasa pistol, putting it squarely to Fiskel's nose.
"If you have a problem with one of my Acolytes, you have a problem with me," he whispered softly, "And you don't want a problem with me, do you?"
The soldier shook his head, but Benjamin could tell by the way he looked at the Tau that Fiskel might be trouble later.

***

They came out of one of the smaller passages in the maze of rock formations and wind-eroded cliff faces.
Fenton had not seen them, nor had Lord-Commissar Herse.
A raiding party of ten, they killed two of the party of six outright, the death-screams of the Guardsmen were punctuated by a distinct gurgling sound that told Fenton they had been taken in the necks.

"Visors down!" The Commissar ordered, and they all obeyed, pulling down their night visors out of their helmets.
Fenton blinked, his eyes adjusting to the new, green world which replaced the darkness with a dull gray.
He searched for the Dark Eldar, but they were gone.
"There!" Veteran Sergeant Stubbs pointed his plasma pistol at a narrow cleft in the rock and fired off three shots as he saw a flash of movement.

Lord-Commissar Herse jogged towards the cleft, signaling the others to cover him.
As they ran, Fenton began to wonder if Benjamin was still alive.
No, no time for thoughts like that now...

He followed after Herse, turning side-on as he ran through the narrow passage.
Looking up, he saw the barest strip of the star-lit night; any other time, it might have been beautiful to look up and see that.
He snarled as a shadowy figure blocked out the night.
"There!" He raised his Lasgun and fired a burst of rapid shots.

The shadow retreated without sustaining a single injury, leaving Fenton wondering if he'd really seen it in the first place.
There was a soft hiss of shrapnel fire, and another Guardsman went down in a scream of agony choked with gore.

The three retreated back along the narrow passage, pursued all the way by the sound of splinter fire.
Fenton stumbled out of the passage as he felt a stab of pain in his shoulder; a shard had embedded itself deep in his shoulder, making it painful to move his arm up too much.
It hadn't burst on impact, a miracle in Fenton's mind, but that would mean he'd have to go the rest of the engagement waiting for it to do so.
If they even survived that long.

"You have dets?" Commissar Herse asked as they observed the Dark Eldar sprinting over the tops of the cliffs towards them, flanking the narrow divide through which they attempted to pass.
Fenton said nothing, pulling a pair of detonators from the pouch at his hip, he tossed them to the Commissar.
Herse caught the detonators with one deft swipe of his power fist, and started off at a jog towards the crevice.

"Cover me." He ordered, not a shout, an order.
They obliged, spraying a barrage of shots at the enemy; Stubbs' legs were shot from under him when he paused to reload, leaving Fenton to fend off the enemy by himself.
The Dark Eldar ducked and weaved as las-bolts sprayed around them, and only occasionally did he score a glancing hit.
He was beginning to run short of ammo when the Commissar returned.
"Let's go!" Herse roared, latching his power fist over the Veteran Sergeant's shoulder.
Fenton followed, firing back at the Eldar from the hip.

A few seconds passed, before the sound of fire exchange was drowned out by the reverberating sounds of a large section of the pass collapsing on itself.
Many of the Dark Eldar fell to their deaths; those that remained were cooked in their armour by the detonation.
They stood, watching the display for a while; Stubbs refused to pass out, forcing himself into a sitting position.

"We need to get to one of the Chimeras," Fenton muttered, breaking the silence, "Head to either Medrogus or Bleakpoint."
"And the raiders?" Herse asked, squatting to examine the long gashes in Stubbs' legs.
"They aren't the only ones who can move quietly."
Fenton's vox bead crackled into life.
"This is Osbourne, any survivors, fall in on my position, we're going to take the bastards or die trying."
The three men looked at each other.
"Let's go then," Herse said grimly, hauling Stubbs over one shoulder, "Best not keep the Emperor waiting, eh?"
Fenton chuckled as he followed the Commissar.

***

Benjamin saw a glint of something metallic drift past the passage entrance; He tapped his vox bead twice, and received five responses.
Everyone was still there.
The thing drifted past the entrance again, and launched a salvo of barbed slugs at the group.
Most managed to get behind cover in time, but one poor bastard was unlucky enough to be ripped apart by the heavy rounds as they tore through his chest like the biting teeth of a hungry predator.
Benjamin rose and returned fire, his plasma pistols blazing as streaks of blue light accompanied the las-fire pelting the Raider.
Benjamin ducked as another round of heavy fire ripped over the large rock acting as his cover.

Something hard slammed into the side of his face, knocking him down; He looked up, and saw Fiskel crouching above him.
"You wretched Xenos sympathizer!" He snorted, tossing away the rock he'd slammed into the Inquisitor's face, he lifted his Lasgun and aimed squarely at Benjamin's chest.
It took Benjamin a while to reorientate himself and grasp what was happening, he only had time to gasp before Fiskel put a Las-bolt into his chest.

The Inquisitor went limp.
No-one noticed, the brutal exchange between the Raider and the pinned soldiers was too fierce.
Fiskel stood, and sighted along his Lasgun, not at the Raider, but at the Tau filth the Inquisitor had brought with him.

Oh damn! This do indeed look grim, but my inner Xeno hater hopes the Tau bites it though

Part 4: Where You Hang Your Enemy's Head

Benjamin woke to the sound of an Imperial anthem being played through vox speakers.
He was in a room, the walls and ceiling covered in oak paneling, each panel depicting a different event in Imperial history, carved into the wood and inlaid with gold.
Benjamin recognised it as Lucent's...no, his office, aboard the Razor Descent, though there were some drastic changes.

All his possessions and equipment were gone, and the desk had been moved to the center of the room.
In a high-backed leather recliner behind the desk sat a woman clad in the signature armour of the Adepta Sororitas.
He raven-black hair spilled down her back behind her, and her amber eyes seemed to glow with delight at seeing her student again.
Her face seemed young, but it was a prosthetic youth, a false face designed for her after her real one had been snatched from her by a faulty promethium tank years before.
Yet Inquisitor Isabelle Lucent sat behind the desk with poise and grace.

"Inquisitor Mordecai," she gestured to a seat opposite her, "Please, join me."
She was far older than she appeared, yet her voice was smooth and clear.
Benjamin sat, lacing both hands on the desk in front of him.
He was dumbfounded, but he did his best to hide it.
"My Lady," He began.
"Inquisitor, please." She held up a hand, "Let us address each other as equals here."
"Inquisitor," he said, a little shakily, "Y-...you died. I saw..."
"Yes, Benjamin, I did." she closed her eyes, reliving a painful memory.

"Then how are you here?" He asked, "Am I dead? Am I to join the Emperor's side?"
Lucent chuckled.
"No, dear boy, you are quite alive."
"Then why am I here?"
"Because there is a potential within you that you need to unlock if you are to survive this engagement." she said simply, standing up.

She ran a slender finger along a crease in the middle of the desk, the smooth paneling parted and folded in on itself, revealing a screen with a bird's eye view of the engagement.
It was like a freeze-frame; Lyra had been pinned behind cover with two others, all of them were being peppered with suppressing fire.
Fiskel was sighting down his Lasgun at Mon'Wern, who was the only one currently returning fire to the Raider.

"How do I help them if I'm stuck here?" Benjamin asked, almost hopelessly.
"They say a man can move mountains with his mind if he tries hard enough," Lucent said smoothly, pacing around the edge of the desk, "We'll start with a rock."
A featureless, grey rock sat on the desk, atop a small, wooden pillar.
How had he not noticed that before?

"Move it." Lucent ordered.
Benjamin reached out, but she smacked his hand away.
He frowned, "You told me to reach for it..."
"I did, but I didn't mean like that..." she replied flatly.
"Then how?" he asked, trying to keep the frustration from his voice.

"Close your eyes." Benjamin felt two slender hands grip his shoulders firmly; he tensed at the contact, but quickly relaxed at Lucent's surprisingly tight grip.
He did as instructed.
"Now," she said in a stern voice, "Picture the rock on the pillar, hold that image in your head, concentrate."
Once again, Benjamin did as asked, his brow creasing as he pictured both rock and pillar in detail.
"Now, picture the rock moving." she told him firmly, removing her hands from his shoulders.
"What?!" he uttered disbelievingly.
"My dear boy," she stated irritably, "I have never given you cause to doubt me, now do it. Time is short."

He focused, gritting his teeth as he felt something seep into him, through him.
It was like a flame, kindled in a dark room; He dared not open his eyes, lest he snuff it out.
There were whispers as well, faint, beyond his hearing, yet they sounded so tempting; He ignored them.
He pictured the rock moving, willed it to move, coaxed it.

There was a clatter of something heavy on the floor.
He opened his eyes, and saw the rock lying on the floor in front of him; Lucent stood at the opposite end of the room.
A slight quirk of a smile crossed her face, and she clapped slowly.
"Very good, quite the expert."
"What happens now?" He asked in a dry voice.
"You return, you aid your men, you earn a victory." She smiled proudly.
"Will I ever see you again?"
"I doubt it," she answered, "But you never know, the universe holds many surprises..."

***

Two Raiders were still circling the abandoned Chimeras on the highway, like a couple of predators circling a watering hole.
Miraculously, all five of Captain Osbourne's group had survived, though a few were heavily bandaged, and Kelner, the medic, was missing an eye.
"What's the plan, then?" Fenton asked as he and Herse squatted beside Osbourne.

Kelner immediately crawled over to Stubbs and began tending to the Veteran's leg injuries.
"Can you snipe?" Osbourne queried.
"Sort of..." Fenton replied with a frown as the Captain fished something from his webbing.
It was a silencer attachment, fixed to the end of a Lasgun; he also pulled out a sight and a somewhat extended barrel.
They were components to turn a Lasgun into a makeshift Long-Las.
"Let's go to work, then." Osbourne said with a smirk.

***

He woke, and saw the world in a new light.
Everything became a light, translucent shade of blue; hazed, as if he was seeing the world through a fogged window, it refused to come into focus.
One thing that was in focus was the Raider.
He was \aware of a faint humming, but the world was static; nothing moved.

He stood, saw Fiskel aiming down the barrel of his Lasgun at Mon'Wern, decided it could wait.
He saw the Guardswoman, Lyra, pausing to reload her pistol, saw the corpses of other Guardsmen lying on the ground.
And he saw an overhanging rock ledge, a little above where the Raider hovered.
He stretched his hand out, willing the ledge to come loose, its trajectory to take it down on the Raider.

The stasis ended as a tonne of rock crashed down on the open-topped vehicle, obliterating it in a wave of fire and shrapnel.
The survivors slowly stood, the deadlock broken.
"You don't die easy." A voice said behind him.
Benjamin turned to find a Lasgun pointing squarely at his face; Fiskel's Lasgun.
"This time, I'll make sure you don't-"

Fiskel's words became a gurgle as a bolt of pulse energy passed through his stomach, leaving a charred hole behind it.
Benjamin placed his bionic arm on the man's chest, and gently pushed.
Fiskel toppled backwards, his body finally registering that his soul had already fled it.
Mon'Wern'A stood behind him, Pulse Rifle raised.

"Don't know what you did," he started.
"Neither do I." Benjamin put in quickly, "But it was psychic energy, I'm sure of it."
The Vox link crackled as Osbourne's orders to regroup echoed out.
"What should we do with him?" Lyra nodded to Fiskel's corpse.
"For now, we leave him." Benjamin muttered, walking off towards where the crushed Raider lay, its battered state like a lame dog left on the roadside with a festering wound.

***

They leapt out of the rocks; Osbourne, four Guardsmen, and the Commissar.
Before the nearest Raider could react, they tossed blind grenades in front of them and began firing.
The Raider's gunner began letting off erratic bursts of shrapnel, being blind as to the Guardsmen's exact position.

Fenton aimed, his eye practically glued to the scope.
His hands were shaking; he couldn't get a clear shot.
He re-adjusted his grip on the Long-Las, checked the sight again, and aimed, steadying his hand as much as he could.

If he missed, the Eldar pilot would be alerted to the fact there was a sniper nearby, and would retreat.
He gritted his teeth, and pulled the trigger.

***

Osbourne winced as Chansy was blasted apart in a spray of shrapnel and gore only a few paces to his left.
The Eldar had gotten lucky; that wouldn't last long, Emperor willing.
There was a sudden lapse of fire, and a slight humming sound, before the sound of metal ploughing through dirt filled his ears, and the Raider came, nose-first, through the wall of smoke.
The one surviving inhabitant leapt from the wreckage; ritual scars divided his face, pearly-white eyes were wide with the thrill of the hunt, and teeth sharpened to a point formed a ghastly smile.

He tore into Osbourne before he could react, throwing his Plasma gun to one side as sleek claws slid out of his gauntlets.
Osbourne batted an incoming claw to one side, before launching a fist at the Wych's face.
The punch was stopped mid-air and a swift turn of the wrist and a flick sent Osbourne sailing over the Dark Eldar's shoulder.
As soon as he landed, he felt something sharp and slender tearing into his back, carving a long, bloody trail down his spine.

The xenos was insane, it had nothing left, and so its mind rested purely on bloodshed.
It lifted its claw for one final, killing blow, before the sudden shock of a bolt tearing through its chest made it stagger.
Before Zhure, Wych champion of the Crimson Dawn Cabal, could turn to see his new rival, he was caught in the vice-like grip of Lord-Commissar Herse.
Herse clenched his fist, and Zhure gave a short, curt cry before his head became a bloody pulp in the Commissar's energy-wreathed fist.

Herse closed his eyes, looking away from Osbourne's wounds.
"Heal him." He told Kelner, without so much as a glance.
A low-pitched humming sounded behind him.
When he turned, Herse noticed the second Raider moving at a menacingly slow pace towards him.

On board the transport stood an Eldar who could only be described as the leader; his bronze armour was rimmed with silver, various spines and blades adorned his arms and legs, and a loincloth of skins from various races hung between his legs.
Herse started walking towards the Raider.
"Lord-Commissar?" One of the Guardsmen asked, but upon seeing Herse's expression of single-minded determination, decided it was better to leave the Commissar to it.

He broke into a run as the Raider drew closer; shrapnel fire flew around him, but if any had hit, it didn't hurt.
Herse leapt, punching a bolt round through one of the Incubi's heads as he landed on the deck of the Raider.
Two more drew close, swinging their wickedly-curved blades to catch Herse's neck between them.
He knocked one aside with his power fist, ducking the other as he did in one fluid motion, grinning to himself as it sliced clean through the other Incubi's neck.

Their blades were deadly, but heavy; the wielder had to rely on the force of the blade, rather than their arm.
He came up, spin-kicking the Incubi behind him off the deck of the Raider as another came up in front of him.
Herse didn't even give this one a chance to lift his blade, smashing his power fist into the xenos' head repeatedly, before letting it drop.

He heard a female, almost childish giggle as he finished off the last Incubi.
A woman, slender, in form-fitting green robes, black sigils stitched into the sleeves and hem, approached him, a vicious, curved dagger coated in a sickly green fluid clutched in her hand.

"This one has defiance in him, Lord Kharshai." she hissed gleefully.
"Yes indeed," The Eldar Leader chuckled behind her, "A shame he is too troublesome to leave alive...finish him, Sethsil."
Herse kicked out, sending the corpse of the last Incubi sliding across the deck towards Sethsil.
She tripped, and Herse caught her on the palm of his power fist.
He spun, tightening his grip on her slender waist, before hurling her over the edge of the Raider.

He turned, only to find the leader's blade pressed to his neck.
"Your actions have truly doomed you, savage," he snarled, "Now you will rot slowly in the slave pits!"
Footsteps sounded on the deck behind Kharshai.
He turned, expecting to see one of his soldiers come to aid him.
Instead, he received Benjamin Mordecai's dagger in his gut, and a punch that sent him flying off the deck of the Raider.
The pilot, seeing the entire crew gone, leapt from the Raider, pursued by a bolt round that silenced him forever.

Both Imperials jumped clear of the Raider seconds before it disappeared in a blast of fire as it plunged into a rock face.
Benjamin sat up with a sigh of relief while the Commissar lay on the floor, laughing.
"Where are all the others?" Herse queried finally.
"Picking off the remnants," Benjamin replied, "Once I give a testimony of the events here, the Governor will have no choice but to act."

"That's a bloody relief." Herse replied, picking himself up, "There'll be medals aplenty to give out when we're back at Medrogus."
"And tributes to the dead." Benjamin added soberly.
Herse's features grew grim, he nodded.

***

Kharshai pulled himself up out of the dirt, managing to sit upright.
His stomach hurt badly from the human's primitive blade, but he would survive.
He rubbed his forehead, looking around him for any survivors; it was dawn, the Imperials had departed.

He grew quite still as a shadow loomed over him.
Seraphos, flanked by several normal humans in longcoats and rebreather masks, stood over him.
The Word Bearer held his accursed axe in hand, and his deep, booming chuckle knotted Kharshai's insides as he heard it.

"Has your plan fallen to pieces, Archon?" he asked mockingly.
"I can rebuild, human filth!" Kharshai retorted snidely.
"Not if you die first," Seraphos lifted Kharshai up by the shoulder, pinning him against a rock wall and bringing his axe to the Eldar's neck, "Beg."
It was an instruction, one Kharshai had no intention of following.
"I would sooner die than bend knee to-."
Kharshai never finished his sentence as his head slowly rolled forward and bounced away over the rocky ground.
Seraphos picked up the Archon's head, turning to the cultists behind him.
He presented the head to them, before attaching it with a rusted spike to one of his pouldrons.
"Where you hang your enemy's head, brothers." he said simply.

***

After burying the remainder of the Imperial dead, the survivors of the convoy, along with the Acolytes, took two Chimeras and continued along the Highway, reaching Bleakpoint by dawn the next day.
Returning in force, the Imperial Guard, led by Lord-Commissar Herse in Captain Osbourne's absence, and aided by Inquisitor Benjamin Mordecai, scoured the surrounding countryside for the slave pits; they were found empty.

Veteran Sergeant Drevan Stubbs finished reading the report with a frown as he switched off the treadmill he'd been running on.
Bandages and a sling adorned his left arm, as they always did, and new bandages now covered his ankles.
He'd be able to have those off tomorrow.
"Drev," a voice said behind him, "you taken your meds this morning, right?"

Rennard Osbourne stood in the doorway of the room, looking a good deal thinner and paler than he should, but grinning like his injury was nothing.
"Yup," Drevan replied with a smirk, "and you, Renn?"
"Not a chance." Rennard replied.
"Kelner will go ballistic..." Drevan uttered with a wince.
"Not to his commanding officer, if he knows what's good for him," Rennard winked, "Pub?"
"Pub." Drevan replied, grabbing a towel off the nearby rack.

***

Up high, in one of Medrogus Hive's luxury spires, Benjamin Mordecai keyed in the vox set.
The wound Fiskel had dealt him still stung, but no vital organs or arteries had been struck, and he felt better than he'd done in a long time.
"Anton," he stated, once the correct coordinates were keyed in, "Send a Valkyrie down for extraction, at your earliest convenience."
"Are you sure, Inquisitor?" Anton replied, "I thought Kelner wanted you to stay a few more days..."
"I cleared with Kelner this morning," Benjamin smirked, "It'll be fine..."

"If you're sure," Anton replied cautiously, "Platform twenty-seven, spire three."
Benjamin shut off the vox link.
"That was a dirty lie."
Benjamin looked in the mirror beside him, and saw the origin of the comment; it was Meera Shanton, the girl who had aided them in their first engagement against the Dark Eldar.
A light smirk creased her face; she wore a longcoat over her skin-tight leather suit, her hazel brown hair hung loose around her, and her arms were folded over her slim waist.

"I hate sitting still," Benjamin replied, turning to her, "Why are you back?"
"I had second thoughts..." she admitted, looking away, "I've never been a 'good' person, like you or your men, but I've always been honest, at least, when it counts."
"And?" Benjamin folded his arms.
"And," Meera began slowly, her eyes drifting away from him, "I'd like to become a good person..."
"Is this you signing up with me?" Benjamin asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Yes!" she admitted, almost growling.
"Well then," Benjamin stood up, walking over to her and offering his hand, "Welcome aboard, Miss Shanton."
"Thank you, Inquisitor Mordecai." she smiled warmly, shaking the offered hand.
It had been a long time since she had last smiled...

Well it was certainly long enough! But that be a good thing thought. I have notting bad to say about except for that the finale battle of sorts betwen the commissar and Achron felt somewhat hurried along. And a Psyker? Really!

I've just read all of this thread and I must say I really enjoyed it. Although Shanton being trained by a former sniper of the guard and turning out to be a close combat expert and the surprise psychic powers didn't make a lot of sense, the writing style was very clear and paced. Although this Inquisitor is very much the hero type unlike most Inquisitors who are aloof and remorseless by necessity. It will be interesting to see whether his compassion and camaraderie gets him into trouble.

 Darkvoidof40k wrote:
I've just read all of this thread and I must say I really enjoyed it. Although Shanton being trained by a former sniper of the guard and turning out to be a close combat expert and the surprise psychic powers didn't make a lot of sense, the writing style was very clear and paced. Although this Inquisitor is very much the hero type unlike most Inquisitors who are aloof and remorseless by necessity. It will be interesting to see whether his compassion and camaraderie gets him into trouble.

Or, indeed, if his view of the universe is changed by his experiences...

Benjamin's sudden psychic development will be explained through future stories, though it'll require a modicum of patience on the reader's part.
Shanton does have a great deal of experience with a sniper rifle, I just haven't had a chance to write it in yet, and as Mon'Wern and Fenton both had sniper roles in thyis story, I thought it wise not to drop in another.
Shanton's rather remarkable close combat abilities will also be explained, probably in the next story, which revolves mostly around the current crew of the Razor Descent, their back-stories and personalities.
So it won't just be Benjamin and Shanton who will be developed, but also Fenton, Mon'Wern and Anton, and to some degree, Inquisitor Lamal and the currently deceased Lucent.

It would be good to see some veritable backstory on them though, even if it's just fragmented bits and pieces.. It's difficult to truly connect with any of the characters without any substantial background. It would givee them more depth and even though you say all will eventually be explained, it'd make for more enjoyable reading.

Nonetheless it really has felt like watching an episode of a TV show, very vivid scenes.

Thank you, it feels good to finally have more than one person giving feedback.

Its hard to improve when no-one comments, I've given up putting "please comment" at the end of every post, it feels too much like begging...

 Castra Tanagra wrote:
Thank you, it feels good to finally have more than one person giving feedback.

Its hard to improve when no-one comments, I've given up putting "please comment" at the end of every post, it feels too much like begging...

I understand what you mean, people are annoyingly reluctant to comment on fiction these days and it os a simple thing. It takes very little effort to simply write a sentence saying if you liked it or not at the least.

I'll be keeping an eye on this story and commenting when I can.

Much obliged...

I like it. Scratch that, I love it. The fact that an Inquisitor has a xeno in his retinue is AWESOME. Finally some Inquisitor with an open mind.
So far, soooooooooo good. Keep rocking

Thank you, its good to see people finally coming out of their shells and commenting.
It leaves a warm spot in my heart akin to the sensation an Ork must get when Santy Klawz gets him a new Shoota for Krismus (incorrect spellings deliberate).

There are other stories revolving around these characters, you should be able to find them if you look carefully enough...Though this is by far the longest.

Castra