The blizzard was worsening by the minute. The artillery thunder that had once seemed hollow and distant upon the horizon was becoming ever more sporadic.
Duvall leaned against the freezing timber wall of the barn and bit into the ration called a “hard block.”
The gelatinous rectangle slowly dissolved in his mouth. It had no flavour, only a slick and nauseating texture.
As he wondered what in the Throne’s name the damned thing was made from, his gaze settled upon the soldiers huddled together in the centre of the barn, snatching what rest they could.
Of the forty-three men with whom he had begun, only thirty-seven remained.
The final altar had been larger than any they had encountered before. The enemy had possessed more than crude autoguns: they had faced local Planetary Defence Force rebels clad in standard-issue flak armour, and even a light vehicle fitted with a heavy logging gun.
Fortunately, Duvall had spent the one hundred Emperor’s Wrath awarded for the earlier perfect ambush to unlock the second passive aura of the [Iron Discipline] branch.
[Forced March (Basic)]
[Slightly reduces the damage inflicted by harsh weather upon unit morale and physical stamina. The supply consumption rate of Legion members is slightly reduced, and they gain a movement-speed bonus in complex terrain.]
It had allowed them to weather part of the storm’s punishment and ambush those accursed cultists. Even so, the firefight had been brutal.
Six brothers had been left forever upon that snowfield, its white expanse stained red with blood. Three more grievously wounded men lay in the corner of the barn while the medic changed their bandages. The coagulant gel was almost gone; all they could do now was bind the wounds tightly with strips of cloth. Duvall knew that the wounded would not endure long in these conditions.
Yet he had brought them with him.
Duvall remembered the names of all six dead soldiers. Each loss made his heart bleed.
It reminded him of the old days, playing Mount & Blade, when veterans he had painstakingly trained were all killed in a single battle. There had been no more bitter feeling. He would not permit that to happen here—though Duvall knew that, in this universe, such a wish might be no more than a luxury.
Stroud sat atop a mound of hay, muttering curses at the food, the weather, and the cultists.
"Shut up, Stroud," Duvall said without looking up.
The bald officer fell silent at once, biting viciously into his hard block as if he were gnawing an enemy’s bones. Then, apparently noticing something, he sprang from the haystack and crossed to a heap of clutter beneath every man’s watchful gaze.
After a long while, he emerged holding two glass bottles filled with an unidentified liquid. "Look at this, lads. Look what I found. Let’s have a drink to warm our guts. May our fallen brothers’ souls return to the Golden Throne!"
"Enough, Stroud. Put them back." Duvall finally raised his head, frowning at him. "There will be no drinking. And do not casually take anything from a contaminated area."
Stroud’s smile vanished immediately. Wearing a miserable expression, he disappeared behind the pile of clutter once again.
Once Duvall had confirmed that the man had obeyed, he called up the status display in his vision.
[Current Command: 101st Ashen Watchers Regiment, Sixth Company]
[Personnel Remaining: 37 (including 3 grievously wounded)] [Company Experience: Veteran]
[Overall Supplies: 25%] [Overall Loyalty: 90%] [Overall Morale: 65%] [Overall Sanity: 80%] [Chaos Corruption: 33%]
[Current Passive Enhancements: Ring of Steel (Basic), Forced March (Basic)]
Only twenty-five percent of their supplies remained. Charge packs, medical supplies, food—everything was running critically low. He had yet to decide how to spend the three hundred Emperor’s Wrath awarded upon completing the mission.
At least they had captured enemy weapons and ammunition, preventing them from being completely stripped of supplies. That included the heavy logging gun. Together with the squad’s last remaining meltabomb, they still retained the strength to fight.
What Duvall had not expected was that Second Lieutenant Anderson had simply ripped the heavy machine gun straight from the light vehicle’s mounting.
At the thought, Duvall could not help glancing towards the enormous figure seated in the centre of the barn. On the road, he had found an opportunity to speak with the powerful officer whose face was thick with hair.
Duvall had learned that Anderson had undergone Aspirant selection for the Adeptus Astartes as a youth. Though he had ultimately been rejected for failing to meet certain standards, the Space Marines had nonetheless recognised his extraordinary physical gifts.
Later, Anderson had served for a time as a bodyguard to the high officials of his homeworld and undergone a limited degree of crude biological augmentation.
Upon hearing that, Duvall had understood the source of the man’s absurd physical prowess. The only thing he still could not understand was why no elite designation had appeared above Anderson’s head.
At the far end of the barn, the two children were swallowing small bites of hard block. The boy was perhaps thirteen or fourteen; the girl was younger still, perhaps only ten.
After the battles they had witnessed, they were no longer as terrified as they had been at first. Whenever Duvall charged into battle, he deliberately left them in comparatively safe positions to the rear, and the soldiers had taken it upon themselves to protect them.
The boy abruptly rose, stepped over the resting soldiers, and came to stand before Duvall.
Duvall looked up at him.
"Sir." The boy’s voice was quiet, carrying the particular rasp of his age. "Are you... going to kill all of those... people?"
Duvall was silent for two seconds, then nodded. "Yes."
A complicated expression crossed the boy’s face, grief mingling with hatred. "They... killed our parents."
He spoke in a low voice. "Our family used to help Brother Hark next door. We gave them our extra rations so they could pay their tithes. But that day... Brother Hark came into our house with a group of people and dragged my parents away. We could only..."
The hard block in Duvall’s mouth suddenly became impossible to swallow. He forced it down, feeling the dry scrape in his throat.
This damned world.
He reached out and patted the boy’s shoulder. He had never been good at comforting others.
The boy drew a deep breath, as if making up his mind. "Where are you going? I... I might be able to guide you."
Duvall frowned. "The snow outside is too heavy. We need to wait for it to stop."
The boy shook his head. "The cold disaster will last a long time. This year, the snow came especially early, and especially hard. In past years, there would not be snow like this until deep winter." He paused. "I may know a route."
Duvall took the crumpled map from his coat and spread it over the hay. "Can you read this?"
The boy leaned in to look at it for several moments, then shook his head.
Duvall used his finger to indicate the villages they had already cleansed. The boy’s eyes brightened. "I know these places!"
Duvall’s finger continued onward, coming to rest upon the mark representing the great city at the heart of the main battlefield. "We are going here."
The boy stared at the mark for a long time before looking up. "That is Heras City, the largest city in the region."
He lowered his voice. "Beneath this village... there should be a very large cellar for storing grain. Our village has one too. When the cold disaster comes, the villagers go down there to shelter. My father told me that every cellar has hidden passages, and they can lead to the cellars beneath Heras City."
Duvall narrowed his eyes.
Underground passages.
He immediately patted the boy’s shoulder. "Excellent. If we can use that route to get back into the city..."
He stopped halfway through the sentence.
A terrible thought had entered his mind.
"Wait." Duvall’s voice hardened. "Who else knows about these passages?"
The boy scratched his head as he looked at Duvall, suddenly so severe. "Maybe... maybe other people know? The cellars are enormous. Many of the passages have collapsed, and there are places even my father never explored."
Duvall’s heart sank. What if the enemy knew of the passages as well? What if they had already infiltrated Heras City through the underground tunnels?
The Imperial main force was now holding back the rebels’ savage assault at the front. If the enemy suddenly emerged from within the city at such a moment—
"Stroud! Anderson!" he roared, his voice carrying over the howling wind and snow.
"Yes, sir!" The two officers sprang to their feet at once.
"Wake everyone. Check the weapons and remaining charge packs. Bind the grievously wounded to improvised stretchers!" Duvall spoke rapidly. "We cannot wait for the storm to pass. We move immediately. Down into the cellar!"
"What is your name?" Duvall asked the boy.
"Evan Reed," the boy said, meeting Duvall’s eyes with solemn determination.
Duvall smiled and nodded, looking at the boy again. "A good name."
He said no more to the slightly bewildered youth. "You know where this village’s cellar is, do you not? Take us to its entrance."
The boy nodded hard. "I think I can guess." Then he turned and ran deeper into the barn.
As he followed Evan, Duvall summoned the skill tree into his vision. The cellar would inevitably be dark and lightless, making his choice clear. He first spent two hundred Emperor’s Wrath to unlock Stroud’s second skill.
[Silent Reaping]
[The likelihood of a lethal strike is greatly increased when attacking by surprise. The noise produced by all actions is also greatly reduced.]
At the same time, he illuminated a Legion skill from the [Sacred] branch.
[The God-Emperor’s Gaze (Basic)]
[For the duration of the skill, you and your Legion may see the faint light that represents “Chaos Corruption” under any conditions.]
[Mortals fear the darkness. Heretics fear His light.]
"Move out, lads. From this moment onward, we shall be the harbingers of death in the dark."
Comments (0)
Please log in to leave a comment. Login or Register