Duvall drew a deep breath.
Charge!
He drove off with his left foot, launching forward like an arrow loosed from its bow, combat knife cutting through the air. The seven veterans behind him followed almost simultaneously, their footfalls becoming a rushing tide within the narrow passage.
At the bend, six mutant cultists were patrolling with two Chaos hounds as powerfully built as panthers.
Blasphemous tattoos and proliferating tumours covered the mutants' skin. Their faces were grotesque; the price of worshipping the Dark Gods had already declared itself upon their bodies. They wore patchwork armour and carried crude firearms.
The hounds possessed neither fur nor skin. Scarlet, powerful sinews lay naked to the air, while fangs protruded from their grinning jaws, dripping viscous saliva.
The enemy had clearly not expected to be attacked here.
Duvall was the first to reach the foremost mutant. His left hand clamped down upon the gun barrel the creature was trying to raise. Few ordinary mortals could match the strength of an exceptional Commissar graduated from the Schola Progenium—certainly not this cultist.
His combat knife was already driving into the cultist's throat in his right hand. The blade passed through cartilage and windpipe with a dull tearing sound. The mutant's eyes widened. Its hands clawed futilely at the knife's hilt before it collapsed limply to the ground.
Duvall did not pause. He heard the rush of air, ducked beneath an attack from behind, shifted his grip on the knife, and drove it upward through his assailant's jaw.
"Didn't realise I was this good," Duvall muttered, pulling out his knife and flicking the blood from it. Who would have thought it was all instinct?
Almost at the same instant, the other veterans pounced upon their chosen targets.
Knife-blades flashed in the dim light cast along the walls.
One veteran slammed into the second mutant from the side, sending them both rolling to the floor. Straddling the creature, the soldier gripped his knife in both hands and drove it savagely into the mutant's chest three times, until it ceased struggling.
On the other side, two soldiers dispatched a third enemy together. Blood sprayed across the earthen wall with a faint sizzle.
The two Chaos hounds were the strongest combatants in the cultist patrol.
One unleashed a piercing roar and sprang at the nearest soldier. The man raised his arm just in time. The hound's fangs bit through flesh and bone, drawing a muffled groan of agony from him, but he still thrust his knife at the beast's belly with his other hand.
The hound released its grip and sprang back swiftly. The blade left only a shallow bloody mark across its scarlet musculature.
Then a black shape lunged in from the side.
Finn Valentine.
The masked sniper did not use his knife. He threw himself directly upon the hound, locking both arms around its throat like iron pincers. The hound struggled wildly, its four claws gouging deep furrows in the mud while its tail lashed violently against Finn's back.
But Finn would not let go.
The muscles in his arms stood taut, and his breathing grew harsh beneath the mask. The hound's roar slowly became a strangled whimper. Its struggles weakened further and further. Thirty seconds later, its body went entirely slack.
Finn released it, and the hound's corpse crumpled to the ground.
The other hound had already been dealt with by two soldiers working together. One drew its attention while the other drove a knife through the beast's eye socket from the side, piercing straight into its brain.
The fight lasted less than two minutes from beginning to end.
Six mutants and two Chaos hounds had all become corpses.
Duvall breathed heavily as he surveyed the scene. His soldiers were checking the bodies to ensure there were no survivors. One man had been bitten in the arm and was hurriedly binding the wound with a bandage. The others had suffered only minor scrapes.
"Well done," Duvall said in a low voice. "Drag the bodies to—"
His words cut off abruptly.
A loud howl came from ahead.
More enemies!
Duvall spun around.
A second cultist patrol had appeared around the bend ahead: three mutants and one Chaos hound.
They had plainly heard the commotion, though they did not yet understand what had happened. The leading mutant was raising its gun, peering warily in their direction.
Duvall's mind raced. They had to press forward. They had to eliminate them before they could fire.
The mutants had clearly not expected the enemy in the tunnels to charge them head-on.
The leading mutant froze for an instant. That instant of hesitation killed it.
Duvall reached it in a rush, driving his combat knife upward through its chin and mouth, the tip bursting out through the back of its skull. He yanked the blade free, and the mutant's body fell backwards.
But the other enemies had already reacted.
Gun barrels rose.
Finn lunged from the side and brought down the second mutant. The two rolled into a tangled mass. The mutant tried to smash Finn's skull with its rifle butt, but Finn turned his head aside, evading the blow, and drove his knee brutally into its abdomen.
The mutant groaned in pain. Finn seized the opportunity to wrench away its gun and smashed the rifle butt into its temple. Once. Twice. The sound of its skull breaking was horribly clear.
By then, the veterans had arrived, and together they cut down the last mutant cultist and the Chaos hound.
The battle was over.
A close call, but no disaster. Duvall released a long breath, braced his hands against his waist for a moment, then looked towards Finn.
The sniper was beginning to rise from the ground when Duvall walked over and extended a hand.
Finn hesitated, then took it.
Duvall hauled him to his feet. Only then did he notice the wound on the man's face. His grey mask had been torn during the fight, revealing a patch of burned skin beneath.
The scar was old, its edges long healed, but the skin was warped with creases and dark red discolouration. It covered much of the area from his cheekbone to his chin.
Finn seemed to notice Duvall's gaze.
He was silent for several seconds, then sighed and removed the ruined mask entirely, revealing a face utterly disfigured by flame. Burns covered the right half of it. The lid over his right eye drooped somewhat, while scar tissue pulled one corner of his mouth slightly crooked.
"An old wound," Finn explained briefly.
Duvall did not press him for details. He merely patted the man's shoulder, then turned to order the others. "We need to drag the bodies back and conceal them. Cover the blood with dirt. Quickly."
The soldiers began to move.
Duvall went to the soldier with the injured arm and inspected the wound. The hound's teeth had torn through muscle, but had not struck an artery.
"Can you still fight?" Duvall asked.
The young soldier nodded. His face was pale, but his eyes remained resolute. "I can, Commissar."
"Good."
The blood was hastily obscured with loose stones and dirt. It was impossible to erase every trace, but at least a passer-by would not spot it at once.
Once everything had been dealt with, Duvall signalled for the group to return.
On the way back, Finn walked beside him, still murmuring prayers to the Emperor under his breath.
Listening to those familiar hymns and devotions, Duvall suddenly asked, "Were you once a priest of the Imperial Creed?"
Finn shook his head.
"A worker," he said. "I wasn't a resident of K3192. I was an assembly-line worker on the Forge World Griffin IV. I worked there for twenty years."
He paused, and his voice dropped lower still.
"Then the cultist uprising began. They blew up the factory where I worked. My wife and daughter were in the habitation district nearby at the time..."
Finn did not finish, but the meaning was plain enough.
He smiled, though the expression looked twisted upon his ruined face.
"I wanted every one of those damned bastards dead. So I joined the Guard." He looked at Duvall. "I wanted to forget the pain of losing everything, so I put my faith in the God-Emperor. Prayer helps me stay calm."
Duvall was silent for a moment.
"Does prayer help?"
"Sometimes," Finn said. "At least it quiets my heart."
Faint noise came from farther down the passage. They were nearing the place where the main force awaited them.
Duvall gave Finn's face one last look, then turned towards the sickly yellow glow of the gas lamps ahead.
"Hide the bodies. We keep moving," he said.
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