Chem dog, p.8
Chem Dog, page 8
Rastus’ mind was drawn again to Xiv, Kazyn and Gren.
Why do you even care? he asked himself. Getting soppy in your old age?
Rastus was twenty-nine. There was every chance he’d be allowed to join the deserters if they were captured. He’d abandoned plenty of people to their deaths in his time, much more grisly ones than they’d suffer here.
You’ve seen others do worse.
He shook his head.
Frekk off frekk off frekk off.
Rastus kept looking back, hoping to see friendly faces. They weren’t there.
Something made him look up. There was a deserter Savlar standing on a container, lasgun in hand, raising it to his shoulder.
Rastus was faster.
He fired a spray of las up at the deserter from the hip, forcing the man’s head down.
‘Move! Quickly!’ he said to the others.
After he ran past the deserter’s position, he turned, took a knee, and raised his lasgun, taking aim.
The man appeared again.
Rastus was ready.
He squeezed the trigger. The Savlar’s head snapped back and he slumped to the deck. Rastus stood and ran to catch up with Rec and Szank. He found them quickly, crouching behind a scrap pile under fire from a deserter Savlar wielding a hotshot volley gun and standing atop a nearby container. How he’d managed to get hold of such a powerful and rare weapon Rastus had no idea. The man was yelling as he fired, as if through sheer determination he could will his beams to hit his protected enemies, and was so bloody-mindedly focused he didn’t see Rastus, who took aim and shot him. The dead Savlar fell to the gravel with a wet crunch.
‘Get up!’ Rastus shouted, as he started running again. Rec and Szank rushed to their feet.
He continued to bring up the rear, looking behind him frequently for any sign of the other group. Hope was fading. With all the firing and shouting more and more of the deserters would be drawn to this path.
The three Savlars weaved through the alleyways made by the containers, whose distribution on the ground resembled nuts and bolts that had been thrown into the air from an overflowing bucket before landing on the ground.
Szank halted suddenly.
‘Why are you stopping?’ Rastus demanded.
‘Lost sight of the others! There are footprints everywhere here, I was following them before but now it’s a mess – I don’t know who’s gone where.’
‘Frekk!’ barked Rastus, just as a trio of las bolts struck the side of a container an inch above his head.
Hasp’s progress was slowing. The deserters were rallying and organising. He was being forced to move from cover to cover.
Thank the Emperor there’s enough protection.
Besides the containers there were scrap piles taller than him dotted all over. Orks often created such things. The Savlars obviously hadn’t seen fit to topple them or salvage from them, at least not yet. Hasp was crouched behind one with Grukkur, breathing heavily through clenched teeth. He could feel the spittle forming at the corners of his mouth and squeezing through the gaps between his teeth. Enemy fire striking the scrap heap was a staccato of whips, cracks and pings.
The commissar leant forward to see where he could next run. Before he could order Grukkur to cover him, a traitor emerged from behind a container. And then he was gone, chest blown out by a bolt. Hasp wondered where the shot had come from, then realised his arm was outstretched, Reaper in his grasp, a thin trail of smoke snaking up from the barrel.
The chems, he thought. He shook his head. Focus. The God-Emperor is my master, my guide, my protector.
Hasp looked around again, poking his head out quickly. There was another, larger scrap pile not ten yards away.
‘Grukkur, cover!’ he roared.
‘Yes, commissar, sir!’
With that the ogryn emerged from behind their scrap pile, pouring fire from his ripper gun with a throbbing thump-thump-thump.
Hasp dashed out. Even with Grukkur’s enthusiastic efforts, he still heard las fire whine past his ears. The heat singed his skin. He fired several shots in the direction of the enemy as he ran. It was terrible discipline.
Get a hold of yourself, man.
When Hasp reached the next scrap pile, he couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. His embarrassing lapse in self-control and the slower progress of their advance through the damned maze were frustrating at best.
‘The Emperor is my Lord and Master and Champion. He is all that is good and wise and just. He is humanity’s radiant shield of hope and fiery blade of righteousness. With Him by my side I cannot falter and my enemies shall fail.’
The words calmed the commissar enough to assess the squad’s situation. He knew they were slowing down. Where does this territory end? he thought in exasperation. He just wanted to be past the container field now.
Behind him he could see Grukkur, and further along Tilz, Judd, Yernis and Doc. Where were the others? Rastus, Szank and Rec were all missing. Xiv, Kazyn and Gren had never caught up with them. He’d written off the latter party, a costly but necessary sacrifice to get out of this labyrinth. But to lose another three? It risked the whole mission.
But if we all die trying to find each other, the mission is lost. If some of these mongrels are too slow then there is nothing for it. They must be left behind.
He could always ask the Mordians for support. They would not refuse to help a commissar working on behalf of Lord Commissar Hellugh Traig, surely.
‘Fire and manoeuvre to my position!’ he roared at the Savlars still with him.
Tilz looked at him – she knew he had shouted but not what. She pointed to her ear.
‘Fire, and manoeuvre to my position!’ he roared more slowly. Idiot mongrel!
The Savlar nodded and snapped a quick salute of acknowledgement.
Thank frekk, he thought. ‘Grukkur, help them!’ he ordered the ogryn.
‘Yes, commissar, sir!’
The thump-thump-thump of Grukkur’s ripper gun dominated the soundscape once more.
As the Savlars manoeuvred, Hasp switched between watching them, providing covering fire and guarding the squad’s flank. They weren’t vulnerable from just one side. He was loading a fresh magazine into Reaper as the Savlars moved. Tilz directed them, making sure everyone ran when Grukkur unleashed hell. It was professional.
Hasp hated it when the Savlars surpassed his expectations of them.
When the rest of the squad started leapfrogging to his position, he provided much more fire, squeezing off dozens of bolts just to keep the enemy’s heads down. He knew not a single shot found a target. He resented the waste.
All of two minutes after he’d reached his scrap pile, Hasp was there with Grukkur, Tilz, Yernis, Judd and Doc.
‘All here, sir,’ said Doc.
Hasp looked back one more time. There was no sign of the rest of the squad.
‘We’re moving on,’ he said.
They were pinned. All of them. The deserters had brought up a pair of heavy stubbers in higher positions directly in front of Hasp and the others and forced them to the ground behind a wide but low scrap pile.
They were all face down, as low as possible. Hasp felt jagged metal digging into his arms and chest. There was no way to return fire without being shredded. There was every chance they’d be surrounded. He’d ordered them all to watch the flanks and rear.
In truth, he had no idea what to do. Short of everyone throwing grenades, ordering Grukkur to act as a bullet shield and making a break for it. He was about to give the order when–
‘On the right!’ shouted Judd, who opened up with a rapid-fire burst from his lasgun.
Hasp, next to Judd, rolled over to his left and saw a pair of Savlars dashing into cover. He raised Reaper and fired three times. He clipped one of the traitors in the hip and she collapsed onto the ground, rolling and screaming in agony.
‘Left!’ called out Tilz. A long-las crack followed. ‘Down.’
Can’t see a thing, thought Hasp, fuming.
There was no point in ordering any kind of advance if there was no chance any of them could survive at all. The attacks had broken his pattern of thought. He needed to work a way out of this.
‘What do you see, Tilz?’ he called out.
‘No cover… sir,’ she said, shouting in between bursts of heavy stubber fire. ‘Scrap piles… short. Containers… shredded.’
Then one of the heavy stubbers fell silent.
What was that?
‘One’s stopped firing!’ said Judd, who was still shooting at the flanking traitors.
‘They’re probably redeploying,’ said Hasp.
Seconds later, a heavy stubber opened up, its standard clat-clat-clat unmistakeable. Tracer rounds zipped over Hasp’s head from the opposite direction. He realised the deserters had surrounded them.
This is it, Hasp thought. It was only a matter of time until they were all killed.
‘We will die fighting! In the Emperor’s name!’ roared Hasp, raising Reaper to shoot at the flankers once more. Looking over Judd’s shoulder, he watched as two traitors were hit several times each, their bodies contorting like marionette dolls. Not by his fire, nor by Judd’s.
It was the heavy stubber. The one they’d been outflanked by.
‘What the frekk?’ said Judd.
The Savlar raised himself a little, looking around to see what was going on.
‘Get down!’ Hasp shouted.
A las bolt took the man in the shoulder. He grunted in pain and dropped.
‘Doc!’ said Hasp. ‘Judd’s hit.’
Doc crawled over to Judd, pulling himself through the gravel and shards of warped metal on his chest to keep out of the enemy’s sights. As he did so, Yernis rose to one knee and started firing in sets of two shots, a short beat and movement of his Vostroyan lasrifle between each. It was crisp covering fire.
Hasp heard the crunching of boots on gravel behind them. He rolled onto his back, Reaper raised, ready to blow away whoever was coming.
He pulled back at the last moment.
It was Rastus and Szank. The two fell in with the rest of the squad.
‘Where have you been?’ Hasp demanded.
‘Catching up with you, sir,’ said Rastus. The Savlar wasn’t looking; he was on one knee, firing at the enemy. ‘Rec’s keeping their heads down,’ he said.
Hasp got to one knee himself to fire over the scrap pile they had been hiding behind. ‘You arrived just in time,’ he ceded. ‘We needed that stubber down.’
‘That wasn’t us, sir,’ said Rastus.
‘What?’
‘We aren’t on our own here, sir.’
Damn. It could have been anyone – deserters, bandits, xenos.
Thump-thump-thump.
Grukkur was up and firing, spraying traitor positions with his ripper gun. For the first time, Hasp could get a look at the positions ahead. He was still forced to duck occasionally, but the tables had been turned on their enemy.
The containers here were even more of a mess than elsewhere. As Tilz had said, many were heavily damaged, fragmented or burned to the point they had broken apart and melted before cooling. None had any traces of paint left. It was just a graveyard of blackened metal out of which the traitors had set up a base with firing positions. They had been effective – Hasp could make out where fire was coming from but couldn’t see any of the Savlars.
Then he saw one, running amidst the ruined containers. The commissar tracked her with Reaper, but something about her stopped him from firing. It was her gait. He recognised it.
Kazyn?
‘The other stubber is down!’ shouted Rastus. Hasp was snapped from his thought.
‘Grukkur, forward, with me. The rest, cover!’
‘Rastus!’
It was Xiv running towards them. Kazyn and Gren were just behind her.
Rastus lowered his lasgun. ‘Frekking hell, I nearly shot you!’
‘You would’ve missed,’ she said. Rastus could see the smile in her eyes. ‘It’ll take more than some Savlar-born sewer-bastard to take me down.’
Rastus laughed. He was happier to see the others than he thought he could have been. Somehow, they were all together.
‘You owe us. Three times,’ Gren complained. ‘Those heavy stubbers didn’t take themselves out. And you left us for dead.’ He had a face that looked like someone had dropped a turd in his corpse-starch.
Rastus felt his face fall.
‘We did take out the–’ Xiv started.
‘Shut up,’ said Hasp. ‘There’re no medals for mongrels doing their frekking duty. Move!’
Rastus hated to admit it, but once again the commissar was right. They were still under fire.
‘Us being split up… probably helped,’ Xiv said as they ran. ‘Confused the deserters. Didn’t know… how many of– Gah!’
She stumbled down to one knee. Rastus stopped. Xiv had been hit in the back of the leg. It wasn’t serious, but a three-inch burn that was more than skin deep would slow most people down.
He grabbed Xiv’s left arm and threw it over his shoulder. Kazyn, who had been just behind them, did the same with her right.
The squad ran and ran, slowing only to drive off more deserters. As the time passed, the incoming fire died down.
We’re going to frekking make it!
He laughed like a madman as they ran past vandalised ork glyphs just like the ones they had found when they entered this part of the container field. Xiv and Kazyn did the same, letting the high of adrenaline and continued life take them over.
It was well into the night when the squad left the container field. To Hasp’s silent relief, there had been no more trouble. A few of them cheered and laughed when they finally saw the open wastelands, but he had shut them up and forced them all to keep moving. They needed to put distance between them and the field – anyone might pursue them.
That didn’t stop him from looking back down on it from the top of the rise on the other side – the transport ship’s crash had cut a deep groove into the ground and the squad had had to climb out of it. The sun was setting, and the sprawl of containers was protruding from dust clouds, resembling at the same time some kind of colossal graveyard or a ruined cityscape whose towers had been blown apart and toppled. Sounds of sporadic distant gunfire echoed from the morass, as well as tiny glimmers of firelight which looked like stars reflected on an ocean’s surface. They had just been there, but already it felt like months had passed.
Hasp had been caked with sweat and dirt. Then he realised he was shaking. He was freezing. Everything was wearing off. The adrenaline, the chems, the anger. He was grateful the Savlars were all exhausted and looking down at their feet as they trudged up the slope and past him at a distance, and that the light was failing. None of them would have seen him in this moment of weakness. Not even Yernis, who, despite how skinny he was, had never been too far behind Hasp on any leg of the march so far.
They set up camp in a crater once more. It was well past midnight and first light would come in a matter of hours, but they needed rest. Hasp knew that if more fights like these were on their path, they couldn’t get through them exhausted. Nonetheless, he insisted on double watches and low fires.
Hasp himself couldn’t sleep. His mind raced through the day’s events over and over and his heart beat fast.
Nearby, Doc was treating Xiv and Judd, now they’d finally stopped and he could inspect their wounds. He was dabbing them with counterseptic. Yernis sat nearby in silence, watching over them. Maybe protecting them, as he’d done for Doc during the battle earlier. The other three were whispering, and Hasp could not help but fixate on it.
‘You’ll fight on,’ Doc said. ‘Both of you.’
‘Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,’ said Xiv.
‘If you can’t fight you’re dead,’ said Judd. ‘Hasp will leave you here.’
‘I’ll take my chances.’
‘You’d take your chances with anything.’
‘Wouldn’t you protect little old me?’ Xiv asked in a faux-pathetic tone. ‘How could I ever be in trouble with such a big, strong man like you? A hardened criminal?’
‘We’re both that.’
‘We’re all that,’ said Doc, ripping up some old uniform for bandages.
Judd and Xiv both looked at him.
‘What did you do?’ asked Xiv.
‘Took organs from patients and flogged them.’
There was a pause for several seconds, in which Doc wrapped a bandage around Xiv’s leg. She had tensed the moment he finished speaking. She winced when he tied it.
‘Wasn’t hard for you to share that,’ Judd observed.
‘So many people on Savlar have done worse. I stopped caring. I’ve done it since I was sent to Savlar, too. If anything it’s easier to do it now – I only work on murderers and gangsters. No one’s going to miss them.’
‘Never been more grateful for a flesh wound,’ said Judd with a chuckle.
‘Throne, we are such shits,’ said Xiv.
‘How about you two?’ asked Doc. ‘Seeing as we’re sharing.’
‘Born in an asteroid mining fleet,’ said Xiv. ‘Every ship had a gang that stole from other ships, I was in one of them. We were all caught and sent all over the place. I was fourteen when I was sent to Savlar.’
‘That was boring,’ said Doc. ‘There are people on Savlar thrown away for miscounting grains on agri worlds with better stories than that.’
‘If it means an organ-thief thinks twice about emptying me because I’m not evil enough for him to not care, I’ll take it.’
‘The bruiser here must have a story to tell.’
‘Setting me up to fail, Doc,’ said Judd.
‘You only have to beat Xiv.’
‘Ha, true. Hive world ganger–’
‘So far, so yawn,’ said Doc.
‘Frekk off. You yawn and I’ll rip your head off. Try selling that with your stolen organs.’
