Ashes
Date: 2015-04-04 04:00:00+00:00
Publisher: Evernet Publishing

Phoenix: Ashes

By

Martin Allen

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 Martin Allen

All Rights Reserved

Thanks to:

My mother, for proofreading all the novels so far in the Phoenix series, and hopefully many more to come.

Sabrina Roberts for an idea for the back part of the cover and for being there.

Christina Cook and Claire McCluskey for their continued friendship.

The continued support of the various facebookers who continue to support my work by way of author take-overs and re-postings (yes, Karmin Dahl, you are in this category).

To all who have or will reviewed my work, whether it be a glowing review or not.

……and lastly to all those who read this and enjoy it.

Chapter 1

The walls of the advance bunker trembled as the captured siege weapons pounded at the thick titanium-steel reinforced walls. Tiny motes of concrete dust floated down from the ceiling, overtaken by the larger fragments also shaken loose by the impacts of the high power weaponry.

“How did they get hold of the batteries?” yelled a voice from the other side of the bunker as Hostilius Corvus sought shelter under a table, due to the sheer power of the batteries now arranged against his Headquarters.

The sheet-ice offered little shelter to the troops marching through the almost horizontal snow whipping at their thermo-uniforms. Despite these uniforms being specifically designed for the Hell-Worlds gripped in eternal winter on some of the more extreme outposts of the Empire, they offered scant protection to the comfort of the soldiers that wore them. The worst of the elements were held away from the body, for if they were not then the entire squad would have been dead roughly twenty miles previously. The fact that the thermo-uniforms did at least keep them alive was barely touched upon by the sub-vocal, and sometimes not so sub-vocal, mutterings of the soldiery attired in them. As always with the common soldier the common complaints were still in evidence from the dawn of the profession: lack of pay, women, decent rations, booze and of course pre-eminent in this case, the cold. The energy required to power the suits to a more comfortable temperature would in itself lead to an increase in the pack weight, thus slowing the soldiers down further - this in turn would lead to a requirement for more energy. In fact the current temperature of the suits was the only one that would allow for a protracted march between the city and the transport hub. The slow trudge across the ice showed little evidence for its passing. The wind howling around the hunched figures took the snow almost as quickly as it hit the ground. The drifts that resulted from this phenomenon were some seven miles to the east of the city and the hub, and were the same height as some of the mountains on Sol Invictus itself. These would build until the high-speed winds caused by the high rotational speed of the planet were blocked and the paths of the tempest were changed. This would result in differing wind patterns and a new build-up of drifts; the old ones slowly compressing under their own weight to become new plateaus of sheet ice. The sheet ice was tinted a blue colour due to the high copper mineral content of the water on the planet. Whilst the reclamation of the copper from the frozen water was uneconomical in terms of energy, the mining of the minerals that had so partially dissipated in the water was not so prohibitive. The mining had opened up the subterranean space to utilise for shelter and industry. Soon entire generations on the Hell-World of Albina 7 would have had no reason to see the sky or stars. Already specific adaptations among the residents had started to emerge. Their irises were, among the original lines of the planet, unable to contract to blot out the normal levels of light on a temperate planet such as Sol Invictus. As travel at night along the planet’s surface was impossible due to the temperature, the very ice itself became something of a prison guard for the residents of Albina. Their weakened irises would, more easily than their off-world counterparts, lead to snow blindness and thus they would be unable to reach the transport hub. The transport hub was isolated and only reachable by an enforced march across the sheet ice; the hub was the only transportation off world. Raw materials from the mines were collected by automated machines. The automation was necessary as the speed of the transport machines was so low due to the weight of the loads. A human driver would be frozen to death well before the transports reached their destination. As well as the energy savings this afforded, it made escape from Albina almost impossible.

The Hell-Worlds were to all intent and purposes a slave labour camp for all those adjudged by the Empire to be sinners and criminals. They were put to work for the good of the Empire in conditions that would have shamed even the Egyptian and Roman dynasties famous for their uncaring attitudes toward the workers on their major projects. The Empire itself would sooner be rid of these people, marked as reprobates, but the demands of the Empire for raw materials saw a greater use for those that could be so abused. The energy demands for such a colony filled with willing and protected workers whose spiritual being was not in doubt would have been a price the Empire would not have paid. Heating and other such luxuries would have severely curtailed the energy available for interplanetary travel upon which the Empire placed utmost importance for, on the basis of expansion, it maintained order and the status quo. In the caverns of Albina rude shacks had been erected with only the meagre geothermal warmth derived from the depths of the caverns themselves keeping the populace alive at all. The energy investment in the colony had been immense for the deposits of copper and other conductive metals were immense and could be used for the technical requirements of much of the Empire’s computing needs. Prior to the deeper caverns utilising the geothermal energy food had been transported to the surface; the subzero temperatures offering a preservative during the long automated transportation. As the caverns expanded with the export of conductive raw materials, room became available for geothermally heated hydroponics bays. These were little more than basic mass-producing pods that provided high-energy foodstuffs of little nutritional value. The workers were not expected to last more than a year due to the frequent illnesses and cave-ins. The Hell-Worlds were a death sentence but were perceived by many at sentencing as better than the pyres of the Committee of Doctrine. After their transportation to the Hell-Worlds, many changed their minds and resigned themselves to their imminent deaths. Only the lesser criminals were ever offered the Hell-Worlds - apostates or adherents to other faiths were always submitted to the pyres sooner or later. Due to the large volumes of these poor souls they were often interred in death camps first, many dying of malnutrition and disease before they had a chance to be fed into the carnivorous mouths of the furnaces, which they had often built themselves.

The squad that trudged ever onwards towards the transportation hub thought not of the suffering of their fellow man beneath the surface where they had been standing guard, but merely of their own discomfort. They had endured sparse meagre rations and bitter cold, albeit the worst kept from their bones by their thermo-uniforms. They were merely glad to have this assignment ended and looked forward to a more hospitable climate. Their indifference to the suffering around them was little more than a reaction to their conditions. The Empire had pervaded every aspect of life to promote the worship of Sol Invictus, the state religion of the theocracy. No other religious observations but those of the state were permitted. Each of the inhabitants of Albina 7 had been judged in what they saw as a fair trial and were now beneath contempt. Contact was discouraged and only indifference or brute cruelty to the inhabitants was seen as acceptable activity for the Patriarchal Guard of which they were all members. Distaste and loathing came into all of them upon seeing the sub-humans eking out their pitiful existence. Still the harsh winds whipped at them, their regimental cloaks cracking in the sideswiping winds, the cold mirroring their indifference to the crimes of the Empire. Their tracks disappeared almost as soon as they were made, echoing the intransigence of the squad’s impact on humanity itself.

Although the snowstorm blocked any sight past a few yards, one of the infrequent breaks in the weather gave a view of the transportation hub a mere two miles ahead of the squad. The bright lights were a contrast to the dark entryway to the subterranean mining complex. Piercing points broke through the blizzard drawing the eye higher and higher to the spires of the transportation complex. It was almost like an Ice-queens castle compared to the troglodytes’ caves that they had been stationed in for the past few months. The towers were the grey of titanium-steel; almost impenetrable armour that indicated this was the most important structure on the planet. Through this structure all non-indigenous supplies and personnel were brought to the planet’s surface. This was no mere spaceport but an entire structure given over to a massive undertaking - the transformation of matter to energy and back again. This was the secret to interstellar travel. It consumed a vast amount of energy for each item transported to or from the planet. As matter was converted to energy it was transported to another planet and converted back. The towers rose at the four corners of a massive transparent dome that encased a large courtyard. The peak of the dome was linked to the four towers via thin lines akin to that of a spider’s web. The lines however glowed with a blue ethereal light that only just pierced the snowfall. Activity was only visible within the courtyard itself as all the windows were mirrored. The mirroring was designed to reflect much of the harsh glare of the ice sheet and thus protect the eyes of those that lived and worked within.

“Come on lads, two more miles before a warm meal and berth.”  A harsh yell came over the com-link to the squad from their sergeant. As a non-commissioned officer the Sergeant was the first bastion of morale and discipline. As an experienced Sergeant, he knew that in such cruel conditions the idea of a warm meal and comfort would appeal to his squad and have more power than threats or cajoling.

A weak response in reply was almost drowned out by the crackle in the com-link caused by the atmospheric conditions.

“If you don’t want a warm meal and a bed for the night then I can always suggest to the Lieutenant that you would prefer to make camp here and march the rest of the way in the morning” bawled the Sergeant. The Lieutenant smiled inwardly, knowing that there would be no chance of either the Sergeant making that suggestion or him giving the order. He also knew that the squad would immediately respond more forcefully to ensure that neither of those possibilities became necessary.

“No Sir! Warmth sounds good Sir!” came an early reply, now much louder than the com-link background interference.

“Halberdier Servilius! Do I look like an Officer to you? I work for a living laddie” The harsh retribution made the rest of the Squad smile now for Servilius Cornicen had answered too quickly and without thought. The rest of the squad was now off the hook and Cornicen would now bear the brunt of any specific bawling. They would, for the rest of the journey, be subject to generalised abuse but nothing directed at any sole member of the squad save Servilius.

“No Sarge! Sorry Sarge!” came the quick loud reply from Servilius ineffectively hoping to stave off any further attacks.

“There will come a time when I’m not around to wipe your arse for you Servilius, and what will you do then, eh? I try and teach you reprobates some kind of discipline and what do I get? You call me an officer! I will drag you back out of each and every assignment alive if it’s possible, and you call me an officer! I don’t have it in me to be an Officer, and that’s the truth.”  The tirade on the subject of Officerhood continued for both of the two remaining miles. It was all Lieutenant Gratius Aquilinus could do to stop himself from laughing for much of the gruelling remainder of the journey. For all of the blustering he knew that Sergeant Curtius Aculeo was in fact making the same type of mistake that Servilius had. By being insulted at the honorific of Sir, implying he was an Officer, he was in fact insulting Officers. Lieutenant Gratius shook his head and decided to let it go, Sergeant Curtius had much in his character that was a problem but he would never knowingly, and soberly, insult an Officer. The manners of an enlisted man were too deeply ingrained into him after his 21 years of service. He had been in the Patriarchal Guard for longer than some of the squad had been alive, and that experience was essential.

With more and more rebellions on Hell-Worlds the experience of the troops was in short supply. There were insufficient numbers of experienced troops for certain types of worlds, and, once committed, if another world of the same type tried to rebel only inexperienced troops would be available with only small numbers of specialists sent to aid them. The expansion of the Empire and its technology had made available more and more types of terrain and thus more tactical options than had previously been obtainable. So the experienced troops were spread out in the hope that the skills were transferable. According to his record Sergeant Curtius had been involved on almost every type of world in the Empire. This was an impressive achievement given that life expectancy in the Patriarchal Guard was clocked at a little over seven years. The normal tour of service required for citizenship was ten, so those that joined hoped to beat the odds. That was not easy with those like Sergeant Curtius taking up much of the luck needed by a raw recruit. Lieutenant Gratius realised that here were more inexperienced troops in this squad than he would have liked, the war machine of the Empire took them younger and younger each year. With birth rates growing, the one resource that the Empire produced in vast abundance was Human Life, and as such it was expendable in a way that energy and mineral resources would never be. Even food was in short supply, probably as a result of the ever expanding populations. Human life as a result was cheaper than almost anything on the Empire’s markets. Lieutenant Gratius had grown up on a temperate planet to middle class parents who were citizens and had purchased a small commission for him a few years before. It had cost them much of their savings but this basic investment had gained him entry to the Officer class and once his term of service was discharged he would be viewed with honour and potentially given a political role on some minor world somewhere, allowing him to live out his life in relative comfort. If he managed to get promoted beyond the lowly rank of Lieutenant, the rewards would be greater, but his chances of surviving any action that would result in a field promotion were negligible. As the Empire expanded to ever more mineral rich and hostile worlds the technical advances required to keep the colonists alive got more and more advanced and the raw materials available on those worlds made more complex and deadly weapons available. Lieutenants were still posted along with their squads and were not of sufficient rank to be spared front line service for command. So far he had been lucky, Calidius Squad, his squad, of the 107th Battalion had been lucky under his command, no major postings, guard duty for a year on Albina 7. This had mainly consisted of keeping order, nothing more than a policing posting. The conditions had meant that the chances of rebellion were negligible due to the lack of ability to survive independently. While geothermal energy had provided hydroponics bays and the basic supplies needed the ability to manufacture weapons was minimal and the chances of escape to the transportation hub were negligible. There would be no hope for survival should a rebellion occur. The Empire would pull back and let the technology wear out before launching a major offensive on tired and starving rebels with little offensive capability. That was the advantage of the Hell-Worlds as effective penal colonies. They had little prospect of independent survival and could be pacified with minimal losses. The inhabitants of the colony knew this as well as the soldiers did and kept themselves to themselves knowing their only chance of survival lay in not agitating the Empire any more than that which had resulted in them being sent here. Before that the squad had been reserves in a containment of a rebellion on Geminius Prime, a world with two suns. While the squad had seen no combat in the fierce fighting that had managed to contain the rebellion and subsequently starved it into submission, they had seen the evacuation of the survivors, malnourished, gaunt and dejected. They had appeared skeletal, for while the planet had been the basis of a farming colony the initial overwhelming assault of the Empire had pinned the rebels into their city. Their crops had been bombarded by field artillery to remove their ability to withstand a siege. The resulting starvation and disease due to the accompanying destruction of the irrigation supply had brought down all rebelling cities within three weeks and the Patriarchal Guard had done little but sit back and shoot anyone attempting to leave, until the message of surrender had come in via the com-link. The Empire seemed like a compassionate commander, but the objective was less to do with conserving troops as it was to inspire terror in prospective rebels. To be shot in a clean fight may seem heroic in a fight for freedom, but to be slowly starved to death watching your loved ones and friends slowly getting thinner and thinner, sicker and sicker was a horror to be reckoned with. The psychological impact of that course of action was to deter other rebellions. It was cheaper and more cost effective to let a rebellion continue for three weeks than to have to ship troops around putting down fires.

The transportation hub looked considerably closer now, so large that the neck had to be craned back to the point of discomfort just to see the top of the dome. The entire back had to be arched to see the tops of the towers. There was now a faint sheen of light visible from behind the mirrored windows. The complex itself could now be seen even when the wind and snow increased to their soul-battering climax. It was a heartening sight for the men as it meant that their march was coming to an end and the prospect of a warmer posting was closer. On most planets the main complex of the colony would house the various entertainments of the colony, restricted to those not convicted to enjoy them. On Albina, where the transport hub was so distant from the colony’s caves the entertainments for the transportation staff was maintained here. This meant that the squad had endured mind-numbing boredom for the past few months. The posting was longer than most due to the difficulty in getting to and from the colony, and the squad were looking forward to some well earned R&R. Lieutenant Gratius hoped that the enforced inactivity would not mean that the combination of theologically discouraged alcohol and female company would go to his men’s heads. He had spoken up for Sergeant Curtius on a number of occasions saving him from the Hell-Worlds and negating his sentence to demotion. Sergeant Curtius, however, always seemed to make his way back up the ranks, destined to remain at the rank of Sergeant. He was one of the most experienced and skilled NCO’s that Aquilinus had ever served with and hoped that he wouldn’t have to demote him again. Some of his squad were greener than the jungle world of Lactuca 3 and so would need to be warned about the dangers of an R&R after protracted inactivity. Still a warm meal, bivouac and the prospect of a good nights sleep safe from the call to action were all too welcome.

The Squad slogged up to the steel-titanium gates to the nearest tower, the crackle of the external heating elements that stopped drifts building up around the exterior of the structure could be heard. Despite the strength of steel-titanium eventually, on this world, large drifts would crush the complex, rendering the facility useless. In a shorter period of time the gates would be blocked, isolating the complex from the colony. The squad fell in to a line facing the gates and the blue lights of the scanners fell over each man in turn. Over each man a red light remained indicating the presence of weapons. This stopped rebels smuggling armaments through the gates and trying to take the transportation hub. The com-link crackled into life.

“Identify yourselves, you show weapons on the scan.” came the terse demand from the complex.

“107th Battalion, Calidius Squad reporting in as ordered”. Intoned Lieutenant Gratius “ID code 97826 Alpha Green.”

The gates lid open to a holding chamber, known informally as murder holes. The name had come from the Medieval Castles on Earth, now renamed Invictus. Holes above the gatehouse entrances could be used to pour boiling oil down on invaders once the gates had been breached. Now the gates would be opened in relation to any code given in response to the challenge. Once inside the murder hole, Gamma radiation would poison the very cells of anyone within the chamber who had given an incorrect code. The levels of radiation were so high that there would be no chance to circumvent the remaining security before the radiation kicked in. This was well known within the Patriarchal Guard and as always the walk into the beckoning chamber was tinged with trepidation. Perhaps the voice recognition software was malfunctioning; perhaps the Lieutenant had been misheard or misspoken the code. The would be no way of knowing until the radiation kicked in and by then it would be too late. It was not a pleasant way to die either; radiation poisoning was a horrific death, but at the levels in the chamber, the symptoms would come thick and fast at the same time as the flesh cooking on the bone and slowly peeling off. The gates closed behind the last squad member and sealed themselves so that any resulting radiation would not escape to the outside world. Again in the chamber more sensor sweeps swept over the squad determining if any off-world antigens had infected any of the members whilst on the colony. Given the size of the Empire the possibility of a hitherto unknown pathogen entering into the general populous was an ever-present danger. It would also provide the Empire with something of a public relations nightmare. Illness in the Empire was, due to the economics of healthcare and scarcity of medical supplies, deemed by the Theocracy to be down to the will of Sol Invictus. If Sol Invictus willed the disease cured, then it would be. If an epidemic took hold it would be perceived as the will of Sol Invictus and the illness would be interpreted as the judgement of whole swathes of the Empire. The Empire was, therefore, dependant on large numbers of health checks to prevent disease and so developed precious little, in comparison, for the actual treatment of illnesses. Should an unknown and incurable illness become apparent then the unfortunate individuals who contracted it would first be isolated along with anyone that came into contact with them and studied as lab rats, gauging the speed and infectiousness of the disease. They would be used as incubators for the disease and the main focus of the research would start on detection for the scanners so that the spread could be contained. Only then would research into a cure be sanctioned, funds allowing.

To the relief of the squad the inner doors opened and the inner reception of the tower became visible. Shoulders that had risen slowly during the scan of the squad now dropped as one when the initial crack of light showed in the centre of twin sliding doors. The less experienced members of the squad gave themselves away with a sharp exhalation at the same time. Gratius could hardly blame them, it was all he could do to stop himself from releasing his pent up tension in the same way, but it would not have been appropriate for him to show such weakness in from of his men. When the doors reached their full capacity the men formed up wordlessly. A second chamber was visible where in slits on the ceiling and upper walls were retracting machine gun barrels. Another heavily armoured door was retracting into its housing at the top of the doorway. Two by two the squad marched through with Lieutenant Gratius at its head and Sergeant Curtius to one side of the column, as was his station. They walked past a military checkpoint to the left in a vast internal chamber and on to the parade ground in the barracks.

“OK, we are assigned to Block D. Dump your kit and the rest of the day is yours. We Trans out 16:00 hours tomorrow for Invictus itself. So do not be late. Lateness will count as desertion. Is that understood?” Yelled Sergeant Curtius

“Sarge, Yes Sarge!” came the emphatic reply.

“Fall out and try not to get into too much trouble, I don’t want to have to explain to the Lieutenant why any of you are in the stockade and he has to ask for your release.”

Amatius Balbus stepped out from barrack block D a free man, at least temporarily. The rest of the squad were off to seek somewhat less than approved recreational activities, but Balbus was not going to risk falling into bad habits. He had only joined up a year beforehand with the hope of achieving citizenship and he was not going to allow one night of indulgence to see him forever barred from that hope, residing on a Hell-World or worse, in an interment camp prior to being executed. While the Patriarchal Guard was, in practice, given certain dispensations due to the stresses of the job; and certain types of recruits that joined or were requisitioned, Balbus did not wish to risk crossing the line. Several generations ago his family had been practising Muslims and this was reflected in the Imperial records. As a result his parents and the generations prior to them were barred from applying for citizenship, whatever the route. Balbus was the first of his family to have the option to become more than a second class citizen. His only route was to join the Patriarchal Guard. The Empire had decreed that for four generations of a family belonging to any other religion would be barred from the prospect of citizenship to avoid the possibility of infidels spreading within the Sol Invictine hierarchy. Thus all those whose families had, past a certain point, practiced any other religion were condemned to a life of servitude to “full blood” Sol Invictines. Balbus’ parents had eked out a living washing plates in the cafeteria of the Imperial Archives. It was about as high status as they could get given their non-citizen status. Still, they had been devastated when he had announced his decision to join the Patriarchal Guard. They could not focus on the potential advantages of the situation and could only concentrate on the prospect of his death. He had found this a little morbid; sure there was a possibility, but to just bring it up like that had been a little disheartening especially as he had already signed up. They hadn’t cared about the amazing opportunities that they could never have that would suddenly become open to him. He would be able to live outside of the slums, earn a decent wage and have replicated food tokens. Replicated food was a symbol of status in the Empire given the energy required to generate it. The matter for the food was created out of energy condensed into a static matter form, which meant that as long as the computer held the chemical signature of the required food item in memory then it could in theory create any dish possible. Recently amongst the more experienced soldiers there was talk of new weapon designs that used this same technology to generate emergency ammunition when required rather than needing to be reloaded. The energy required was too demanding for anything more than a few bullets but in certain situations a single bullet could make all the difference.

Amatius Balbus made a beeline for the Invictine Temple to offer thanks for an uneventful tour of service. In contrast to his parents, who seemed only to go through the motions of worship, Balbus was a fervent believer in the teachings of Sol Invictus. He believed that the excesses of previous religions had lead to the evil present in the Pre-Invictine world. Islam had lead to extremism, Christianity to the Crusades and the Inquisition; and Confucianism to the century of warfare in Japan. To Balbus’ mind those that could not see that a unified religion based on the equality of man before Sol Invictus’ judgement deserved all that they reaped from their heretical beliefs. He strode down the narrow walkways of the internal complex to the Temple; he was surprised to notice that there were no bars or houses of ill repute from the barracks to the temple. The construction and zone planning of this complex allowed those interested in their eternal souls to walk unmolested to the Temple without having to pass the more disreputable areas, Balbus approved of this for he hated to think of himself being tempted by the ungodly. Everywhere there were temptations of the flesh ready to hijack the unsuspecting and drag them down to the pits of depravity. Balbus continually wondered why his fellow squad members did not attend to their spiritual well-being with as much energy as their recreation; but had yet to think of a satisfactory answer.

Chapter 2

As the wall of the bunker exploded with the fury of a fire daemon Hostilius Corvus flew through the air, hitting the wall with a thud that was drowned out by the barrage of sound that came from the explosion. As he impacted with the ground he rolled to gain his feet. Once the outer wall had been breached he knew that the advance would start as the tactical strength of his position had been severely compromised.

“Fall back! Fall Back! Back to the reserves and hold position there.” yelled Corvus over the sound of small arms fire and the pounding of artillery.

Through the confusion and smoke the remaining troops in the bunker, except for those lying on the ground bleeding from mortal injuries, moved to quickly and efficiently pack up the communication and computer equipment in the bunker before moving out to the main entrance of the bunker and into the night air to make their way back to the secondary positions. A figure in black armour peeled itself out of the shadows in the bunker, its cape swirling as it turned for the exit. This figure seemed relaxed and at ease even under fire and the confusion of retreat. It appeared separate, not flinching at the bullets and ricochets that brought out stray sparks near the figure. Soon the bunker was empty of all men and equipment. Near the breached wall and the main entrance small red lights blinked on and off attached to round capsules on the walls.

The Service was held in a small chapel, despite the size of the base. There were relatively small numbers of personnel permanently stationed at the hub and so there was no need for a larger Temple. Many of the operators at the hub would be high-ranking science officials and would qualify for a separate chapel from one open to the public. The troops were transient and so provision was made in the colony itself. That being so, it was still puzzling to Amatius Balbus that the chapel was so quiet. Although the sermon was a common topic, the inadequacy of the flesh before the judgement of Sol Invictus, the lack of people in the service seemed to prove that this message was falling on deaf ears. Balbus knew that on the morrow he would hear the stories of the various drunken exploits of his comrades. At the section of the service dedicated to private prayers he took to his knees and prayed for the souls of his squad. Although they sinned rather more regularly than Balbus would have liked they still took the same risks, and served the same Empire, as did he. Thus he prayed that their service would be taken into account when they faced Sol Invictus. He also prayed that at the next service he had the opportunity to attend that more of his compatriots would attend with him. This prayer he offered every time, but it was yet to be answered, the call of the bars and women seemed too strong for his fellows to resist. To round off his prayers he gave thanks for the opportunity to serve, for in the brotherhood of the Patriarchal Guard he had found a sense of belonging that had been absent in his childhood and early teens. Always the status of his family as non-citizens and that of his parents as in the no-mans land of coming from Islamic stock had set him apart from his peers. Bullied and insular he had come to rely on his dream of acceptance through military service. Here in the cradle of his new life as a member of the society that had so rejected him he felt at home and if that cost him his life then it would be a small price to pay for the feelings of brotherhood that he felt.

Sergeant Curtius rolled onto his back and groaned; his head felt like a platoon had marched across it. As he was lying in a gutter, he couldn’t be entirely sure that it hadn’t; his memory had some significant gaps in it. He could remember a woman of dubious virtue offering him a good time at her place of residence but instead attempting, with a large man behind the door, to steal all the money he had on him. It hadn’t worked; Sergeant Curtius had, prior to being entered into the Patriarchal Guard, been involved in that particular scam and had been on his guard for it. He had been one of the toughest street brawlers in Calpurnius, previously known as New York, until one day he had tried rolling a Sergeant from the Patriarchal Guard. He had given a good account of himself, landing at least three punches before he had come to the conclusion the Sergeant had been holding back to see what he was capable of. Things had gone swiftly downhill from there culminating in his trial for assault on Imperial Military Personnel. Things had not looked good, with the Imperial Prosecutor angling for summary transfer to the Internment Camp at Rome and then execution when the facility could arrange it with the resources at their command. The defence had lost hope and was attempting for a sentence of relocation to a Hell-World; either way he had been looking down the barrel of a death sentence. Just when it had seemed that things couldn’t have got any worse the Sergeant had arrived, striding into the trial just before the sentencing demanding to speak. As he had been the victim of the assault and had somehow neglected to remove his weapons prior to entering the room, the judge had allowed it. Aculeo had hung his head sure that the Internment Camp would be his destination.

“Permission to speak, your honour?” the Sergeant had asked and as Aculeo had expected he was granted that permission. “Your Honour, it is true that this man did assault me, and by my reckoning you should be moving on to sentencing right about now. Well I’d like to propose one - by my understanding of the law that is my right. Well I’d like for your honour to hand him over to me. The Patriarchal Guard is always looking for recruits with promise and he showed some. This isn’t a get out of jail free card your honour, under my command he will suffer like no other, but he will serve the Empire or I will kill him myself. The way I see it, this isn’t any different to sentencing him to a Hell-World except he’ll probably be a lot more use to me in my unit than wherever else he might get sent.”

That speech had seen Aculeo entered into the Patriarchal Guard for double the normal service length as his sentence. When the twenty years had ended he hadn’t felt like going into any other mode of life and had requested to remain with his unit, despite the risks.

Aculeo got to his feet somewhat unsteadily, thankful he had woken up in the gutter rather than the stockade. He had on a number of occasions been demoted to Private as a result of drunken behaviour but had always risen back to the rank he felt he was born to occupy. At least this time he had retained his rank no matter what he had forgotten from the night before. In the Empire Justice worked quickly and he wasn’t subtle enough to avoid it with all those drinks down his neck. Aculeo glanced down to the front of his uniform. Vomit and blood was splattered all down the front of it, dirt had been ground into what little of the back he could see. Thankfully he always kept a spare uniform freshly laundered in the barracks when he went on R&R excursions. His first step back in the direction of the barracks was unsteady and he almost fell but righted himself before finding the remnants of his balance. Each step his balance improved until at last the parade ground swagger of the born Sergeant had returned, somewhat out of place on this scruffy, dishevelled man.

Lieutenant Gratius had spent the night in his private room with a book, the idea of a night of drinking himself into oblivion had not appealed to him. Lieutenant Gratius knew that at least one of his squad would probably end up arrested and he would have to speak up for them so that he would have a full compliment come 16:00 in time for Trans out. This would mean a call could come at any time of the night for him to bail out his men due to their exploits. Luckily for any member of the Patriarchal Guard that let his hair down on R&R the Empire had a relaxed view of the behaviour of off-duty Guards due to the stresses and the nature of their service. The unofficial line was that any sinning that they may do on their time off, they probably made up for it when on-duty. It was not a policy made public nor did it apply to the public who may serve. This was a military only policy. Aquilinus was not comfortable with the policy but he knew that if it wasn’t in place then prior to any tour of duty he would have to train and recruit large numbers of men. The greater danger to the Empire was not the souls of the men he commanded but the inexperience of those that would have replaced them. In a war nothing can replace the survival instinct of a trained and experienced squad of men who know their orders.

Despite the questionable origin of the author of the book as the student of Confucius; Aquilinus had acquired a copy of the works of Sun Tzu and was studying them. The Empire had experimented with outlawing this particular book, but after realising its value had only restricted its availability to the general populous. It would not have done to let such a work fall into the hands of a rebel leader. Enough damage was being done to the standing of the Empire as it was with guerrilla movements springing up in ever increasing numbers. What puzzled Aquilinus was that the Hell-Worlds, where all troublemakers were sent had hardly been touched by rebellion, and were seen as “easy postings” by many of the men. Granted there were law and order difficulties, criminal gangs and the like but no idealistic rebellions. The hothouses of the rebellions were well-provisioned worlds, with no prior history of trouble. They used words like freedom and reverted to their old religions. Lieutenant Gratius had never had much time for religion after he had seen the pyres erected in the main square of some backwater world and the victims eviscerated for the entertainment of the crowd. He would bend his knee and attend the occasional service but his heart was not in it. Service was for the lives of his men rather than some grand ideal of the Empire in which he no longer truly believed. A victory was, for Aquilinus, not the successful destruction of a patch of rebellion, but the return of his men with no deaths among them. To this end he was seen amongst his superiors as a careful but uninspiring officer to whom a task could be given and it would be completed with the minimum of fuss, just no flair. This had limited his prospects for promotion but he had the advantage of possibly still being alive at the end of his service.

Idly Lieutenant Gratius wondered what Trans out would bring. Briefings were not given to troops on Trans out as the destination could be leaked to escapees. They were less likely to try and escape if the destination were not known, for the prospect of a world even less hospitable than the one they already inhabited was always a possibility. Thus the objective of their next assignment could be a full war zone or ceremonial duty for some planetary governor. Lieutenant Gratius knew that his troops would face months of punishment detail should they end up as ceremonial guards for they seemed completely incapable of keeping their uniforms in regulation condition. There would always be button missing or a boot not shiny enough. His troops were better suited to irregular duties, guarding potential targets and scouting the outskirts of combat zones. Even though Sergeant Curtius was a disciplinarian he was also similarly afflicted with untidiness and so the men could hardly be expected to take an admonishment for that particular shortcoming from a sergeant exhibiting the same inadequacy. Given the number of rebellions in the Empire at the time Gratius was realistic enough to know that the men would be grateful for such a posting despite the punishments. Punishment detail was infinitely better than being stuck in some forsaken trench somewhere with artillery blasting at your senses, shots whizzing past your head and some ideologically committed opponents trying their damndest to kill them. Once a rebellion had taken place the Empire only responded with one sentence - death. Death for every man, woman and child within the area. They would be taken from the place they had once called home and transported to the nearest Internment Camp for the Inquisition to deal with them. Soldiers were never expected to dirty their hands with executions. Once the fighting was over and the prisoners transported it was off to the next posting, or an extended period of rest and relaxation.

The book was placed carefully on the bedside table as the light was blown out. To the casual eye it would seem that the placing of the book was with exaggerated care so that lines of the table and the edges of the book were aligned. The room itself was little more than a shoebox, but it was certainly better than sharing billets with the squad. After a night of heavy drinking the normal snores and assorted back of the throat and nasal noises made by sleeping troops would be somehow even louder and more annoying. Aquilinus was grateful for the quiet as he checked his com-link was on and audible and then closed his eyes to enjoy what sleep he could get before the first call of the night came in. If he was lucky he could count on a couple of hours sleep followed by another four after dragging the more inebriated troops back to barracks to sleep off their self-inflicted conditions. Sleep did not come easy; it never did the night before Trans out. The possibility of Trans directly into a war zone was ever present and Lieutenant Gratius did not relish taking his men directly into that, especially if they were all suffering the after effects of inebriation as he knew that at least some of them would be. Any hesitation in that situation would be lethal to both the man suffering with a hangover and potentially the rest of the squad, but there was nothing Gratius could do to stop such activities for the loss of such an opportunity for these activities would harm morale and damage the squad more than the possibility of only one day below full capacity. It was unlikely that an immediate tactical posting would be imminent and it was all Gratius could do to hope that it didn’t happen the following day.

It was 16:00 and only two soldiers had been arrested the following night. It wasn’t that they had had some precognition of coming trouble and been moderate with their drinking, it was more that the scarcity of agricultural products had made the production of alcohol prohibitively expensive due to the cost of raw materials. It also meant that the only beverages available to those of less than affluent means were more likely than not brewed in an old boot somewhere with the hygiene and care afforded to a manure pile. The uniforms were more often than not scruffy and poorly looked after. Only two soldiers looked as though they had spent any time over their appearance; Sergeant Curtius, who was not particularly well turned out but at least was better than most of his men, his spare uniform trick had once again achieved its objective. The other member of the squad was Halberdier Amatius Balbus, known as “Noob” as he was the newest member of the squad. Unfortunately, for a soldier given that nickname it would stick, which could theoretically lead to a Colonel still referred to by his peers as Noob. Halberdier Amatius had every aspect of his uniform to regulation standard; boots shone and uniform pressed and freshly laundered. Lieutenant Gratius knew this spoke of a lack of combat experience; a man who had been in battle would always look to the function of his equipment first before seeing if he could get it to regulation standard. Weapon functionality and then uniform comfort were the two most important things to men in an active zone. Whether the uniform was pressed swiftly fell by the wayside when the mud was rising and the bullets were flying. When trench foot started playing through the ranks, the concern over whether the boots were waterproof and fit well had a tendency to override the level of shine.

“TEN-SHUN” Screamed Sergeant Curtius as Lieutenant Gratius came onto the courtyard. The winces of several men told Gratius all he needed to know about who had actually managed to reach insensibility the previous night. Again he prayed for a gentle start to this tour, there was no way this squad in its present condition could deal with artillery fire if even the shouting of a Sergeant could make them feel pain, the sound of artillery rounds going off right next to them would really make them suffer. “Officer on the parade ground!”

The squad snapped to attention with a practiced ease, with the exception of Halberdier Amatius who looked like he had to think about the precise combination of movements a little more, but all achieved the end result within tolerances. Lieutenant Gratius proceeded down the line, inspecting his troops, pointing out imperfections in the turn, out. A missing button was noticed here, scuffs on boots there, all in all it was not the worst that the squad had turned out like but it was close. They had been hit by the lack of a proper gap between assignments. There of course had been little choice in the matter given the length of the march to the transportation hub. Had the hub been within the colony then the squad could have had another day within the comfort of the hub prior to trans-out. It would have still been a little short and Lieutenant Gratius was worried by this - it spoke of a hurried deployment and lack of planning. Still the 16:00 trans-out did give a vague sense of hope as they could have been given an immediate deployment.

“As usual men I don’t know where we will be transporting to and I don’t know our mission, but as always I know that it will be in the service of the Empire and Sol Invictus himself. We can be strong in that thought at least. Know that wherever we end up posted I will expect nothing less than I normally do. We serve. and by the grace of Invictus. we are saved. Those who may face us will not have his support and will be vanquished. I cannot promise that you will all survive this deployment, but I will, if Sol Invictus wills it, ensure that this unit survives and as many of you, as humanly possible, will survive with it. Those of you that do not will be forever bound in his glory and his victory.”

Although he knew that many of his men did not do much more than nod their head in the direction of the Temple when required, Lieutenant Gratius knew that at least some of the men would be comforted by the speech and reminder of their duty to Sol Invictus. Halberdier Amatius for one had in the final stages of the speech plumped up his chest so much he had nearly lifted off the ground. Lieutenant Gratius knew that he would learn that the glory of battle and the grace of Sol Invictus counted for little when the moment arrived to pull the trigger and to find out the metal from the meat. In that moment all the glory and the grace counted for little for it would not stop the round from shredding your organs nor would it turn aside a blade. Worst of all no-one who had seen the aftermath of a large scale battle could ever describe glory in terms of war without inwardly seething in self loathing inside.

Arches over-hung the courtyard of the transportation hub, white and spotlessly clean in the afternoon glare. For once the sky on Albina 7 was clear and light blue, the reflection from the copper tinted ice running true even within the atmosphere. The blue was much lighter than on Invictus itself as Invictus’ atmosphere reflected the light from the liquid oceans whereas here the snows came from the destruction of large drifts and the raw materials were blown back into the atmosphere, the ice was eroded by wind action and the water never melted. Clouds were made up entirely of ice crystals and could give an amazing show when light was refracted through them in exactly the right way - with a myriad of rainbows resulting.

Lieutenant Gratius as always before a trans-out fixed every detail of his surroundings in his mind - the sight of hub personnel evacuating the courtyard in preparation for the Trans; the slight and accelerating movement of the arches giving the sensor readings for the computer to map their atomic and sub-atomic structure. The marvellous pale blue sky was almost blinding in its intensity. The chances of things going wrong in the Trans were in Lieutenant Gratius’ mind but also part of the problem was that he knew how a Trans worked. Anti-matter was created at the same time as matter of the same type (only reversed in atomic charge); after a brief and symmetrical journey this recombines to create nothing. The entire process is caused by a quantum shift upwards of the energy levels of the “nothing” which is temporary. The antimatter and matter are created in the same place and thus should destroy each other the instant they are created but they don’t, they are time-shifted; they don’t exist in the same time frame. One is pushed forward in time, the other back. The problem therefore was to move an already existing particle forward in time. This meant creating a polar opposite particle in antimatter and throwing that back in time. That throws the initial particle forward leaving the energy to simply create a copy of the particle in the present. Thus a third particle is created. The two original particles therefore travel through time and return where the antimatter particle collides with the copy and the original particle is unharmed and survives the time-shift. The copy acts as a bookmark if you will, holding the place in time open. A pre-made copy of the original particle at the destination is transported back and a copy of the antimatter particle is transported forward. The original particle arrives and at the exact same time as the pre-made copy is sent back to the point where the antimatter particle and other copy particle are to be destroyed. The original particle therefore stays in the destination time. The antimatter particle comes back to the destination time and destroys the copy which had to be created in the present time to send the pre-made copy back to be destroyed.

Lieutenant Gratius however had no faith in the process and was not entirely sure what, or who, was being destroyed at any one time. In a godless age of technology it is all very well to speak of copies and the destruction of these copies, but when Gratius was not sure where in this equation the soul ended up. Suppose that the soul was not transported and was destroyed along with the copies? Suppose he was not transported at all and his copy ended up at the destination each time? The copy would not know the difference and each time he Transed out he was in fact destroyed each time. Even if that was not the case, imagine the lifespan of the various copies. That they could be called into being for only a fraction of a second to be eradicated from existence each time. A brief second of life, which consisted only of the agony of being destroyed. What price would that thought bring to his soul each night; that he had killed himself over and over again? This was why he concentrated on all the details he could perceive, from the heavy breathing of certain members of his squad, to the stale smell of alcohol exuded in the sweat of his men. The concentration on the scene in form of him helped distract his mind from the unpleasant prospect of imminent destruction or the willing suicide of his copies.

As the arches rotated faster and faster the blue flickering of the scanners played over every part of the squad from almost every perceivable angle. Integral to the success of the transport was to detect and map every atomic and sub-atomic particle, not only its position but also its velocity, energy level and vibration frequency. Any mistake would result in an imperfect copy and the consequences of that mistake on sentient beings being transported had not been fully assessed. Even the priests didn’t seem to agree on the effects on the immortal parts of the individual - they didn’t even seem to understand the science. The calibre of priests assigned to the rank and file, and even the lower officers, were not the most gifted thinkers of the clergy. The gifted thinkers were assigned to the upper echelons of Invictine society. Thus it was left to the men, in the absence of any meaningful reassurance, to stand within the spinning arches and play of blue scanner light to fortify themselves to the possibilities and take the possible consequences of interstellar transport. Faster and faster the arches spun, the landscape of ice becoming visible to the eye through the arches - a visual illusion due to the spinning speed of the arches. Soon the arches became a blur, hardly visible at all. The blue lights from the scanners played so fast through the air that it seemed to be an azure haze. A bright white light formed in the middle of the courtyard. It was halfway from the top of the highest moving arch to the ground and equidistant from the edges. At first it appeared as just a minute spark but grew in size flickering, sometimes with a hint of red sometimes green or yellow then blue but always just a hint of colour never anything more. The spark grew, becoming greater and greater, expanding with exponential speed. Other sparks grew from the original and floated around the courtyard, appearing and disappearing seemingly at random, sometimes floating back and recombining with the expanding original. Soon rings of pure light circled around the exposed area and smaller rings appeared where the smaller sparks had appeared, randomly expanding and contracting into nothingness. As the initial spark expanded to encompass the entire squad the roaring sound that had been growing with the spark disappeared and an unnatural quiet washed over everything. The silence was aggressive, invasive and attacked even the sound of breathing, any sound generated, form the rustling of the unquiet cloth in the uniform of a fidgeting soldier to the scrape of a boot on the asphalt as balance shifted. The white light became brighter and brighter almost agony to the retina itself. Every man in the squad closed his eyes to the light or risk being blinded as a result of bravado. Red shone through the eyelids as the light even broke through that protection.

Suddenly it was over, the light had ceased and the aggressive silence had ended. Arches were once again visible to the eye slowing and coming to rest as arms were lowered, removing hands from protective positions covering eyes. As the arches came to a stop, normal sounds once again resumed as personnel of this new transportation hub returned to their assigned duties, moving supplies and equipment from towers to the courtyard and back again. In layout this hub was exactly the same as the one they had just left, including the uniforms of the personnel and the size of the arches and towers. Every man-made aspect within the complex was the same. Titanium-steel was still the construction material of choice and its grey was institutional throughout the Empire. The air seemed warmer somehow, although officially the interior of any Imperial building was maintained at exactly 21oC. This meant that they had at least been Transed to a world which was at best moderate and at worst so scorched by the system star that special suits would have to be worn to traverse the surface. If that were the case another gruelling march lay in front of the squad and Lieutenant Gratius was sure that this would be unwelcome news given the amount of dehydration the squad was suffering due to their hangovers. He fervently hoped that the order to march, if it came, would wait until the following day. The sky was a brilliant blue, which at least indicated the presence of water on this planet, and as the strength of the system star shone through the transparent dome it became less and less likely this was a scorched Hell-World but a temperate world in the general populous of the Empire.

A figure in black armour strode from the westerly tower directly towards the squad, poised, efficient and above all confident. It was as though the figure held no fear and could stand alone against the fury of the Universe without breaking sweat. The sheer power of the self assured, balanced movements were enough to make a man’s blood run cold, for it spoke unerringly of a weapon forged in cold and unyielding violence. It reached the squad and waited for the salute it knew was coming. The wait was not expectant, as though needing the salute, just that each action required a certain order to proceed. Lieutenant Gratius moved in front of the black armoured figure, paused for a brief stationary moment and snapped off a crisp salute.

Chapter 3

“I would have thought they would have tried to hold the bunker,” Hostilius Corvus exclaimed as a bright rose of flame rose into the air from his previous position so hastily evacuated.” It may have been breeched from the compound side but the defences to this side would have been sound.”

“Which is why, of course, I had to take certain precautions General Hostilius,” came the explanation from the doorway. The black clad figure practically glided into the new headquarters.

“That was you? How did you have time to plant the explosives?” demanded Corvus.

“There was plenty of time to do so, after all I was in that position for several days prior to the abandonment of Imperial property to the rebels,” the cool reply came.

“But we could have been blown to pieces!” exclaimed Corvus, horrified that anyone could so cavalierly gamble his life by planting explosives in his command bunker while he was in it and it was a target for enemy artillery.

“Sol Invictus evidently had other designs General. Given your performance I would find that heartening. Especially heartening, for at present it is all that keeps you from a trial for dereliction of duty.”

“Lieutenant, I trust that your men and yourself are well and ready to serve the Empire?” A brief gaze at the men brought a wry smile to face of the woman in black armour. “Even if they are somewhat… dishevelled. Please dismiss your men for they will not be allocated to duties until tomorrow. I would impress upon them that any further rest and relaxation excursions should be conducted in a more responsible manner tonight. Once your men are dismissed you may join me in the vice-commissars office, 3rd level of block 6 in the Imperial Compound.” The black figure turned crisply, as though demonstrating to the squad exactly how a career soldier would execute the manoeuvre, and strode off, her cloak seeming to crack in his slipstream.

“You heard the Investigator, men,” said Lieutenant Gratius “moderation is the watchword for tonight, for the Inquisition is watching. Dismissed.”

Lieutenant Gratius was stunned; he was to be placed under the auspices of the Inquisition itself. The prospect filled him with dread, for these were the elite of the elite of the Imperial forces. They lived outside of the normal rules of the Empire. The sum total of their remit was to pursue their tasks with all the resources they deemed necessary to complete their task. They were the guardians of the souls of the Empire. While the Patriarchal Guard would provide the bodies to hold crowds and contain rebellions it was the Inquisition that investigated and commanded severe cases that could jeopardise the Empire itself. It was widely believed that the Investigators were so well trained that just one could take out several squads without breaking a sweat. The prospect of a nice, safe Hell-World seemed never so far away. There would be a definite course of action if the squad were to be under Inquisition control. The Inquisition would rarely call upon the Patriarchal Guard unless there was a specific purpose to the exercise and rarely was this purpose to the advantage of the guard. As was inherent in the actions of the First World War, the guard was often used as cannon fodder or to cover distasteful tasks that the Investigators could hardly be used to complete. Due to the amount of training required to produce a fully functioning Investigator there were relatively few Investigators per head of the populous and so they were only assigned to the most important of tasks within the Empire. Such an important resource would never be squandered on the mutinae but only be utilised in the grander schemes of the Empire or in the defence from within of a major threat. The scope could also prove to be somewhat distasteful as it was not for nothing that the Inquisition ran the Internment camps and pyres for the ungodly.

As he watched the men disperse, Lieutenant Gratius wondered onto what world he had been pitched this time. It was certainly an ill-fated world if the Inquisition was so interested in it. The men scurried straight to the barracks and to a man Lieutenant Gratius knew that his squad would attend the service to Sol Invictus that evening. The barely concealed warning of the Investigator would remind them that they had been less than devout in their previous posting. It was less likely that any particular file or surveillance had been created than a general air of warning to remind the squad of the state of their immortal souls. After all the use of R&R time by a squad of Patriarchal Guard would hardly justify the expense required, however the outcome could be predicted to a great degree of certainty. Thus a simple nod in the direction of probability and a veiled threat and the man-hours required to keep track of an entire squad was saved with the same outcome. The Empire would be proud of such an efficient use of resources. Lieutenant Gratius did not stop to remind his men of the effect of the veiled warning of the Investigator as he knew that any naïve or stupid enough not to have got the inference would be “reminded” by Sergeant Curtius in no uncertain terms when both he and the Investigator were out of earshot. He made his way to the Officers Block to store his equipment and head to the briefing with the Investigator.

“Halberdier Amatius and Halberdier Servilius front and centre. The rest of you are dismissed to barracks until the assignment is ready for dissemination.” All but three of the remaining squad immediately ran back to the barracks to clean their uniforms and stow their equipment and uniforms according to regulations for most of them knew that they had some making up to do, given their appearance at parade. “Servilius, we both know as well as each other that you aren’t the greatest thinker in the squad. Amatius, well I don’t know what your deal is, but the truth is you are greener than a jungle world in the growing season. I don’t want any of my little lads getting roasted on the pyres, so listen up. That was an Investigator and they don’t get much deadlier than them. You, as part of this squad, have been warned about getting up to any shenanigans tonight. Short and sweet of it is, don’t. If you were planning on leaving the barracks for any reason other than to attend the service at the Temple, then you aren’t anymore. In fact you are now planning to attend the service; there won’t be a more represented squad on whatever planet they have Transed us out to tonight, and for the rest of this tour, duties allowing. No booze, no women, no fighting and no crime of any sort. That Investigator is watching us and no matter how green or stupid you are you know what the Inquisition does for a living. End of speech. Get your stuff stored and cleaned up to regulation. DISMISSED!” Curtius yelled as an internal way of cursing his own bad luck at being posted to a tour with an Investigator.

Sergeant Curtius stormed after the scurrying squad, for although his behaviour could not be reproached on the battlefield, at any point prior to a real action posting his sloth could see him run foul of the Investigator. While it was true that the Investigator would have much bigger fish to fry, it was also equally true that technically any infringement of the somewhat Byzantine regulations of the Guard could theoretically have him stood before the tribunals again. While in the service of Sol Invictus himself the failure to abide by the regulations could be seen as blasphemy. This was admittedly unlikely, but an Investigator often had another agenda and would utilise any and all means at his disposal to achieve his mission. If this involved sacrificing a Sergeant to the pyres for a missing button for an ephemeral outcome, this would not concern an Investigator one iota. He now had a religious service to attend and a large amount of laundry and repairs to attend to prior to parade tomorrow, he also had to cast a cursory eye over the preparations of the men to make sure that they too were taking this as seriously as he was.

After stowing his gear as quickly as possible, by the simple expedient of placing his pack still containing its contents in the wardrobe, Lieutenant Gratius made his way towards Block 6 of the Imperial Compound. While not part of the transportation hub, the Imperial Compound was also subject to the rigorous uniformity that affected all major Imperial buildings. In order to maintain efficiency it was decided that, when it came to personnel that were likely to move around, having a common layout would eliminate the problem of getting lost. This uniformity also enabled the military personnel to storm or defend any Imperial Building with little preparation as to the specifics of the exact building itself. As part of basic training all scenarios that could take place around or within Imperial transportation hubs and compounds were drilled ruthlessly into the Patriarchal Guard. Thus emergency reinforcements could with minimal briefing be deployed as soon as possible into an Imperial emergency. Due to the importance of Transportation Hubs in the supply of re-enforcements and supplies to a world the most rigorous training took place in specially constructed training hubs, without the actual mechanisms required for transportation, but identical in every other way to a transportation hub. Gratius could have found his way to Block 6 with his eyes closed and simulated artillery shells going off around him.

Lieutenant Gratius arrived outside the vice-commissars office, which was tastefully designed to accommodate a receptionist/secretary, who bade him be seated. The wood panelled walls were specifically old-world style, but the warm hues of brown made the room seem both welcoming and official at the same time. Although the layout and function of every part of the Transportation Hubs were identical, the décor was, in cosmetic aspects, allowed to be under the discretion of those operating it. The red leather seats and rich green carpeting spoke of a sense of style and restraint that Lieutenant Gratius had not seen in the office of a vice-commissar of the State Section before. Usually they were filled with grotesque examples of modern art, which served only to show the office holders opulence and lack of restraint. Lieutenant Gratius wondered which world he had been Transed to; either the office holder was remarkably self-effacing or was powerful enough not to need to show off his good fortune to intimidate those who came to his seat of power. The window offered a view of a sprawling metropolis. This was unusual in itself as the Transportation hubs were customarily arranged on the outskirts of a city or at least some distance away, to avoid the possibility of rebels from said city seeking to control the hub. The proximity indicated a very stable colony. Gratius shivered involuntarily as this would mean his squad would inevitably end up doing ceremonial duties. Lieutenant Gratius dismissed that conclusion almost as soon as it arrived, for it did not tie in with the involvement of an Investigator. There was no way the Empire would waste an Investigator on a simple ceremonial duty when said Investigator could be utilised in other duties against the ungodly. This would be infinitely worse than ceremonial duties - this would mean action and his squad would be right in the middle of it.

“The Investigator will see you now.” came the cheery, yet well practiced chirrup of the receptionist.

Lieutenant Gratius made his way into the main office. The Investigator was reclined in the vice-commissar’s chair, with her feet up on the mahogany desk - her boots were sure to leave a mark on the softwood finish. Gratius doubted that the vice-commissar would ever complain officially, and only unofficially, under his breath

“Understated, and yet still a demonstration of opulence don’t you think?” The Investigator threw the rhetorical question into the room. “This shows a remarkable depth of character for a man of this office. I think that the mere fact that the vice-commissar can show such restraint and seem weak to the weak-minded means this man may have hidden depths for the Empire to exploit. He is unafraid of those he deems beneath him and is wise enough to seek to intimidate those who are more powerful.”

“Lieutenant Gratius Aquilinus, reporting for duty.” Gratius intoned, determined to try and keep to protocol.

“Yes of course, at ease Lieutenant.” The Investigator motioned to the opposite chair for Lieutenant Gratius to sit down. “I am Investigator Celeris Furius. I am taking the time to brief each squad officer individually for the coming assignment. Yours is the last squad to arrive. I understand this was due to the march to extricate yourselves from Albina 7. You should brief your men prior to moving out at 10:00 tomorrow. This assignment is unusual in that it has been deemed extremely classified; however the existence of the assignment will be hard to keep under wraps. The purpose itself will remain secret, even to you, for security reasons.”

Lieutenant Gratius nodded; the prospect of a large-scale mission that could not be kept secret but was deemed so highly classified worried him.

“You are currently on Sol Invictus. At 10:00 tomorrow your men, with a number of other forces, will meet at the Sol Invictus Shuttle port and board a sub-orbital flyer designation 2952. The total number of troops shall number 10,000; some of which will be members of the Black Guard. It is to one of these that you shall be ultimately reporting, and whom this will be will be made known to you when you arrive at your destination. Your destination will be the Pyramids at Al-qaahira in MiSra, once known as Cairo in Egypt. You will form part of a guard detail and transport several hundred thousand ungodly to Rome, via Jerusalem in Issra-il. At Jerusalem you will remove a strategic target or control the prisoners. You will receive further orders at Rome. You now understand why the existence of the operation cannot be kept fully secret. The identity of the target will be made available to you at Jerusalem. Are there any questions?”

The Investigator stood up, swinging her boots off the desk and standing in a single fluid motion. Lieutenant Gratius noticed the athletic figure that belied extreme speed born of conditioning that even the most highly trained trooper could not hope to match. She did have a scar that ran down the left side of her face from within her hair. The hair around the scar had turned white but, as she had blonde hair, this was barely noticeable. The scar itself was a fine line and had not affected her eye, nor the line of her brows, thus meaning it had been but a shallow wound. Lieutenant Gratius wondered what could possibly have come close to a blinding injury on one such as her. As she turned to look out of the window Gratius was drawn to the curve of her perfectly formed buttocks, accentuated by the tight hugging fit of her body armour. He attempted to hold down the feeling of attraction. While she was physically perfect, she was also the most deadly human being he had ever encountered and openly lusting after an Imperial killing machine was the closest thing to stupidity he could think of.

“Normal operation procedure specifies that I be informed of any specific equipment requirements for the mission so that my squad can be outfitted appropriately.” replied Lieutenant Gratius.

“Of course. You will essentially be crowd control, but unlike most assignments of such, the Empire is not particularly concerned about the survival rate and so you should use discretion. Those who are merely troublesome can be dealt with on a non-lethal basis, but those who attempt to leave the convoy are to be eliminated. Your squad should therefore be armed with both lethal and non-lethal weapons. I would use the normal guard template, with cattleprods, tazers and riot batons. I would also take precautions for insurgent activity to free the prisoners and so a long range and heavy option should also be catered for in your preparation. I can ready a list of suggested equipment but I assume you know the weapon proficiencies within your squad Lieutenant and so I leave much to your own judgement in this. Of course, should your squad fail in its duty due to inappropriate equipment then you as its officer will be held liable for the failure.”

“I was referring to the target in Issra-il. While I know the target is classified is there a specific weapons solution I should be drawing, for heavy armour, surgical strike, or area detonation?” Lieutenant Gratius asked.

“The method of the target’s elimination is in the hands of the Black Guard. You will not be required to cater for it.  However, I would suggest taking, as a contingency, remote detonated demolitions explosives, as much as each man can carry after the equipment you assign to your men, whilst still remaining combat effective.”

Lieutenant Gratius had no doubt that the same advice had been given to each Lieutenant; and so the amount of demolitions explosive being taken to eliminate one target was phenomenal. Either the Empire really wanted this target eliminated or it was a structure of such size that the only other methods capable of destroying would be aerial or orbital bombardment or a nuclear warhead.

“Thank you for taking the time to brief me, if I may be excused to prepare?”

“Yes, you may be excused”

Lieutenant Gratius realised that this assignment was a direct call to action and for some reason he would be called upon to fight a major action on Sol Invictus itself. This was an eventuality unheard of prior to the ascension of the Empire. Gratius could understand the possibility of a military action of this type on an outlying world, or even a relatively “safe” world which had been getting ideas above its station, but Sol Invictus itself? Why would the planet seek to cede from the Empire which it ruled?

Sergeant Curtius noticed the troubled look on Lieutenant Gratius’ face when he returned from the briefing and immediately called the squad to attention. He knew even before the Lieutenant spoke that what was coming was bad, very bad. The squad had been lucky so far -  no major actions and it was well overdue for a test to its mettle. He had wished it would take a little longer so he could instil into his squad some of the “unofficial” survival techniques he had learned in order to deal with eventualities in the field. Now this would have to be done ad-hoc in the field. Ideally the squad would have had a minor battlefield role first, then graduate to a central venture. Sergeant Curtius dreaded to think what months of fighting in a barely concealed foxhole would do to this squad and what that meant to his survival chances.

As the briefing unfolded every mouth in the squad hung open further and further, they too were astounded by the possibility of action on Sol Invictus itself. Prisoner transportation had been done by the squad before, so that was not in itself a worry, but the sheer scale of the operation was unprecedented. The mention of the target, brought but one worried question.

“Sir? We’re going to destroy a target on Sol Invictus, Sir?” The query came from Servillius Cornicen, his voice warbling as the treble came to his tone.

The question was answered and the real gasps came when the level of armament was detailed. The Squad consisted of 1 Lieutenant, 1 Sergeant to whom reported two Corporals, each of which had 2 Vice-Corporals reporting to them. To each Vice- Corporal were assigned 2 Sectios (one of which to each Vice-Corporal had a heavy weapons specialist assigned). Each Sectio numbered 9 men with the exception of the ones with heavy weapons specialists which numbered 10. Each Sectio would be equipped with 2 long range suppressed sniper rifles, 5 suppressed assault style rifles, 2 heavy ground based machine guns which would have to be dug in before use, and a missile launcher. The heavy weapons specialists would carry a Plasma Cannon, which fired a superheated ball of plasma that exploded on contact and travelled faster than the speed of sound. The Vice-Corporals, Corporals, Sergeant and Lieutenant would all carry suppressed assault rifles with energy ammunition dispensers as well as hard rounds. All side arms would be suppressed. In addition, all personnel would carry combat knives, grenades, mines, demolition explosives, riot batons or cattle prods and tazers. Each Corporal would be assigned an armoured personnel carrier, which would alternate carrying the two Sectios assigned to the Corporal.

“Sir, are we starting a war on the Empire itself?” asked Sergeant Curtius in private after Lieutenant Gratius had completed the briefing.

“I know no more than I have already told the men, I have merely tried to plan for the worst, I, as I know you do, plan to bring as many of my men back from this alive. The presence of an Investigator means that a surgical strike against a specific target is unlikely therefore we must plan for overwhelming firepower. I know we will be supported by a number of Leviathan class tanks and aerial support from bases on-route. This means that this is a major action but I have been given no Intel on what we may face. I do not intend to enter into a protracted military involvement while the squad is equipped only for scout missions.”

“But sir, the amount of demolitions explosive alone could bring down most of a city; do we really need all that for one target? Especially as the Black Guard will be dealing with the target itself?”

Lieutenant Gratius rested his head in his hands, “It was ‘advised’ by the Investigator. I feel this target many be troublesome at best. The escort duties alone will tax the capabilities of the men and there is the threat from insurgents seeking to free the prisoners.”

“But who would dare attack the Empire on Sol Invictus itself? They cannot get through the Transportation Hub without clearance or come through with weapons; Sol Invictus is the most secure planet in the Empire. Why would they even bring prisoners here?”

“We cannot escape the possibility that the prisoners are from Sol Invictus, and that is why the mission is classified. Think where the convoy of prisoners starts, miSra, in that area alone there are the sites of many of the old-world religions, some of which have never been fully eradicated. The wars in that area prior to the rise of the Empire mean that there is the possibility of arms caches throughout our route which may have been uncovered by insurgents hoping to free movement members or friends and family who have been captured. The terrain is inhospitable at best in many places. Remember it took humanity thousands of years to leave the African continent and even then only a few managed it prior to the invention of proper logistics or seaworthy vessels.”

“I don’t like it Sir. It smells all kinds of wrong.”

Amatius Balbus left the briefing to collect his equipment excited and not a little afraid. Would he be found wanting in this action for the glory of Invictus? This was what he had always wanted, a chance to prove himself in the service of the Empire. Had not Invictus heard his prayers, not only for a major action in which he could distinguish himself but also for the souls of his squad mates. The involvement of the Investigator had guaranteed that they would all attend the services at the Temple. Even should he perish Balbus knew that his soul would be deemed worthy for that one service, for he had committed no sin. He wandered back to his bunk with his equipment humming one of the more upbeat hymns about sacrifice for the greater good of the Empire.

“You can stop humming that right now; we’ll get enough of it in Temple tonight,” muttered Gabinius Gurges, a Halberdier in the first Sectio. Balbus was in the forth Sectio, which provided cover for the others, not having a heavy weapons specialist like the 1st and 3rd Sectios.

Balbus was disappointed that this opportunity to shrive their souls was so easily dismissed by his comrades; surely they could see it was for their benefit? That this would fortify their arm against the ungodly if they were found worthy in the eyes of Sol Invictus? How could they dismiss the affection of such a power in the universe which would also lead them to live better and more purposeful lives? The ingratitude wounded him.

Gurges had always hated true believers; they would evangelise and ram their worthless beliefs down his throat and all he could do was take their insufferability. If he did not they would undoubtedly report him to the Trado of Doctrina, the Investigator arm of the Empire, and be committed to the pyres; for even his service in the guard would not save him from that. It was a pity; he had hoped to see if there were any sheltered females on this planet looking to annoy their parents by entertaining his affections. The mere sight of a lowly Halberdier in the bed of middle-class girl would send a father into apoplexy, an event many girls with chips on their shoulders secretly wanted to occur. There was also the chance that many of the items in his personal belongings, discretely acquired, could fetch a good price on Sol Invictus, given the inflation between here and the outer reaches of the Empire. Sol Invictus did not produce enough to support the appetites of the planet, the raw materials having been leeched generations ago. The outer worlds now provided all but a few essentials for the consumption of the Capital planet; this meant that directly sold items from the outer worlds would be sold for many times their original worth. The best commercial opportunity of his military career and he had to waste it sitting in a Temple. The priests were the worst type of scoundrels, demanding a “Temple” discount for anything he wished to sell them, that discount could be as much as 75%. He would not make much of a profit that way. Perhaps he would have the opportunity either en-route or after the mission to complete his own personal transactions. Gurges came from a small planet named Artorius 4; this planet had been named after an ancient hero from the island his parents had been born on. Gurges was unsure why the fabled Arthur was such a hero; he had after all led his nation to defeat and ruin and managed to get himself killed by his own bastard son. The sense of honour that pervaded the entire story rankled - as only one character in the story seemed to actually posses any honour and he was thrown out by Arthur. It seemed if you wanted to be a hero and be remembered you had to take what you want. Gurges had applied that self same logic to his own life and become someone who dabbled in a little of this and a little of that, with varying degrees of success. He had joined the Guard in order to get free space travel, a commodity that was entirely out of his price range, despite the savings he had squirreled away. The prospect of intergalactic dealing appealed to the merchant in him and he had enlisted as soon as he hit the required age. The prospect of citizenship would not hurt in his trade deals either. Gurges smiled inwardly as a thought crossed his commercially orientated mind. The prisoners would invariably have secreted various family treasures about their person for emergencies; it was not beyond the wit of man to see that some of those treasures found their way into his pockets, either by trade for extra rations, or simply by raiding the bodies of those who attempted escape. It had been made clear in the briefing that all those who did would be eliminated with no questions asked. All he had to do was get to the corpse first and he could have his pick of what they carried. Gabinius could emerge from this assignment a rich man, as long as he could avoid the worst of the fighting and survive. This was easier for him than many of the other members of the squad as he was a designated sniper and would be stationed in the safest areas of the battle to provide accurate cover fire as the rest drew fire with wild sprays of automatic fire. It was one of the main reasons he had put so much effort into being an extraordinary shot, so he could be as far away from the fighting as humanly possible.

Chapter 4

The Imperial Thunderbird bomber released to General Hostilius’ command for the purposes of creating a breach in the dug-in front line of the rebels exploded showering his own troops with shrapnel, causing screams of agony to ripple back over the com systems he had been using to prepare the assault. They had missile launchers? He had not been informed they had access to such firepower. The intelligence stated that they had assault weaponry and explosives only. He had now lost the only Imperial Heavy Bomber on the planet. To ask for a replacement and countermeasures was sure to seem not only like a sign of weakness but a judgement from Sol Invictus himself. A secondary explosion rocked Hosilius’s secondary bunker as the payload of the bomber reached the ground and detonated. Hostilius checked the command computer to assess the impact.

“By Invictus!” He breathed.

The payload had spread from the explosive decompression resulting from the missile’s impact  then rained a variety of bombs down on the very troops that Hostilius had been concentrating for the assault on the rebels.

At ground zero of the crashed bomber the scene was utter chaos. Men devoid of limbs called out from under sandbags and titanium-steel girders and plates. Concrete blocks trapped the limbs of those that had them and craters marked the landscape for miles around. The dead were littered like rag dolls, their blood mingling with the soil to make a grotesque slush guaranteed to make even a hardened soldier retch uncontrollably. The living rushed to attempt to assist those that were incapable of retreat, medics in their white edged armour knelt by those the triage rules deemed to be saveable, giving what aid they were able before motioning to stretcher-bearers to move the stricken back behind the lines for more comprehensive attention. They then  moved to the next scream of agony. Incalculable body parts and fragments thereof littered the ground making the going slippery and treacherous, for this was where the Empire had concentrated its troops as a precursor to its major push against the rebels.

General Hostilius sat back from the command computer exhausted. Who-ever had launched the missile attack on the bomber had not only known exactly where to hit the bomber to cause the maximum devastation on the ground but had also known WHEN to hit it, so as to spill its contents onto his troops massing for the attack. No commander would have initiated such a suicidal attack if there were a risk of compromising his own troops in that way. He pulled his service pistol from the holster at his side and pressed it to his temple. When the Investigator found out about this latest blunder, his fault or not, he would be condemned to the pyres of the Inquisition for sure. Then again, the pyres of eternal torment for the crime of suicide could be infinitely worse.

Corporal Aulus Triarius oversaw the loading of the sub-orbital flyer with his two Sectios, as the senior of the two Corporals he was assigned the most experienced troops. This was a double-edged sword. While he would be able to count on his men to do the better job of the two phalanxes he would also be ordered to take the more complex assignments. In this he was grateful for the command of Lieutenant Gratius as he was ever a careful, even cautious Commanding Officer, who valued the lives of his men over a limited tactical advantage. As a career soldier the idea of what was essentially a police action rankled at him. He was used to eliminating enemy combatants, and was extremely good at it. The prospect of eliminating unarmed civilians, even those found to be guilty of various crimes against Sol Invictus and the Empire was outside of his experience and training. It was one thing to shoot someone who was facing you and trying to kill you, but to shoot an unarmed man, or even Invictus forbid, a woman, was another entirely. While his squad was better turned out than the previous day, it was still a shabby sight to behold; Triarius hoped that the Investigator would not oversee such a menial part of the operation personally.

Triarius hailed originally from Pulvia 8, a small agricultural world, closely linked to Sol Invictus by trade links and the citizenry was widely considered to be amongst the most placid in the Empire. Deemed placid and soft, they occupied a warm moderately weathered world that grew ample crops with seemingly little effort from the farmers. Triarius had not been a genetic descendant of Pulvia, but the child of a Patriarchal Guard Corporal and he was proud to have reached the same rank as his father. Life had been fair and settled, for in his childhood rebellions were not as widespread as they had been for his adult life. That was until, while at a wedding at the local Temple, both his parents had been killed by an extremist suicide bomber. The bomber had not been from Pulvia, but a separatist world on the brink of the Empire’s reach. It had never been released as to how the separatist had managed to either obtain explosives or get them through the Transportation network undetected. Being sixteen, Triarius had signed up to the Patriarchal Guard the very next day, lying about his age, determined that no such killing would happen under his watch if he could help it. Blonde haired and blue eyed, he was an ideal of the Empire’s racial purity ideal, containing none of the stereotypical racial characteristics associated with the more troublesome religious movements - except for the Christians who seemed to be as homogenous as the Empire itself, something they exploited shamelessly. He was six foot two and well muscled, but not grotesquely so for he valued speed and the ability to actually hide behind cover without leaving some crucial part of his anatomy sticking out to be shot, or leading to his discovery. At twenty-four years old, he was of an average age for a Corporal, but given he had lied about his age he had more experience than most and had seen heavy action on a number of Hell-worlds that had tried to achieve cessation from the Empire. All had been ruthlessly starved into submission, with the surviving population cast into the pyres of the Inquisition.

Triarius’ phalanx moved to the flyer more slowly that he would have liked but given the weight of the equipment that they carried he was not surprised; he had never been given access to such overwhelming firepower on one mission in his career, not even in heavy actions. The marching speed of the troops would however be accelerated from the point of arrival as rations, spare ammunition and extraneous kit would be stored in armoured personnel carriers when the squad on marching shifts. The armoured personnel carriers were on their own formidable pieces of equipment and given their high level of composite armour were nicknamed “Crabs.” The fusion reactors in their core provided enough energy for the use of external turreted machine guns that materialised their ammunition, as well as carrying a manufactured supply for emergencies. Their armour could withstand all but a direct artillery strike or a shaped anti-armour charge/mine from beneath. The tyres were run flat, a technology from before the rise of the Empire, but had been vastly improved as the materialisation technology had been wired to materialise entire wheels if they were lost or damaged. There was almost no way to immobilise the carrier by destroying the wheels themselves. There was a vast array of sensors built into the carrier, infra-red, ultra-violet and various other types of sensors Triarius only vaguely understood, LIDAR, RADAR, SONAR and microwave and radio communications all fed into a central computer which could communicate with all other carriers and co-ordinate attacks. Each carrier could in an emergency serve as a command post should central command go dark, enabling a strike force to operate independently. He would feel much more secure when he had the carriers at his disposal.

Finally, when his phalanx had shuffled onto the flyers under the shouted orders of his two Vice-Corporals, he himself moved to board the flyer. The ramp was designed to allow the fast deployment of a variety of military forces, from infantry to vehicles. As a result, it was shallow and given the pack he was carrying, he was grateful for that small mercy. He stowed his kit in the designated holding areas secured by webbing, so that the acceleration and deceleration of the flyer did not sent the cargo flying around the troop compartment. Straightening his back, a couple of cracks echoed out as air bubbles in his spine dissipated, bringing instant relief. The constant demands of portage would, he knew bring problems later in life but this was a small price to pay for the protection of the innocent from the extremists that threatened the Empire.

The flyer shot into the air vertically forcing the squad into their meagrely padded seats with the inertial forces. The flyer, being designed for rapid troop deployment, left little space for comfort as a result of the numerous design innovations that had to be incorporated into the structure for the safety of the occupants. At the apex if its ascent the flyer hit the gas; sending the troops within leaning to one side as the sideways inertia kicked in. As the acceleration ceased the squad within settled down to the hour long journey, some chattered nervously to themselves, some merely closed their eyes to try and get a cat-nap before the mission started in earnest. Each experienced member of the squad knew that in action sleep could be hard to come by and sought, when on task, to grab each and every opportunity to close their eyes, even for a moment. The computer aided stability controls, designed to assist the pilot in avoiding enemy fire, produced, once in flight, as stable a flight as any of the more luxurious passenger liners used by the affluent inhabitants of the Empire achieved so the flight passed quickly before the rapid deceleration and jolt of landing awoke those who had actually managed to drop off to sleep from their private dream-worlds.

The LZ was a hub of activity as each squad sought the Crabs, which were the focal point of their assembly. As the gaps opened up around each squad that showed that they had found the correct places, a man in heavy Black Armour resembling the carapace of a beetle climbed easily to the top of a Crab, and the mixed murmuring and shouted orders ceased.

“I am Colonel Marius Galeo of the Black Guard and I have been placed in command of this mission by Investigator Celeris Furius. You will shortly be assigned positions in a convoy to take approximately three hundred thousand assorted criminals, apostates and various types of ungodly from this continent to the next. Due to the size of this relocation vehicles have been deemed too costly to employ for the transportation and they will march the entire way. You will have use of the Mark 17 Armoured Personnel Carriers assigned to your squads and each Sectio of two will alternate riding and marching. Your assignment is to keep the convoy moving and prevent escape attempts by whatever means necessary. There is a target to neutralise on the way, but my men will see to that objective. That is your official brief, now pay attention because here comes your unofficial briefing. Keep the bastards moving, shoot any of them that even seem like they are planning or attempting to escape. Do not interfere with the actions of my men. They, for the duration of this mission, rank above each one of you, by order of Investigator Celeris Furius. That is all.”

The squad, as one, looked quizzically to Lieutenant Gratius, as though seeking his approval.

“You heard him men. At ease until our liaison officer arrives to give us further instructions.”

The men clambered onto the whatever flat surfaces of the Crab they could find so that they could avail themselves of the opportunity to relax, if only for a moment, for the heat in MiSra was stifling - though at least mercifully it was a dry heat, which made it slightly more comfortable than the humid furnace of the tropics.

“Calidius Squad, 107th Battalion, Lieutenant Gratius Aquilinus commanding?” A Black Armoured figure approached the squad.

“Reporting for duty, erm…” Lieutenant Gratius peered at the shoulder area of the black shrouded man to get some clue as to the rank he was supposed to address the armoured figure as.

“Guardsman, Guardsman Gaius Buteo. I will be your liaison with the command structure in the Black Guard. For this mission I am your superior officer. Your assignment is to take position three quarters of the way back from the head of the column on the left hand side. The Sectios not covering the prisoners from the Mark 17 Armoured Personnel Carriers will scout to the left of the column parallel with the column. Radio check-ins will be every 20 minutes and the squad will call in at any suspicious movement. If there is any sign of an escape attempt or plan, the Mark 17 will open fire at the group concerned. If an escape makes it past the Mark 17, then the scout Sectios will engage and destroy the targets. I will ride in the Mark 17 at all times using the Command computer interface to liaise with the lead Carrier and the Black Guard Command. Are there any questions regarding these orders?”

“Is there any intelligence as to what we may expect during the transfer? I attempted to cover any eventuality when kitting my squad out, but some more specific data may be of use in preparing for any encounters that may occur.” Lieutenant Gratius hated going into a situation blind and had an almost pathological need for information to plan his strategies.

“That’s a negative. While it is anticipated that attempted rescue attempts from local insurgent groups aligned to old-world religions may force armed response no specific groups have been identified as any more likely as the others. The capabilities of such groups are yet, unknown; this area of Invictus is littered with the remnants of previous engagements between the nations that previously inhabited it. It is possible that some of the abandoned or damaged hardware has been restored and may be used. Its effectiveness due to its age and the local conditions will be vastly reduced and our equipment should prove to be more than a match for it. Your main concern will be to maintain the perimeter and keep all prisoners contained, unless they have expired in which case their corpses can be left en-route. A running tally of bodies will be maintained by the rearguard and the prisoners will be counted every night as they are contained.”

“Understood. Are there orders for containment on night camps?” Lieutenant Gratius started to get exasperated at the lack of any sign of real planning. This was a mammoth undertaking and he had expected much more professionalism than had been shown thus far.

“We have modular camps for the troops in the cargo transports and local logistic corps will construct prisoner containment areas along the route, no more than one days march ahead of us at pre-determined secret locations. We must not therefore be allowed to fall behind. If there is nothing further, I will now take my station in the Mark 17 so that you can assign tasks to your men. I will alert you when the order comes to move to the Great Pyramids where the prisoners are now being collected under the local Guard contingent’s watch.”

Lieutenant Gratius wished the local contingent had been tasked with this assignment but realised that, while they could temporarily contain such a large prison population, they would be undermanned to move the column or even contain the prisoners for more than a day. He was, however, grateful that the rendezvous point was not far from the LZ. He could see the Pyramids dominating the skyline of miSra even from his current position. It would still be a march of a few hours before he and his men reached them though due to the massive scale of the giant ancient constructs they seemed much closer. Lieutenant Gratius called his Sergeant, Corporals, and Vice-Corporals over to explain the next stage of the operation. This stage was essentially a standard moving column, but the Guardsman had made no distinction between the journey to the prisoners and the journey with the prisoners. Lieutenant Gratius did not want so soon to annoy such an obviously inexperienced soldier, who happened, despite inferior rank, to be able to overrule him. He explained the basic formation and operating policies to his command staff.

“Vice-Corporals Cornelius Carbo and Ovidius Gracchus your Sectios are on patrol for the first 4 hours, make sure nothing creeps up on us. Do not engage without informing our command Crab first. When escorting prisoners keep your comms open in case one slips past us. Check in every 20 minutes.”

“20 minutes Sir? We are in open country, nothing can sneak up on us in that time without us seeing it, and an ambush will mean the checks are redundant. We will also be in visual range the whole time. Is this really necessary?” Vice-Corporal Cornelius asked with a puzzled expression on his face.

“I am under instruction from our liaison Guardsman Gaius. These orders come from the Black Guard who have the authority from an Imperial Investigator. We have no choice but to assume these precautions are necessary. In fact, I would even go so far as to assume that we should take extra precautions. Each Sniper is to be accompanied by an assault Halberdier as will each Heavy Weapons Specialist. We cannot afford for an ambush to take out our long range or heavy weapons. Patrols are to be in skirmish formation, let’s not give any hostiles a concentrated target to aim for. The Crabs will move as far away from the prisoners, when we have some, as possible so as to give you the greatest chance of obtaining cover. As we are on a long straight edge of the column we can allow some of our guard duties to be taken up as slack by the Squads to either side of us, these are unarmed civilians after all, with no transportation. A wide perimeter will allow us to intercept them more easily should the Squads either side of us not spot them. Remember the Black Guard, whatever their rank is, is in charge here so follow their orders without question. To your stations.”

The order to move out came soon enough but both Sergeant Curtius and Lieutenant Gratius were proud of the speed and professionalism of the squad when the order came. The Snipers of each Sectio moved through the sandy drifts one at a time each covering the others movements, eyes focussed on the Desert constantly scanning the horizon for signs of trouble. The heavy weapons specialists, although their primary weapons were slung across their backs, carried their secondary snubbed short sub-machine guns at hand and kept to what little cover they could find so that they could maintain maximum arcs of fire once they had unloaded and secured their primaries. The three remaining assault Halberdiers moved in a complex covering formation, designed to provide the maximum covering fire at the instant of assault so as to give the machine gunners the chance to set up and the snipers an opportunity to pick the most important targets. This was designed for maximum devastation to the enemy’s command structure or battle capability depending on what type of assault was launched upon them. The movements although seemingly random conformed to an advanced mathematical pattern derived from an understanding of a form of chaos theory; and the effect was for each member of the squad, when moving in this manner to be in the position of most effectiveness whilst being exactly where the enemy least expected them to be. Lieutenant Gratius was relieved that his sense of over preparation had been transferred to his men. It was obvious even to him that the Black Guard only expected any trouble when transporting the prisoners, and only then due to internal intelligence failures. Hence trying to keep a mass migration classified, a fools errand at best. If Lieutenant Gratius had been planning an action against the Empire with the aim of freeing the prisoners, he would first ignore the prisoners, for that would give the element of surprise. As the prisoners would probably be casualties of trials in Rome, at least in the minds of the insurgents, then it mattered little if some were eliminated; for if the rescue did not succeed then the prisoners were dead anyway. Therefore, the true threat to the rescue attempt should be eliminated at its most overconfident point. This was to Lieutenant Gratius’ mind the march from the LZ to the rendezvous, as this was the point of greatest over confidence. The attack should come far enough from the local contingent for them to be unable to leave the prisoners unattended but close enough for the successful military force to move immediately to eliminate them before additional reserves could be sent to assist. Napoleon, in the pre-Empire wars had attempted a similar move against Wellington; the principle was still valid even now.

Balbus maintained his movements, struggling to remember the open cover routine that his instructors had attempted to drill into him at boot camp. He did not understand why this level of cautiousness was being employed; most of the other Squad’s were merely deployed in a column marching formation and were watching Calidius Squad with a mixture of amusement and pity. The circuitous routes the open cover manoeuvres relied upon meant that he was covering at least twice as much ground as the other squads in the same time. He was also constantly crouching and jogging, which meant that his calves were burning within ten minutes of leaving the LZ. Much as he would want to reach down and rub the offending muscles, it would mean removing his hand from his assault rifle. Such and action would compromise either accuracy or the ability to fire, depending upon which hand he moved. He decided to suffer, as the rest of his Sectio must be doing. Balbus felt ever more hard done by, as the dry heat, previously a blessing as it did not feel as oppressive as a humid heat of the same temperature, did its work robbing his body of moisture, literally leaching it from his body and dissipating it into the undulating air. Balbus prayed for Vice-Corporal Ovidius to motion for a stop so the other Sectio under Vice-Corporal Tarpeius Paetus to take the lead position, just so his squad could remain kneeling as they passed and he could use the break to take a swig from his canteen and rub away some of the lactic acid that was threatening to give him cramp.

As the Squad grew closer to the mammoth peaks that were the Pyramids of Giza, Balbus noticed a strange back cloud begin to form on the horizon. It sometimes appeared in front and sometimes behind the Pyramids themselves. No weather system Balbus had seen on the four planets he had visited had ever moved like this one. He couldn’t shake a feeling of unease.

“Sir? Halberdier Amatius here, we have a large black cloud in the vicinity of the rendezvous, it appears to be moving erratically not in synch with the winds we can feel or the other minimal spotting of cloud cover we can see.”

“Idiot,” spat Guardsman Gaius, “haven’t you ever heard of a mirage? That’s the image of the prisoners at the base of the Pyramids, the light is refracting through the air due to the heat. You are seeing what is just over the horizon. Now don’t panic airborne friendlies are coming overhead shortly, we have contact on comms. Try not to shoot our own hardware in a moment of panic.” The comm. channel clicked shut.

Balbus cursed himself for being so stupid, of course, he had read about such phenomena in school, but living in an area with no desert in the vicinity, he had dismissed such subjects as worthless. As he watched the mirage through the corner of his eye, he saw five dots detach themselves from the dark smudge in the sky and move towards the column. This was no natural occurrence, the formation was too perfect, an arrow formation, two military fighters on each wing and a point fighter. This was an Imperial Squadron. As it moved overhead, the lead fighter waggled its wings in greeting to show that the column had been sighted and recognised as friendly. Despite his faith that any insurgents would only attack when the prisoners were in their custody Balbus was secretly relieved that, for this part of this mission at least, he was under the protection of air support. Like their formation, the fighters were arrow shaped. They were painted black, the colour of the specialist paint that helped absorb as much radiation as possible reducing their RADAR and LIDAR profiles, making them very hard to detect, save by the naked eye. The rear end of the fighters were a jagged edge, designed to achieve the same purpose as the paint by reflecting as little radiation back along the path upon which it came as possible. Rumour had it that it was easier to see a child’s kite on RADAR than one of these state of the art fighters. Balbus gave a sigh of relief and looked back to the Pyramids and for the first time saw, under the black cloud, a mirror image of it, this time sitting on the ground. A dark sea appeared to lap around the base of the Pyramids, rising and falling to its own rhythm. The scope of this new sight, being on the ground made it all the more impressive, for humans have been ever used to seeing large clouds and have grown accustomed. This was a sea of humanity itself, flowing around the base of a wonder of the ancient world. Balbus was not the only member of the column to be awestruck by the vista that greeted them with their first sight of the prisoners they were to transport.

Chapter 5

The pistol was forcibly dragged from Corvus’ hand before he realised what was happening. He was spun round on his chair to face the Investigator, her face barely inches from his own.

“While I admire your determination to avoid an Inquisition Trial, I must point out that a change in command in the middle of a battle is extremely destabilising. In fact, so destabilising that I am forced to keep you alive for a while longer. Now, what troops and equipment, if any, do you have left?” The Investigator still exuded an almost supernatural air of calm in the face of this new disaster, which chilled General Hostilius to the core.

“Erm… the rocket batteries are still operational, but they cannot penetrate the bunkers the rebels have occupied and we have a number of battalions, but it would be suicide to come within range of the artillery -  the infantry would be destroyed immediately and the rocket batteries have less range than the artillery. There is nothing much we can use at the current time; we will have to wait for additional forces and equipment from command to anything more than contain the revolt. The food and water supplies that the rebels managed to capture must be running low by now” postulated General Hostilius.

“Ah, the time honoured tradition of the Empire to starve out her enemies, and only then execute them after cessation of hostilities. Such an attitude, it has been discovered, merely fosters that unholy carcinogen within the rebel soul - hope. With hope, they may believe that they can escape, or even believe that the Empire is too weak to do more than merely starve its citizens out, and is thus defeatable so the rebels multiply, with each uprising having more organisational structure than the last. A new strategy is called for. The rebels grow desensitised to our usual methods. We must step up the horror to a new level. If it is not horrific to oppose the true god, then what will be? We must strike hard and cause as much pain to our enemies as possible. We shall let them believe that they can win and then make them realise winning was never an option in the first place. We shall then take all from them in the end.” General Hostilius looked over at the Investigator and knew new horror.

In the blue steel of her eyes General Hostilius saw someone who was not simply seeking an objective, or a way of achieving it; she was almost enjoying it. The more horrific her solutions to the problem of the uprising the more she satisfaction she would feel. From this moment onwards he realised his command of this campaign would be remembered as a masterpiece of horror. The ghosts of all involved would call his name throughout the ages, forever linked to the depravity of these few days. The dead and dying would have all the cause in the world to chant his name within a drone of vengeance. He should have pulled the trigger and joined them. For this was only the beginning.

“I seem to remember a number of stockpiles that would be of use now that neither side can advance decisively without reinforcements.” The Investigator murmured, staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. “I do believe they are here on this planet, their power too useful to simply destroy, but too damaging to simply inflict on an otherwise productive world. Now we have our stable perimeter I do believe these devices could be effective in our campaign. General, issue an executive order for stockpiles G76YQ9, G032NMD3 and C9BG3 to be issued and be made ready to deploy as soon as practicable.”

General Hostilius issued the written orders, knowing that the Investigator could just as easily order these stockpiles, whatever they were, to the front as easily as he could. In fact they would probably be at the front sooner if she requested them under her own authority. Amazingly, unlike many other stockpiles of weapons, there was no description in the mainframe for the items the Investigator requested. There were a large number of weapons at the Empire’s command, some new and some old, but all had a description in the mainframe accessible to Red level security so that the correct choice of weapon could be made on the battlefield should the Commander of an Imperial force require something specific. These descriptions were also searchable so that a query could be made. The weapons requested by the Investigator were so classified that it was easier to avoid naming or describing the items than invent the security to protect the data, data the Investigator had memorised.

The prisoners sat huddled under the watchful gaze of the local contingent of the Patriarchal Guard. As Lieutenant Gratius had expected the local contingent were out of shape and held themselves poorly. As this was the Capital World of the Empire, it was unthinkable that here should ever be any military action here. Even the Investigators would be embroiled in undercover operations or covert assassinations rather than anything overtly military. Lieutenant Gratius doubted that the local contingent could walk for more than three miles without having to sit down and recover their breath; he also thought the same of the prisoners, but not for the same reasons. In start contrast to the bloated lazy men in uniform, the prisoners were lean, too lean. The emancipated faced showed cheekbones that were on the wrong side of prominent, tendons could clearly been seen as operating the various skelecature of the body. Yet, despite this, the prisoners did not have the sneer or inhuman contempt on their faces that the local Guard had, they grouped in family circles; the members of the family in their twenties and thirties caring for the young and elderly with tenderness and compassion. Smudges of gruel were wiped from the chin of those with wrinkles and those without - with equal care and love. Here and there a toothless grin or a smile directed at another within the circle occurred. Despite the horror of their ordeal so far and the prospect of worse to come; despite the contempt directed at them from the local guard and many members of the new arrivals; the prisoners appeared to maintain some semblance of hope. It was the hope that they would maintain their humanity until the end.

Balbus was offended by the presence of so many prisoners in one place. Why had the Trado of Doctrina allowed for these animals to escape judgment for so long? What is justice at the hands of a God if not administered quickly and effectively? They seemed so primitive huddled together in squalor, eating what could only be described as gruel - a grey slushy gloop that they were scooping out of old tin cans that they had obvious scavenged from a garbage heap somewhere. They were even feeding it to their children. The whole scene made Balbus feel ill. It was beyond comprehension that people could consider sinning against Sol Invictus, knowing that this would eventually be their fate. That and the pyres of the Trado of Doctrina. They had even condemned their children, now as guilty as the parents; for the parents would have passed on their heretical ways to their offspring.

Sergeant Curtius glanced around at the prisoner emplacement with disgust; this was no way to set up a containment camp. The soldiers were all faced inwards. Given the half-starved nature of the prisoners, the main threat would come from without not within. The Lieutenant had been correct in his estimation of that, while desperation could drive people to extraordinary acts the pitiful condition of the inmates meant they could barely walk let alone, even with the help of others, overpower even the most inexperienced and weakest of his men. There was no evidence of planning for contingencies; the only weapons seen were assault rifles, whilst they were a good all-round weapon, there were situations where longer range and accuracy or sheer power were required and the assault rifle just could not provide that flexibility. Thankfully, his own men had been allowed access to a more varied assortment of weapons solutions, one of the advantages of serving under a careful commanding officer. He could, with a combination of plasma weaponry and missile launchers, perform an effective defence against a well equipped external threat or use the overwhelming firepower of the squads anti-personnel solutions to combat the numerical advantage of the prisoners should a stampede ensue. Curtius was content that at least his squad was prepared, and that a number of others were as well. He was distressed that a large number of squads had been equipped simply for crowd control. Curtius knew the content of the briefing and although it served to lead the mind to the conclusion that the main threat would be internal, there was inherent in the instructions an external threat would be a definite possibility.

Halberdier Gabinius cast his eyes over the prisoners; they all looked so poor. All were grimy and unwashed; the contours of their bones were clearly visible through their skin and their wasted muscles resembled tendons. He had little doubt that the profit to be made from this excursion had already been made by the local contingent who were lounging around the prisoners. The local contingent was fat, out of shape looking very pleased with themselves; not for them days, if not weeks, of enforced marching in combat formations as he had just been doing. They had obviously divested the prisoners of their valuables already; the corpses had already been picked clean prior to his arrival. He cursed the twist of fate that had resulted in this. If only his squad had been involved from the very start, from the initial containment to this intermediate stage prior to the march, he would at least have got something of value out of this march. He now had little to look forward to save the tedium of maintaining his chaotic marching pattern and occasionally sending a high velocity round at long range through an escaping prisoner. The prospect did not appeal.

Lieutenant Gratius ordered his squad to hold position as the local contingent moved the prisoners into convoy formation; he wanted as little involvement in this stage of the process as possible. The confusion of the formation meant that this was the point when, at the prospect of a small weakness in the guard, a sole prisoner would mistakenly think he or she could make a run for it. As there were two snipers to each squad, each of which had a range of one and a half miles, this was delusional at best. The dunes did not give enough cover, and the pyramids themselves were easy enough to climb to provide extra range and visibility. The terrain itself did not assist the potential escapee as even a sole running figure could generate an easily visible dust cloud that could identify such an individual. Gratius glanced around to check on the formation of his squad when he saw a dark figure moving away from the column in another squad’s area of influence then dodging behind one of the dunes leaving only the tell-tale haze of dust to mark his passing. Gratius dammed the laxity of, from what he could now see from the insignia on the uniforms, Pompeius Squad of the 54th Battalion.

“Halberdier Gabinius,” Lieutenant Gratius whispered into his command mic, “Get high, use the Pyramids, south, evading target, behind dunes, level with Pompeius section, do you copy?”

Heavy breathing came back over the link indicating the ascent of the Pyramid had already started. “Copy, is it already past range of Pompieus? Over”

“That’s an affirmative, no long range ability to our front for three or four squads distance. We are only long range or heavy enabled unit.”

“Shit! I’ve got a hell of a perimeter then haven’t I” grumbled Gurges as he made his way up the exterior of the Pyramid.

Although the exterior of the Pyramid was stepped now the exterior facings had fallen off over the thousands of years the structure had stood against the weathering of the Sahara, the steps themselves were roughly to the shoulder of an average adult male. The climb would be gruelling but not impossible or extraordinarily slow. The only difficulty lay in the trigonometry of the situation. Gurges would have to reach a sufficient height on the Pyramid, all the time travelling further away laterally from the target, to see over the dunes that the target was using as cover. While he was doing so, the target would be travelling further into the desert, towards the maximum range of the sniper rifle and taller dunes. It would not be possible to order the crab to pursue out of line of sight, as this would leave another weak link in the perimeter around the prisoners - given the head start and the fact this was to an angle out of Calidius’ assigned position.

“Current range? Over” Came in Halberdier Galbinius’ query, attempting to keep abreast of the situation as to when to stop climbing without having to waste time turning around.

“No visual, estimate one mile based on last known position. Cover improving for target shortly, advise immediate interdiction if possible.” Lieutenant Gratius knew Galbinius would need time to set up the long-range shot and steady his breathing after the climb. He hoped half a mile to maximum range would be enough time for this to happen, and the sooner the better.

“Galbinius in position, searching for visual. Over.” The breathing was still ragged, coming over the comm.-link; the shot would be wasted if the rhythmic undulation of the body were not slowed to enable careful aim. “Got a possible, still covered by dunes. One and a quarter miles out from my position One mile from Pompeius Section, can see part of possible target. Confirmation from Crab, infra-red needed.”

“Guardsman Buteo, this is Lieutenant Gratius, I need an infra-red scan from the Mark 17 at ….”

“I have been monitoring the situation, I am aware of the incident. Running the requested scan now.” The time stretched on as confirmation of whether the identified object was human was requested. If it was not it was likely a prisoner had escaped and a contingency plan would have to be formulated to hunt it down at considerable resource cost to the Empire. The most likely eventuality would be a squadron of fighters would be scrambled and used to eliminate the former prisoner. This would reflect badly on whichever squad had allowed the escape. Calidius, although they would be investigated, would escape punishment as it was not their section that had failed. In fact, they may even be commended for taking extra care of a perimeter section outside of their own and, eventually, preventing an escape. “Confirmed, object is human, target has been confirmed.”

“Galbinius, did you copy that? You are Green to engage.”

“Copy that sir, just got to wait for him to move out of cover, that’s a lot of sand to shoot through at long-range, not sure it will make it.”

“Wait for a clean shot; let’s not waste a good shot to attempt a bad one.” Gratius advised.

From the wait, it seemed like the escaped prisoner was waiting for any potential fuss about his escape to die down. Gratius had specifically not informed Pompeius of the escape yet as the prisoner was so far out of range of the capabilities of that Squad that they would have to charge out into the desert simply to get a shot near the escapee. As it was, only one man had broken formation and, at that, moved away from the escapee and on a section not near the former prisoner. This action was unlikely to alert him to the danger of a Sniper looking for a specific target. Fortunately, unlike many of the other Squad commanders, Gratius had ordered the correct combat camouflage fatigues to be carried and worn by his men for all the terrain they would encounter, it did take up extra space in the Crabs, but it did mean that Galbinius was almost invisible on the Pyramid.

A dark shadow, magnified by the bending of air rising from the desert, raced from the cover it had been enjoying and attempted to reach the next line of dunes. The figure zigged and zagged in case it had been seen. Lieutenant Gratius held his breath. If Galbinius could not make this shot it would be unlikely that any other chance would be successful as the range increased. Seconds ticked by, as slowly as the sweat dribbling to the end of his nose, before he saw the figure stop suddenly. The stick figure lurched slightly to its left and became shorter. The crack of the high velocity round found its way to the Squad; the visual effects of the round’s impact having already done so, but the sound took longer to catch up with the bullet that had already hummed past its audience. The figure disappeared into the haze of rising heated air near the horizon as it slumped into death.

“Scratch one runner. Target confirmed down, shot directly between the shoulder blades” Galbinius reported over the comm.

Lieutenant Gratius started to make his way to the Crab to report to Guardsman Buteo on the escape attempt and to recommend that Pompeius be warned to keep a better perimeter, given their lack of long-range capability. The shot used to eliminate the prisoner was a waste, he knew, if he had just been seen before he got past any guards he could have been called back and re-inserted into the column then watched more carefully for similar occurrences.

The door of the Crab slammed open and the Guardsman stormed out of the vehicle directly towards Lieutenant Gratius. Gratius assumed the Black Guardsman was just as annoyed  as he was about having to save another section of the perimeter potentially at the expense of holding their own; until the fist the Guardsman threw landed just under his right eye throwing him to the ground.

“I am in command of this Squad and you report to me! You shall refer to me as ‘Sir’ and not, I repeat, not simply tell me what you ‘need’ and expect me to provide it without question,” Buteo screamed at Gratius, who was lying on the floor shaking his head at the impact his face had just received.

Gratius seemed to be overly preoccupied at a situation behind Buteo’s head, and at a shake of Gratius’ head he heard the uncocking of several assault rifles. Buteo had not noticed he had come within seconds of becoming the second casualty of this campaign. As the Squad dispersed away from the incident Gratius levered himself to his feet and attempted to reconcile with the offended Guardsman.

“I apologise for that, I am used to one of my squad being in the Mark 17 operating the scanning equipment. I had assumed you would relay my request under your own authority knowing that this incident needed to be dealt with quickly. I had not realised you were viewing the feed directly and would thus be doing the scan yourself.” Gratius was puzzled. There was no way to effectively command while operating the scanning console. The amount of information to filter out was prodigious, attempting to do all that would inhibit command, not enhance it. The presence of skilled operator at the consoles meant that only pertinent information reached the commander so that swift decisions could be made without the distraction of superfluous data.

A scream erupted from a familial group in the convoy and another figure broke away from the main body of the prisoners. A few of the female prisoners reached out and called to the shape now moving directly past the stunned soldiers of Pompeius Squad who had been observing with amusement the assault on Lieutenant Gratius and paying no heed to their own perimeter, again. Gratius caught the movement over the shoulder of Buteo at the same time as Sergeant Curtius raised his rifle to respond to the running motion in the same way as Galbinius had previously. Gratius saw that the figure was less than half the size of the man that had attempted to escape the convoy earlier. The upward motion of the rifle attracted Gratius’ attention as the scene passed in slow motion.

“Hold fire Curtius, Amatius, non-lethal response NOW!” Yelled Gratius as he realised the runner was a small girl, tears streaming down her cheeks running past hundreds of armed soldiers with orders to shoot any and all runners. “Amatius, Tazer shot, for the love of all that’s holy! TAKE HER DOWN! ANYONE ELSE THAT CAN HEAR ME; DO NOT FIRE!!!”

Gratius hit the ground for the second time that day, never having seen the fist swinging to intercept his chin. He lay on the ground as steel-toe capped boots smashed into his midriff repeatedly. The air escaped his lungs but he could bring no more air in to replace it.

“You did not defer to me for direction on how that incident was to be handled.” Buteo screamed at Gratius, who was lying on the floor from the impact his face had just received unable to move from the punctuating blows that were Buteo’s kicks. More kicks followed the initial onslaught until Gratius could barely remain conscious.

As suddenly, as they had started the blows stopped and Lieutenant Gratius saw Guardsman Buteo stalk off to the Crab to maintain his comfortable command, Gratius could hardly lift his head from the sand and made several moves to stand but at each time flopped back unable to complete the manoeuvre. His stomach felt like it was on fire and compressed under a load of stone at the same time. Unbidden and unwanted tears washed out of his eyes as his breath retuned to him. He had been beaten so severely that he would have been unable to hear the shot if one of the many soldiers observing the incident had loosed a round.

Hands lifted him up to his feet, but allowing his hunched pose as the constricted muscles of his torso continued their tenacious grip on contraction. They moved him forward at a pace his feet could just about manage. He knew that walking was the fastest method of recovery for the injuries he had received but he just wanted to fall into the sand and bury himself in a pit of his own misery. Not just from the bruises and the damage to his standing with his men. He could still see in his minds eye the little girl, pigtails flapping in her own slipstream. He could see the tears racing from her eyes and the expression of anguish on her face as she did so. Heedless to the weapons and eyes of the surrounding soldiers she had been running to the fallen prisoner he had ordered shot. She could not have been more than ten, most probably eight or nine. She was still wearing an old school dress that had seen much better days. She must have been detained at her school, dragged out in front of her former classmates to join her parents in an interim detention camp. In his mind, Lieutenant Gratius could see her dead eyes staring up at him from the sandy and gritty ground, blood slowly seeping around her pigtails, staining the check of the uniform she had been wearing. All because he was not quick enough, all because of him, because he had not managed to salve the ego of the Black Guard Liaison enough to allow him to give the order not to fire and see it through without provoking anger to defying authority from a petty, small minded psychopath. Buteo’s words before he had returned to the Crab haunted Gratius:

“My order would have been the Plasma Cannon, discourage the degenerates from running in the first place.”

Gratius could never have taken the horror of a small child being hit by a ball of super-heated plasma, especially if that shot had been taken by a member of his squad. He would not have been able to live with the nightmare image of charred, unrecognisable flesh with small bones poking through it emphasising the childlike nature of the cadaver that had been so cruelly mutilated.

Gratius was forced along, still at the maximum pace that he could manage, sobbing in what air he could manage to gasp as his sorrow and pain tore away at him both physically and psychologically.

A ray of sunlight pierced the veil of his anger, shame, pain and pity when the voice of Sergeant Curtius whispered in his ear just before he lost consciousness:

“We got her Sir, Tazered before anyone got a shot off. We got her, we got her.”

Chapter 6

“Investigator, there are no weapons on this planet that have the range and firepower to make a decisive impact on this current conflict., We must call for additional off-world assistance.”

“Ah, General. As ever your unimaginativeness never ceases to astound me. We do have one further weapon that can be exploited, if only you had the intelligence to see it.” The Investigator turned to the command consol and entered a code that allowed the screen to glow with a blue luminosity. General Hostilius had only ever heard rumours of Blue clearance; he had dismissed them as hokum and believed his own level of Red was as high as was achievable. “All forces with orders to assault now hold positions until further instructions.” Although the Investigator had spoken into the microphone and Corvus had heard her as normal, the voice that had been transmitted through the speakers was his own.

“That’s suicide! They cannot withstand the rebel counterattack in their current formation. It’s geared for offence, not defence. At least order them to dig in and find whatever cover they can. They are in no shape to repulse an assault. For Invictus’ sake there are wounded men that need evacuating down there!”

“General, General, General. I do so hope that you are not challenging my authority. After all I am an Investigator and, even normally, my authority exceeds your own, but I have been given this assignment directly by the Patriarch. I would hate to think that you would even go so far as to challenge his authority.” The Investigator turned back to the command consol and adjusted a view, nodding quietly. “That… should… just… about… do… it… There. Now, General I must ask you to sit and wait patiently until the rebels force their advantage, It wouldn’t do for you to suddenly countermand your own orders now would it?”

“How? How did you issue orders in my voice?” croaked General Hostilius not believing what he had seen and heard.

“The advantage of Blue clearance is the ability, via software programming inherent in all Imperial systems for voice capture and replication, to issue orders as if from the mouth of the normal issuer of said orders. It is sometimes expedient to have someone issue orders after they have been terminated. Death is so… final, don’t you find?” The Investigator asked. “For example if I had issued the order your men would be panicked and may break and run, despite the punishment for cowardice and loss of faith. Such is the reputation of the Trado of Doctrina that they would assume I had killed you and were sending them to their deaths. If only it would be that simple to contain this uprising. Nothing can be gained from simply ordering these men to their deaths, and so I must maintain their hope and trust in your command. You are alive, not because of any sense of mercy within me, but simply because the technology has not yet been developed to stage personal interactions with your men. As I said before Death is so inconveniently final.”

General Hostilius found himself thinking of the brave men that were being ordered to hold a position that was completely untenable, and would shortly be massacred because they did not know enough to flee; their faith in him binding them to their posts at which they would be cut down.

The wait seemed to last for an eternity, the commander of the rebels showing himself to be a careful man. Despite the fact that there was almost no way to foresee the success of his attack on the bomber and the effect on the Imperial forces it had devastated, the rebels forces still appeared to be consolidating their positions rather than rushing in to what could be a trap. General Hostilius knew he had put no measures in place for a counterattack at that position and so he wondered what the Investigator had planned. There were provisions at the rest of the perimeter, but in order to use them they would have to be moved, but the Investigator merely sat in the command console’s chair like a cat who had obtained the cream, feet up on the console, just waiting. He was sure the Investigator had placed no contingency in place. He had committed all of his reserves to this assault, and now they were all injured demoralised and their defences were breached.

The comm. crackled into life “General, we have hostile contact. They are attacking Sir. We have no cover, we have wounded, and we are outnumbered. We are awaiting instructions to fall back to the tertiary line Sir.”

“That is a negative, you are to hold position to the last man, countermeasures are being deployed. Repeat, negative, hold to the last man, countermeasures being deployed.” The Investigator ordered over the comm. in General Hostilius’ own voice.

“I didn’t order any countermeasures Investigator,” Corvus hissed after the comm. channel closed, the staccato beats of gunfire just becoming audible from the battlefield. “You are ordering those men to hold for no reason; you can still save some of them if you order a retreat now.”

“Oh General, you continue to disappoint.” The Investigator looked at Corvius with a slight tilt of the head “You did order countermeasures, you just didn’t realise it at the time.”

The Investigator hit a command on the console and a wash of white light entered the bunker through the toughened plastic that covered the slits that served for observation. The light faded to yellow, but Corvus could see that the white was receding to the battle lines and a roar washed over him. There was only one explanation, the rocket batteries; the Investigator had triggered the rocket batteries. He had ordered them back from the front when it was clear that the artillery placements so outranged them as to render them useless. The Investigator had not moved them, so where were they targeted? There were no rebel positions in range of the rockets.

“Countermeasures deployed, Invictus be with you.” Corvus heard the Investigator utter over the comm. channel and immediately break contact.

It was then that Corvus knew immediately a number of inescapable facts. One, the rocket batteries had definitely not been moved and two, there were not rebel positions within the range of said batteries. The target was not the rebel positions, but the Imperial ones. The very positions, which, until recently, had bustled with the forces he had earmarked for the offensive. The troops his voice had ordered to hold to the last man, promising countermeasures to repel the rebel counter attack. Corvus realised that the countermeasures were the rockets, and that no one would survive their arrival: not the rebels and not his own men. His own men were being sacrificed to eliminate the threat of a rebel offensive. What though was the point? The end result would merely be a bloody stale-mate that benefited no one.

“General, I note the look of puzzlement on your face. Have you not yet realised that the Trado of Doctrina remains a number of moves ahead of your meagre understanding? Your men, whilst making a sacrifice, are safeguarding the future of the Empire for generations to come.” The Investigator had grabbed the front of Corvus’ body armour and used it as a grip to lift him off his chair and subsequently his feet. He dangled in the air in front of the Investigator, who held him in one fist, the effort showing not in the face, nor in any visible effort from the muscles under the matte black body armour.

“A rebellion on Invictus itself has the opportunity of undermining the entire Empire. Letting it continue as you have undermines the authority of Sol Invictus himself. The only way to end this is to put down the rebellion with such devastation and brutality that none could countenance such an act again. Sacrifices had to be made, yet more will be called for.” The Investigator stated directly into Corvus’ eyes and Corvus was certain the sacrifice would be his. The blonde hair of the Investigator brushed against his forehead, but, despite the irritation this caused, Corvus could not bring any of his muscles under control in order to brush it away. He knew that the reputation enjoyed by the Investigators was not just well earned, it was an underestimation. They would resort to anything to complete what they saw their mission to be, even if it meant sacrificing an entire battalion. The steel in the blue eyes of the Investigator showed no give and the fine scar on the left side of her face served only to make her seem colder and more unforgiving.

Lieutenant Gratius woke up in the relative cool of the Crab. Thankfully not the one that was being used as a Command by Guardsman Buteo. He noticed a cold compress being held to his forehead, tenderly, much too tenderly, to be one of his Squad. The level of care he would expect from his Squad was being demonstrated to his torso as compressing bandages were applied in the area beaten by Buteo earlier. Halberdier Amatius was in charge of this part of the procedure, and despite being somewhat heavy handed, was showing some real skill in first aid.

“I was bullied a lot a school for being a fourthie,” Balbus said to the slightly surprised questioning look on Aquilinius’ face. “I used to take care of my own injuries so my parents wouldn’t worry.”

“Forthies” was the nickname given to the offspring of those of fourth generation alternative religion parents. The ones who would, upon reaching adulthood, be able to volunteer to the Imperial Guard and earn the right to be citizens. There was a great deal of hostility from those established Invictine families to the re-inclusion of those seen to be of tainted stock. Only those of adult age from tainted stock who had demonstrated their non-adherence to the religious teachings of their predecessors were accepted as a first generation towards the goal of re-inclusion into the citizenry. “Forthies” were subjected to humiliation, such as any degrading treatment with toilets and excrement to brutal beatings, which were sometimes fatal.

“Your other helper is called Mya, she doesn’t say much but she does follow instructions quite well I’ve found. We had to bring her on board the Crab after I Tazered her She passed out, poor thing. Sorry about the smell. We haven’t had a chance to clean up after her; she did pee herself, with the voltage and everything. She seems to have forgiven me for that though. Sergeant Curtius did some asking around. It would seem that she doesn’t have anyone. No-one seems to know where she was from or who she was with. We only know her name because she scratched it into the sand when asked who she was. It’s a bit of a mystery, Sir.”

Lieutenant Gratius groaned as he realised that there was only one person who would have been able to answer the questions about Mya, other than Mya herself. That person was lying face down in the desert by the Pyramid of Giza; a man he had ordered shot, a man who was dead because of him. A pair of deep brown eyes gazed deeply into his own as a concerned girl looked down at him. Realization dawned; and Lieutenant Gratius suddenly did not feel so bad about ordering the man’s death, for if he could run to save his own miserable existence and leave a child behind to face whatever fate he had brought upon her, then he deserved far worse than the mercy of a sniper’s bullet; especially if that child was of his own flesh and blood. Mya was holding the cold compress to Lieutenant Gratius’ forehead, helping keep down the blinding headache he could feel creeping up on him.

The child, Mya, was obviously of an Asian/Middle Eastern descent, but the free movement of peoples in these two areas had made it difficult for the Empire to racially profile  the difference between these two groupings. Islam had proven as popular in the East as Christianity had in the West and had reached as far to the East as the Indian sub-continent, where it had clashed with the Hindi originated peoples. The Genetic sources were therefore hard to positively identify but the Empire didn’t need to - both religions were contrary to its own and had resisted conversion vigorously. Therefore skin tone to either genetic grouping was seen as guilt of being a member of another religion unless, of course, one could prove otherwise. She had slightly curly hair and a little button nose that wrinkled so expressively that she could almost communicate exclusively via this appendage.

“We can keep you here for a little while longer, Sir, but soon you will have to see Colonel Marius Galeo, the… incident reached as far up as that, Sir. He said to see him as soon as you were up and about. I wouldn’t get up just yet; you will need to be straight in the head for that I fear.”

Lieutenant Gratius levered himself up onto his elbows to test the reaction his body made, this met with a fierce scowl from Mya, who clearly disapproved of him forcing himself too early. For someone he had ordered Tazered she seemed extremely protective. Lieutenant Gratius smirked inwardly; the irony was that Mya was not acting as a prisoner towards him. In fact quite the reverse. The feeling of mirth quickly passed when Lieutenant Gratius remembered to what fate he was transporting Mya and the other prisoners. The Inquisition would be highly unlikely to show mercy to even a child. Mercy was considered a human quality, for if one could sin and then be shown mercy then the concept of Justice was inherently flawed. The sin was that of the father but Mya was young enough to have been indoctrinated in his heathen ways and thus she would be judged guilty - as a preventative measure to protect the empire from her eventual betrayal in the future.

“Orders are orders Halberdier. How could I expect you to follow my orders if I ignore those that are given to me?” Lieutenant Gratius levered himself up pointedly ignoring the scowl of Mya when he did so. “Give me a hand getting to Colonel Marius.”

Fighting back the wave of nausea from his abused torso, Lieutenant Gratius leaned heavily on Halberdier Amatius for the short walk to the crab occupied by Colonel Marius. It was obvious one of his Squad had communicated his condition to the Colonel for normally the Colonel would have been in position to the fore of the formation. As he stumbled and tripped his way to the Command Crab Lieutenant Gratius took the time to scan the formation and the terrain through which it was travelling. Although the landscape was rocky, there was little in the way of mountains at this point in the journey. The Pyramids, large as they were, had disappeared from view - lost in the heat haze generated by the afternoon sun. Low hills of rock were all that were visible on all sides, giving a deserted feel to the panorama - if one discounted the hundreds of thousands of prisoners and troops marching in a loose column. Lieutenant Gratius was glad that his orders concerning the movement of his squad had not yet been countermanded. Despite the amount of time he had been unconscious the Sectios still maintained their chaotic dance of cover and counter-cover at a much greater distance from the column than most of the other Squads. As he glanced back to the rear of the column he noticed that a few other Squads had copied his approach, at least there was a positive to be taken from the incident. His adherence to the side of caution had showed the value of a wider formation to other Squads, and further incidents were less likely to occur.

The rear-loading ramp of the Command Crab swung down. The ramp was designed to allow a Squad to deploy rapidly using the Crab as cover whilst the vehicle was still in motion so that forward momentum did not have to be sacrificed to deploy to a defensible position. The Eight wheels could be run on either a tracked configuration or non-tracked with only minor modifications to effect the change. The motors were contained within the wheel hubs themselves so that more space could be utilised for troops and equipment. These innovations lead to a rather more spacious interior than pre-Imperial APCs. Lieutenant Gratius leaned heavily on Halberdier Amatius as they made their way up the ramp to the interior of the vehicle, which housed vast numbers of monitors as well as computer equipment which helped the command team co-ordinate the movements of all the troops in the column. Guardsman Buteo stood within the armoured cocoon with a smug look of triumph and contempt on his arrogant features. Colonel Marius reclined in the command chair awaiting the Lieutenant.

“I have been informed of your failure to adhere to the chain of command earlier Lieutenant. Not only did you fail to shoot the running child, but you apparently directly countermanded the orders I gave at the start of this mission by ordering the surrounding troops not to do so either. Under the circumstances I am going to overlook the charge of lack of…. shall we say courtesy…  to Guardsman Buteo here by not referring to him as Sir.” Buteo, if it were possible, looked smugger than ever as the Colonel outlined the charges against Lieutenant Gratius. “As a point of procedure however I would point out that Guardsman Buteo, despite being your liaison and technical superior in this mission has not achieved a sufficient rank to be referred to as “Sir” therefore I do not believe this should form part of this battlefield Court-Marshall. Do you have anything to say as to the remainder of the charges?”

“Sir, whilst the chain of command forms the basis of any well-functioning military operation, a ranking officer has the obligation to react to a threat to the success of the mission without having to refer to his superior in respect of all aspects of operation. The use of initiative is an integral part of a well-trained and functioning unit. There was not time to seek instruction in respect of the small child. I was mindful of my orders. The orders given by yourself, sir, were to shoot any escapees or attempted escapees. The child in my opinion was not seeking to escape, merely to go to the aid of the escapee who had just been shot by one of my men, on my order following the very orders I am accused of countermanding. This was not, in my opinion, an escape or escape attempt, therefore there was leeway available to me as an officer as to how the situation was to be handled. You should also note that I did order her shot, just not with lethal weaponry, and she was indeed shot. Your orders did not specify with which weapon an escape should be shot. When I was briefed by Investigator Celeris I was specifically ordered to equip my men with non-lethal weaponry for crowd control, therefore I was under the impression, given that briefing and your own, that anything less than an actual escape attempt should be met with less than lethal force and as I have pointed out the child did not seem to be making an escape attempt. I would respectfully submit that the orders given were not specific enough to support a finding of not following orders.” Lieutenant Gratius was very aware that his entire argument was spurious at worst and pure sophistry at best but it was the best he could come up with to deal with the charges.

“Hmmm, I am aware of what my orders were and I do not appreciate them being quoted back at me. I also do not appreciate that you made my Guardsman look foolish in front of the entire convoy, including the prisoners. That by extension makes me look foolish and not in control of this operation. That cannot be allowed to happen. This mission is of vital importance to the Empire and any threat to the success of it must be eliminated. Guardsman Buteo, please hand me your sidearm and drag the Lieutenant outside, we wouldn’t want to get blood over my command consoles.”

Guardsman Buteo duly handed his heavy duty side-arm to the Colonel; it was especially large for an infantry side-arm. Regulation side-arms were chosen for a mixture of stopping power and the ability to be used quickly in close quarters. Buteo’s weapon looked more like a hand-held artillery piece and certainly played more to the stopping power side of the equation than to any real effort to be able to be used in close quarters where it would be heavy and unwieldy. Buteo grabbed the collar of Lieutenant Gratius and shoved Halberdier Amatius roughly into the wall of the Command Crab. He proceeded to unceremoniously drag Gratius outside to the sand, Gratius’ toes leaving twin furrows when the ramp ended and the sand began.

“You’ll burn in the hells for undermining my command Aquilinius.” Buteo hissed to the Lieutenant as they came to a stop and Buteo roughly rotated the Lieutenant to face the Colonel sauntering down the ramp of the Command Crab.

The Colonel raised the veritable cannon of a gun he had been given and pointed it directly at Lieutenant Gratius’ face.

“I admit your deployment did stop the earlier escape attempt, but I cannot let any trace of disharmony give the prisoners hope of a successful escape attempt. We must minimise the number of escapees to maintain pace and compete the mission on schedule.”

The gun barked and echoed from the rocks surrounding the column and yet more lights flashed in Lieutenant Gratius’ head as his head hit the stony ground, blood turning the brown rock a dark red.

“I will not have petty distractions compromising the effectiveness of this force and I will not tolerate point scoring for personal glory.” The level tone of the Colonel shocked all who heard it; even as Buteo’s headless body hit the ground beside Lieutenant Gratius. “I do not agree with your actions Lieutenant, but it was your choice as to how my, imprecise, orders were to be interpreted.” Colonel Marius lifted Lieutenant Gratius’ face up to level with his own, now kneeling next to him “So let me be more precise. They run, your men shoot, lethal force is to be used on all except for moving the prisoners along. Am I making myself clear?” Gratius could do little but nod as the Colonel returned to his Command Vehicle.

Back in the shade of the Crab Gratius reclined now free to commence his recovery, whilst various Halberdiers had rotated, albeit with Balbus taking the lion’s share of the shifts, Mya had stayed close to the Lieutenant without a break. While it had been originally cute that she took such an interest in the Squad’s comings and goings Lieutenant Gratius could not help but feel dis-quietened by her presence, he had after all ordered the death of someone close to her and was ultimately taking her to be tried by the Inquisition. At least she did not insist on disturbing him with incessant chatting like many of the children that he was forced to endure at various family gatherings. She had not said a word since he had become aware of her existence. Lieutenant Gratius was aware that in certain circumstances a traumatic event can cause the mind to shut down entirely, post-traumatic stress disorder was a common eventuality among military personnel and so he had been trained to look for the signs as this could affect the Squad’s ability to function adequately. He had not, however, been trained to spot the warning signs in children. This could be a temporary coping mechanism or a symptom of a wider problem. In Soldiers, the breakdown came with other behavioural problems, although there were no hard and fast rules to such psychological damage. There was some semblance of hope for Gratius in this, as persons whose familial ties to the banned religious movements were not adjudged guilty if they were deemed mentally unfit to have been indoctrinated. If Mya was unable to communicate or take in even part of the complexities of religious instruction then she could be educated and cared for by the Temple itself and escape the trials. Gratius made a mental note to inform the Investigator about this possibility when next he had the opportunity. It would be counter-productive to attempt this with Colonel Marius for a number of reasons. Firstly, he would not care, secondly he would not have the authority to do anything but inform the Investigator about the situation, and Gratius did not trust him to do so, especially after the callus shooting of Marius’ own Guardsman. Sure the man had overreached his authority somewhat, and decided to try and advance himself in a petty and ridiculous a manner, but it had not warranted such an action. Still, Gratius was now without a Black Guard liaison. This would allow him to manage his Squad more effectively, once he recovered sufficiently to do his duty. For now, he trusted Sergeant Curtius to keep the squad in line. The terrain was pretty much a standard for quite a while, and so there would be no need to change tactics in response to bottlenecks or impassable areas. Gratius lay back and let the greatest healer take care of his injuries. For the moment he had nothing but time.

Sergeant Curtius sat in the Command Crab swearing randomly at various members of the Squad over the comm.-link as they ran alongside the Crab. They were obviously distracted by the Black Guard’s casual display of capricious power, as well they should be. Even Curtius was shocked. There was no real rhyme or reason to the beating or the shooting of the Guardsman. Yes, the Black Guard were rumoured to perform the tasks for which normal military were not able to do for moral or ethical reasons. When the Empire had first begun to form there had been an armed backlash from more fundamentalist states. Various noble families from Europe’s surviving Royal Families, who all had military rank, sided with the Empire, having been converted previously. These loyal commanders were later formed into the Black Guard and the membership to this Heavy Infantry Unit was made hereditary in deference to the way noble titles had been progressed in the states of those who had supported the Fledgling Empire. The unit had developed into a unit deployed for the dirtiest missions the Empire called upon its soldiery to do. They were zealously loyal to the Patriarch himself and followed a completely separate chain of command to the rest of the military. It was always bad news when the Black Guard was involved in anything. Sergeant Curtius was well aware of the rumours that surrounded Black Guard Operations. There was inevitably a slaughter of some kind, even when the mission had supposedly been a “peacekeeping” one. The media always reported that an uprising had triggered the wholesale use of force, but rather than the tried and tested attrition tactics of the Patriarchal Guard the Black Guard wiped all resistance off the map with overwhelming firepower.

Sergeant Curtius was not enamoured with his stand in role at present either. This was then shown by his response to any sloppy manoeuvre by the Squad. Whilst the Crab was at least more comfortable than the oppressive heat evaporating the moisture from the troops very pores, he still had to be the point of contact for the Squad and higher command. Given the squads liaison had been shot this meant that Curtius was attempting to reconcile three roles - his own, the Lieutenants, and that of Liaison. The Liaison was the part that was giving him most trouble. Just how did the Lieutenant managed to keep his cool when the command structure was constantly asking for updates on a situation that did not change? The terrain was the same as it was ten, twenty and thirty minutes ago; the column was still moving. What more details did they want?

The comm-link spluttered into life again. What did these idiots want this time? “Calidius Squad, be advised, adverse weather conditions have been observed ahead. Patrols should move closer to the column and if necessary double up in the Mark 17s.”

Sergeant Curtius stared blankly at the comm-link. What the devil was ‘adverse weather conditions’ and why would the squad need to shelter in the Crabs? Surely if these weather conditions were this bad then the column should stop moving so that the perimeter could be maintained. “Request further intelligence, what are the weather conditions observed?”

“Sandstorm, moving east fast. It should be on you within the hour.” The reply came back.

A sandstorm was terminology that Sergeant Curtius understood; he had been on a desert Hell-World when the sandstorms were so severe that the force of the dust particles rushing by could remove a man’s skin. Obviously such a possibility was more unlikely on Sol Invictus itself but if Command was advising the troops to take shelter he should heed the warning.

“All troops report to Crabs. Sandstorm approaching. Crabs to move closer to the prisoners to provide cover fire in case of breach of perimeter.” Sergeant Curtius knew that in the event of a Sandstorm the problem would be a lack of visibility as the prisoners could use the cover to spirit themselves away from the column and no one would be any the wiser until the storm passed.

“Sergeant, the prisoners will be unable to keep moving in those conditions.” Sergeant Curtius was surprised to heard Lieutenant Gratius’ voice over the comm-link “Move the Crabs into the bulk of the prisoners and tell them to keep to the leeward side of the vehicles.”

“Sir, we have been ordered to keep moving” Curtius protested.

“We can do both, Sergeant, plus with the low visibility it is our best chance of keeping the prisoners from making a run for it.”

Sergeant Curtius sighed as he broke the comm.-link to engage the loudspeaker systems, he just hoped the Lieutenant knew what he was doing, he was sure Colonel Marius would not appreciate the new tactics being employed.

The sand whipped past the Crabs, the armour providing little shelter for those huddled in its lee. Still the prospect of staggering along did not appeal to many, for the wind threatened to take away their balance, while the sand abraded skin and threatened to damaged eyes and lungs alike. At least in the refuge from the wind conditions were at least tolerable. Unfortunately for the prisoners there were too many people and not enough shelter provided by the Squad’s machines. After the success of Lieutenant Gratius’ tactics previously a number of other Squads had also brought their Crabs into the midst of the prisoners. The conditions were so inhospitable in the open that only the most suicidal would move even a short distance from relative safety. It would be all too easy to be turned around in the storm and die of thirst within days as the escapee walked further and further away from moisture. The prisoners themselves shuffled along with the young and old keeping as close to the vehicles as possible but the more ambulatory took turns to shelter and walk on the edge of the groups centred on the Crabs. There was no jostling for position as a stronger more selfish few monopolised the sheltered areas to the detriment of those that could not protect themselves. There was an unspoken bond that they would face this ordeal as a group and not lessen themselves to the level of animals and exclude the weak and helpless. The strong would occasionally lift up those that lacked the strength to carry on unaided and only a few who had got separated were left behind to die in the tides of the desert as it would have been impossible to break ranks and seek them out. Such simple kindness viewed on the monitors of his Mark 17s monitor feed filled Lieutenant Gratius’ heart with shame for he was unable to replicate even this simple act of kindness and as the infra-red signatures of each of the lost souls faded he felt a part of himself die. Behind the column the fading bodies appeared on the infra-red imagers as the monstrous footprints of the convoy itself. They faded even as the real footprints of the prisoners and the track marks of the Crabs did. Leaving no trace - save, to be discovered later, desiccated bodies drained of all moisture by the marsh desert sands.

Chapter 7

A rumble of tracked vehicles became audible in the command bunker. The Investigator turned to the door and stood. Her anticipation was almost palpable despite giving no outward sign of her excitement.

“Shall we unleash the dogs of war, gentlemen?” She asked casually and strode outside to an empty courtyard.

The rumble had been loud enough to signify the arrival of extremely heavy-duty transportation rigs, but no sign of any vehicle could be seen outside.

“Sir, there’s nothing...” a junior level officer started.

“Shhh, they’re cloaked. The energy depletion of such devices is phenomenal; whatever is there is beyond my clearance and certainly above yours. Keep quiet and perhaps we will live through this.” General Hostilius hissed, panic running like ice through his veins.

The Empire expanded using any energy it could and left much of its population in energy poverty. Only the most affluent could afford the expenditure of energy on less than imperative tasks. As a result many technologies were rigidly controlled due to their energy expenditure. Cloaking technology, which used a combination of effects to achieve its aim, was one of the most power hungry of the technologies the Empire possessed. Thermal masking was achieved using heat sink materials. Visual cloaking was achieved using quantum lensing, which utilised gravitational effects. A black hole is invisible to the naked eye as it sucks light in from the event horizon but can be visually detected due to the attractive effect the gravitational pull has on the light passing by, but not within the event horizon. The gravitational forces act like a conventional lens causing refraction of the light around the black hole. Visual cloaks used by the Empire worked on a quantum imitation of this effect, but on a much smaller scale with more powerful, yet shorter range forces, based upon the weak electromagnetic force. Ironically, given its name, this force is one of the most powerful in the universe, but its range is extremely limited, and thus suited the quantum lensing objectives of the Empire perfectly. Radar was the least power hungry, using relatively simple design technology of non-reflective surface materials and diffusing reflection by complex baffles in the edges of planes. Complex cooling technology based upon the basic instability of energy meant that while a part of the heat generated by the other technologies was recycled, but not enough to significantly reduce the energy needs of the combined technology, the vast majority was converted to matter high in the atmosphere by quantum energy level jumping. This level of energy consumption was therefore only levelled at objects of extreme worth to the Empire.

General Hostilius could only guess at the weapons that the Investigator had made him order to the front. He knew that the most powerful of his tactical solutions, up to and including high yield explosive multi-war headed missile weaponry, did not warrant such secrecy. Whatever was out in the courtyard was something that the Empire valued as ordinance far more than even the most powerful weapon at his command. Hostilius could only guess as to the effect this would have on the rebel troops. All he knew was that he would not even in his wildest nightmares wish to see firsthand the effects these weapons would have. All that he could extrapolate was that given the Investigator wished to escalate the horror level of the battlefield then the psychological and physical effect of these new weapons would be devastating in the extreme. He at least felt some level of relief that the battle would soon be over.

“General,” The Investigator called back “I feel you may find this educational.” Corvus sighed. So much for not seeing the classified weaponry and maximising his chances of not being executed to cover up its existence.

General Hostilius reluctantly made his way into the courtyard to behold the weapons now de-cloaking.

“You may be familiar with the basic contents of these weapons. The Trado of Doctrina, when appraising the Historical archives, found some interesting weapon specifications from the pre-Imperial era. They had been agreed to be much too horrific to be deployed, by almost every civilization that deemed itself in the ‘developed world’. With these updated relics we will crush the spirits of not only the rebels here but all over the Empire. Are they not things of terrible beauty?”

General Hostilius had heard a number of rumours about what the pre-Imperial nations had cooked up in various weapons labs, fragmentation rounds, fire-based solutions which stuck to targets and were nigh on impossible to extinguish, but nothing that was out of the current capabilities of the weapons he already had access to.

“Imagine if you will a cloud creeping along the battlefield, you would assume that this would provide some cover for an enemy attack, would you not?” The Investigator did not pause for an answer to the rhetorical question, “So you would refuse to move your troops from that location. Now imagine that the cloud IS the attack, no troops, no risk to the opposing force. As soon as the cloud hits your troops they start to cough, which limits their effectiveness. After some time within the cloud they are no longer coughing mucus but their own lungs, haemorrhaging and drowning in their own blood. By the time you realise this cloud is the cause your men have been within it too long and die spectacularly. This reduces the moral and therefore the effectiveness of the remainder of your troops. Truly an impressive system. This shall be part of the coup de gras of our offensive. This was the first blow of our trinity to which the rebels will be wholly unprepared. We shall unleash the fury of Sol Invictus himself with primary strikes on three areas of differing but equally deadly attacks. We have already sent War. Now we shall unleash Famine and Disease; before we finally grant them Death.”

Corvus stared in wide eyed amazement. The Investigator had taken leave of her senses. Not only was she talking about unleashing poison gas on Sol Invictus itself, but she was quoting one of the forbidden text -, a well know apocryphal prophesy from the Christian Bible. Corvus began, for the fist time in his military career, to shake with fear.

“All Squads be advised that land transport of supplies will be curtailed until the adverse weather conditions diminish. Air drops will be utilised but due to the flight risk only supplies for the troops will be deployed.”

Lieutenant Gratius swore under his breath. The Convoy had not even reached the secondary target and they were haemorrhaging prisoners at a brisk pace. His orders had stated that it was imperative that at least some of the prisoners reach the final waypoint. At this rate, he would loose the majority in days. Now they were to be starved on a forced march? This did not bode well for his objectives. Although he was now back on his feet and had retaken command of his Squad from a near exhausted and emotionally drained Sergeant Curtius he was not yet functioning at peak efficiency and was extremely dubious as to the competence of the command he was forced to follow.

“Command, Squads have been encountering high winds, temperatures and sand has been clogging key systems. We would request double the regulation drop for Squad Calidius and any other Squad which has used water rations to combat said conditions and to clear out the key systems.” Lieutenant Gratius hoped that he was correct in his estimation of the intelligence of the command structure above him if he was to complete his mission.

“Affirmative Calidius, extra requisition approved. Combat effectiveness must be maintained.” Lieutenant Aquilinius breathed a sigh of relief, the requisition had been approved with no follow-up, and command had bought every word hook, line and sinker.

Sergeant Curtius leaned in close to the Lieutenant and whispered into his ear, “Sir, the sand has not yet affected the key systems and the Squad is within the Crabs, there is no need for extra water.”

“Sergeant, our orders are to deliver a number of prisoners to our objective, should they die of dehydration in the middle of this Invictus cursed desert we will have failed that mission. We need water if any of those prisoners out there are to survive the next few days. I don’t see how we can get extra rations but hopefully the storm will die down by then and normal supply lines can resume.”

“I don’t like it; I don’t fancy being sent to the trials for being a sympathiser. It’s one thing to creatively interpret orders, but you have been specifically told that the supplies are for the troops only.”

“We are in the middle of a sandstorm with the prisoners huddled around our vehicles, which will house our supplies, how hard can it be to keep a secret?”

The precious water was distributed through the firing ports on the Crabs, no doors could be seen to be open from the other command vehicles, even using the advanced detection equipment at the command of the Empire. The huddle of prisoners around the Crabs kept the infra red from seeing anything but the huddle, optical cameras were useless due to the sandstorm and no other wavelength was able to provide the resolution necessary to detect the clandestine supply operation. Still even with double the normal amount of water for a squad, even one washing down the external components of their vehicles, there was not enough water for all the prisoners in the section of the Squads responsibility. Hands endlessly extended towards the firing ports until the water containers stopped coming. The inherent humanity in the prisoners continued even in the severe conditions the prisoners were enduring. The strong refused water and pushed it towards the young and the elderly for they would be more badly affected by dehydration, but slowly even they had to start taking some of the limited supply for themselves.

Halberdier Amatius noticed it first, “Sarge, there aren’t as many old people, there are more and more kids round the Crab.”

The squad crowded round the monitors to see what was going on. It had been several hours since they had handed out water, seeking to ration that which was given out to maximise the number of people who actually survived the storm. The infra-red was confusing as the crowd milled around changing its shape and composition as the steady cycle for shelter continued, but the constant vulnerable members of the sheltering group were changing in their composition. The height deceased slowly, on average and the head size in relation to the body grew.

“It’s mainly children by the Crabs, now Sir.” Observed Sergeant Curtius.

“Switch to optical; let’s see what’s going on out there. They’re close enough to make out at short range.” Lieutenant Gratius ordered.

As the monitor readout switched, small groups could be seen gathering around elderly members of the prisoners and hugging them. The children would be pushed into the shelter of the Crabs and the elderly would make dismissive hand gestures as though refusing further assistance. Nothing else could be seen from the cameras as the brown haze of the storm moved over the group that was alternately clasping each other and separating.

“Halberdier Amatius, get out there and find out what’s going on. If they are eliminating the old I want to know about it so we can put a stop to it.” Sergeant Curtius yelled; fearing the worst. “Damn heathens, they claim to believe in a life after death but never hesitate to sacrifice everyone else first. Fucking Hypocrites!”

Halberdier Amatius fell through the briefly opened door accompanied by a blast of hot desert air and dust, which temporarily blinded the rest of the Squad in the Crab.

“Well, what the Hell are they doing?” thundered Sergeant Curtius.

Balbus lay in the footwell of the Crab covering his face. At first the Squad assumed the grit had got into his eyes and he was trying to wash the pain away with his body’s natural defences. After a number of minutes Balbus made no effort not move from the foetal position he had adopted and the shaking of his body indicated that he was not just in pain due to the grit of the desert. His body started racking in sobs as he attempted to pull air into his lungs, lungs that were overreacting due to his emotional state. Amatius was lying in the middle of his Sectio crying like a child, uncaring as to his surroundings, oblivious to his standing in the Squad. Huddled and small he refused to answer even the simplest question, tears running down his cheeks unable to form a word to explain his sudden loss of control.

“Dammit, I’ll go and find out for myself what’s going on.” muttered Vice-Corporal Ovidius, who was the direct superior to Halberdier Amatius.

Headier Amatius grabbed Vice-Corporal Ovidius’ arm like an industrial clamp and held on. He would not be shaken loose and when Vice-Corporal Ovidius looked down he looked into eyes which had sunk almost to the depths of oblivion and madness. Pain and horror was found in equal measure, as Balbus found his voice. He found his voice so that no-one else would see what he had seen and would have to relive the nightmares he knew he would endure for the rest of his life. What had been seen could not be undone, what he had been complicit in could never be rectified. The screams of anguish were because of his actions, and his inaction in the face of an implacable God demanding this outcome. Had he been but stronger he could have endured another life that did not bring this guilt to his door. The camaraderie he felt meant that he had to try to shield his fellow Squad members from what lay outside that door.

“Don’t go out there; you don’t want to see it.” he gasped.

“Why what are the sick bastards up to?” asked Vice-Corporal Ovidius grasping his weapon even more tightly “I wouldn’t treat my grandmother the way they’re getting rid of the old people out there, she practically raised me”

“The old people won’t make it, they know it. They’re saying goodbye. The families don’t want them to go but they can’t stop them. They say goodbye and just walk off into the storm. The remaining prisoners have to keep up with the Crabs.”

The Squad sat around in stunned silence; they had all seen an occasional act of self-sacrifice in battle, throwing oneself over a grenade to save a Squad that was otherwise doomed and other such immediate actions. This wholesale sacrifice was something beyond their experience. Logistically it made sense, the water handed out by the Squad could not sustain the prisoners indefinitely, their numbers were just too great. The young and the elderly would be the least likely to survive as both needed constant support and greater supplies of water. The elderly knowing they were unlikely to make the journey had decided en mass to remove the possibility of their survival for a short period, improving the chances of the young, and were just walking out into the storm to die. They could have had a less horrific death if they had continued walking so that it seemed they were making an escape attempt, but they barely got out of sight before they sat down and waited for the inevitable. These were the fading footprints on the infra-red monitors the Squad had been watching. These were the lives they watched become paler. Each glow as it grow fainter was the selfless sacrifice of another human being giving what little time they had to enable the remainder were able to continue, to continue to the trials of the Inquisition. The screams that Balbius had heard were not the screams of the elderly as they were forced to lay down their lives in a Darwinian struggle for survival; it was the screams of their children watching the serene faces of their parents fade from their lives forever. Excruciating as hearing such visceral grief was to Balbus, this was not the worst of all that he had seen and heard.

As he had been watching families torn apart he had been seen by one an elderly lady. She had walked over to him after tenderly embracing whom he could only assume was her daughter and whispering a probable platitude to ease the pain of her departure. She had stood directly in front of him and looked him directly in the eye, calmly and in a measured manner. He had expected a tirade of blame of some sort, but no such response had come forth. She had gently rested a hand on his arm.

“For the water,” she said kissing him on one cheek, “for giving water to my family,” she said kissing the other and gently tipping his head forward so her lips could reach his forehead, albeit still covered by his helmet, “for Mya.” and then she was gone.

The Squad sat in the Crab in silence, they were painfully aware there was little they could do, their orders were clear.

“Sir….” Whispered Vice-Corporal Ovidius “Surely…”

“Shut up.” Hissed Lieutenant Gratius closing his eyes to block the almost pleading eyes of his Squad.

The Silence covered all with its shroud, the audio sensors had been cut off by a silent nod from Lieutenant Gratius when it appeared too much for his men to take. The screams of loss had echoed and reverberated around the metal interior of the Crab, bringing tears to the eyes of many of his men. Finally, Lieutenant Gratius opened his eyes and the desperation of his previous torment seemed gone, replaced with the fire of purpose.

“Everyone out!” He yelled as he stood up. “Get the children into the Crab, NOW!”

The Squad piled out into the biting wind and formed a chain to lift the children into the Crab in as efficient a manner as possible. Although their visors were down the sand found new and interesting ways into their faces no matter which way they turned to avoid it. Heavy backpacks were also carried with their supplies of water, which they would need in the oppressive heat. Their arms burned with the exertion of lifting child after child into the relative safety of the Crabs. They could not afford to halt the Crabs and so they had to maintain the marching pace whilst holding the line. They grabbed each child with little or no explanation, for each word would rob them of precious moisture that they knew they would need for the remainder of the march. The parents of the children fearing the worst had initially fought and clutched to their offspring when the line had formed, slowly they had realised the purpose of the scheme, when the Crab half-filled with children. They then had brought forward their own for consideration. It had been hard to hold off on just grabbing the nearest child and stuffing it into the Crab, but as the prisoners assisted they were able to effect a triage system, the smallest and least able to walk had been placed first, so as to maximise the benefits. The earlier efforts of the prisoners had also assisted, many of the smaller children had been permanently huddled in the lea of the Crabs in any event, and they were the easiest to lift into the interior of the vehicle. In a small amount of time the prisoners were lifting children in height order to the soldiers to be housed in the Crabs. Thankfully by the time the Crabs were filled the supply of children had dwindled and a few of the older prisoners could be placed within the APC’s to help keep order for only the driver and a Vice-Corporal, to operate the sensors and relay command messages, were left within. Halberdier Amatius had unanimously been nominated to remain within, as the newest addition to the Squad he was the least well conditioned and would be more of a liability on the march in such challenging conditions. He had taken to the news well; despite the fact that he wanted to do his part he had not relished the prospect of seeing any more sacrifices. He had been last seen by the squad, before the doors closed, sitting in the operators chair with Mya on his lap.

Mya sat uncomprehending in the lap of Balbus. She did not know what had happened to her father, his last words had indicated that he was going to get help and she should find her adopted grandmother. She could not recall what had become of him after that. Something itched in her that she should, for some reason, remember what had happened to him but her mind skipped over events after he had left her telling her he would be back. She looked around her, perhaps this was the help he had promised, these people had looked after her since he had gone and she had no idea what where her grandmother had gone. Confusion rose within her and her eyes welled with tears only to be met with a look of concern from the soldier holding her steady. He gently wiped her burgeoning tears away with the sleeve of his uniform and put a comforting arm around her. She settled into the embrace grateful that someone at least cared for her. Around her the children chattered excitedly, especially the boys. The prospect of riding in a military transport was obviously of some import to them for some reason but Mya found it cramped and noisy. The confusion grew in her mind and threatened to overwhelm her but again the soft intuitive attention of the soldier calmed her as he slowly and gently patted her on the back gently shushing her. A soft lilting melody came from the mouth of an elderly lady who was also in the metal interior. The tune carried and was caught up by the few other adults who were not outside. The chattering slowly ceased and a few of the children joined in. Mya was calmed; she had heard the song before but could not place it. It did carry an overtone of home, despite being in a language that was unfamiliar to her. Many of the younger children settled down and Mya fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

Balbus was also vaguely familiar with the song that had eased Mya into slumber; he though remembered it as a lullaby that a family friend of his parents had sung to him when his parents had been working late in the refectory of the Imperial Compound. The language, he knew was Arabic, but he had no knowledge of the meaning of the words for he had eschewed that language to distance himself from the possibility of being indoctrinated by something other than that which would grant him citizenship. He glanced over at the monitors, for if the storm were to break he would have to empty the Crab immediately and get the Squad into prescribed marching formation before the easing made the Squad’s actions apparent to the rest of the column. For while he knew without question that the Squad was doing the right thing, he also knew it would not be viewed as such by the Empire. He did not want to have the possibility of a trial on his record, for this would sully his chances of joining the Empire and riding himself of the stigma of his genealogy. One of the adult prisoners noted the sleeping form of Mya in his arms and offered her own arms to take her from him but Balbus merely shook his head gently so as not to wake Mya. She was fine where she was and Balbus was not discomforted by her presence. Far from it, he felt relaxed and comfortable there and then, a small child in his arms. Perhaps when this and his tenure with the Imperial Guard was all over he would be granted permission by the Empire to marry and have a child of his own. He had never considered this previously but it seemed right and reassuring. He had always been focussed on obtaining his goal of citizenship, but now the idea of something after that appealed to him, and he knew that his child would never have to suffer the torments he suffered for it would be born into citizenship and a loving home.

Chapter 8

The bunker shook once again as the remainder of the first trial generated by the Investigator took to the air in missile form. Investigator Celeris almost shuddered with eagerness, soon the unfaithful would feel that which their own unholy books predicted. For them this could be the ultimate degradation, the trials supposedly of their own gods brought down upon them by the will of their own enemies God, for was not Furius the will of Sol Invictus himself? The flight of the missile was as the flight of the comet that predicted doom, by their own superstitious traditions. Soon it would cease its flight and the comet would fall cementing their suffering, suffering that they greatly deserved for their apostate nature.

General Hostilius noted the fall of the Investigators shoulders as she entered the final code for the launch of the last missile. She seemed to gain pleasure from the act, as though some daemon of suffering possessed her and called for the maximum pain she could inflict and would reward her with pleasure each time she did as was instructed by the sadistic being. The Investigators were renowned for their cold logical application of force and doctrine, but this development spoke of a greater need than that which was supposed to motivate her. Surely the Empire would be protected should the siege be ended and the perpetrators be executed or eliminated. The description of the horror to come chilled the General to his bones as to the excessiveness. He had been trained to win an engagement using appropriate weaponry; such a chemical attack would leave him unable to advance until the gas cleared. He also knew from the co-ordinates placed in the command console that the chemical attack was only centred on part of the rebel positions, it was not designed to created a breach he could readily exploit. The losses would be catastrophic to the ability of the rebels to advance, but that capability had already been decimated by the rocket attack. It seemed wasteful to use such a weapon only as a psychological advantage.

The readouts from the front flared, the impact of the falling curse communicating itself as a brief infra-red signature on the satellite imaging. The horror had begun. It was impossible to track the spread of the cloud that the Investigator had predicted, but the minds of those in the command bunker filled in the blanks that the technology left. In the minds eye the cloud of green toxicity would slowly expand, even as it filled the lungs of those that were closest to the initial impact of the canisters designed to release the venomous payload. Those in the command centre could see, and would ever see men floundering as though in fire or lime in the thick green light. In their helpless sight men guttering, chocking, drowning; white eyes floundering in their faces, their hanging faces churning forth the spittle of death, their own life’s blood. Even though the hollow, impersonal readouts did not provide this depth of insight into the battlefield itself the image tunnelled into the psyche of those that had been privy to the Investigators grim prediction of the apocalyptic events to follow the impact of those dread harbingers on the battlefield. There was not one man in the Command Bunker that appeared to have any semblance of morale left in him, only the Investigator stood tall and keen.

As the winds whipped at the Squad Sergeant Curtius cursed the command that had left him to the action of abandoning the relative comfort of the Crab. Although he knew he was pursuing the correct course of action he was aggrieved that he was compelled to march alongside the Crabs. The storm should have been a cue to shelter and continue when it was over. He alternated to which side he held his head but it did not matter, right or left, the sand still stung his face. The visor of his combat helmet helped and the feed overlay from the Crab’s sensors assisted him in keeping track of his surroundings, but he still felt blinded by the storm and abandoned by central command. He wondered what he had done to deserve such a fate. He glanced over at his men; all had their heads down to minimise the impact of the winds and the sand. It had been several days, and the storm showed no sign of relenting. The prisoners, despite the infrequent release of water rations were showing extreme signs of fatigue. They had managed to smuggle small food packets with them but these had been exhausted on the march. The rations provided by the Empire had been meagre when the march had been progressing through clear skies, but, under the auspices of the storm, there were no rations to be distributed. Here and there a crust of bread, or a small measure of water was passed to the most needy, but this was precious little compared to the might of the desert winds. The gauntness of the prisoners approached a level that was most disturbing to the eye. Bones already apparent from the meagre rations afforded to the prisoners en-route were highlighted, even in the poor visibility of the tempest. Starvation was now a very real danger for the column, before long many, especially those that had sacrificed their own stores, would simply drop by the wayside, exhausted and deprived of the energy they required to carry on.

Lieutenant Gratius called a halt to his squad, and over the howl of the wind saw the same looks their eyes as he imagined he himself had. “They won’t make it much further.” He stated.

All of the squad that had gathered around him returned the same look of resignation. The nods passed around the circle, one by one the soldiers gave their blessing to the course of action Lieutenant Gratius had proposed. They had carried most of their kit from inside the Crab, so as to make space for the children, and they had given over much of their water ration to the prisoners. Even though their supply had doubled, it had not been sufficient for the needs of those huddled around their vehicles. This new hardship would tax them harshly, for the weight of the equipment and malnutrition together would drain them much faster than the prisoners who had been divested of much of their belongings prior to the march’s commencement. The prisoners, weak as they were, marched unencumbered; therefore the Squad would tire much more quickly.

“Hand out half of the rations to those that look most likely to drop.” He needed to say no more as the Squad reached into their packs and sought out those that would receive the Empire’s infinitesimal bounty for their own.

Lieutenant Gratius hoped that the sandstorm would beak soon for he and his men could not march on half rations in these conditions for much longer. He was already feeling the pangs of hunger for several of the airdropped ration packets had been lost in the swirling sands before they could be located. Gratius could almost feel himself starting to wonder if the Black Guard had appropriated these rations for themselves in their sense of superiority.

The Black Guard being of noble stock and beloved of Sol Invictus for their previous devotion to the Empire, and indeed the power base that had helped fashion it, were afforded a privilege that the mere members of the Imperial Guard were not. The most advanced weaponry and armour developed by the Empire were released to the Black Guard prior to any infantry unit in the Imperial Guard. The Imperial Guard was used to hold all manner of positions but the Black Guard forming an elite were given the choice assignments. Although these assignments could in themselves be more risky, their chances of survival were vastly boosted by their superior equipment and training. Their arrogance stemmed from this, and always the Imperial Guard was given second status. It assisted the Black Guard’s status with the Temple that they were also rumoured to be given the tasks that would possibly be considered distasteful by a normal unit. They had their hands in with the Trado of Doctrina despite not being related to it in either organisation or superiors, except of course the Patriarch, who was head of the Temple itself.

The squad were by now stumbling forward, their packs threatening to weigh them to the ground, to be buried in the maelstrom of the sand, for despite Lieutenant Gratius telling them to only distribute half of their rations, many had merely handed over all they had and made the decision to weather the lows of starvation.

Halberdier Amatius awoke to an urgent tugging on this uniform, despite being assigned to station in the Crab; he had fallen asleep at his post. A beeping accompanied the pull on his sleeve, a beeping that in his slumber he had been oblivious to. The storm was passing.

“Sir, the weather is breaking.” Balbus yelled into his comm.-link.

Mya looked up and smiled at him, for she had been the one tugging at him to inform him of the warning of the consol. Balbus smiled back and opened the doors of the Crab. The wind still blasted into the body of the vehicle, for fortuitously the wind had not yet eased to a sufficient degree to stop this happenstance. The prisoners once again formed a line and passed the children along, this time to the floor of the arid landscape, where they once again took shelter in the lea of the APC. The Squad quickly took their stations, passing the bulk of their equipment back into the Crab for storage and Halberdier Amatius with some relief took his station outside once again. Although the hunched position to maintain a reduced target hurt thighs once again he was glad to be on “normal” duty once more. It had been painful to see those in his squad enduring the harsh conditions while he was relatively comfortable inside. It would have come as little comfort to know that he had been the first to share his rations with the prisoners for his suffering had been lessened by the walls of the APC.

As the walls of visibility lifted, the Squad saw that their portion of the prisoners had fared better than most but the gaunt countenances of the other squads evidenced that many others had at least distributed their rations as well. As the only squad without a Black Guard liaison, they had obviously been the only Squad to offer up the shelter of their carrier to the prisoners and their distribution efforts had been much more successful as they had not the need to avoid the watchful eye of the members of the Black Guard. Consequently, many more of their prisoners had survived. Out of the dust the Black Guard marched, unaffected by the gruelling conditions of the past week, for true to their rumoured form they had passed the storm in their relative APC commands. The squad looked at the haughty arrogance engendered by the Black Guard and bit back the comments of disgust that would normally have exited their mouths.

Blue skies reasserted their control over the weather conditions and even the heat that had seemed oppressive in the depths of the storm was rendered mild compared to that which accompanied the cerulean overthrow. Such was the heat that the dark shadow of a settlement flickered and was obscured by the rising air that resulted. Similarly obscured were other dark shadows, much smaller but infinitely closer, that bobbed within the rocky hills to each side of the column. As command groups gathered to assess the progress made and to check that the settlement in the distance was indeed that which they sought these small shadows moved and signalled unnoticed to the column until a warning sounded from the depths of each APC. The integrated command software coupled with the infra-red and motion detectors of the command vehicles had picked up on the shifting presences in the hills. The harsh sunlight had masked their progress thus far and the weariness of the soldiers had allowed their visual progress to go undetected thus far but no farther. As one the soldiers threw themselves to the nearest position of cover to search for the threat.

Cries of “Which quarter?” came over the Comm.-link only to be answered by “All of them, they’re bloody everywhere!”

A shot rang out and signalled the descent of bedlam. This first shot ricocheted off an APC near the head of a Black Guardsman who dove to the ground. The ground erupted in small spurts as though an invisible rain of hail had opened onto the rocky ground. Several Imperial Guardsmen who had been too slow to avoid the opening salvo fell twitching to the ground. The fortunate were twitching in the spasms of death but the remainder screamed as their guts spilled to the barren ground.

“Open fire. Fire at will!” came the order.

At first only the sound of returning machine gun fire erupted from the column, but as the Squads fell into their rhythm the booming sound of sniper fire punctuated this symphony. Then in came the heavy staccato of the stationary heavy machine guns, which lay down a withering cover fire. The roar of the weapons of the Heavy Weapons Specialists, the Plasma Cannons gave a deep bass rich in power. Each roar sent a bright ball of super heated plasma towards the enemy in the hills to either side of the column. Bright fireworks of flame and death illuminated the pass as men and their weapons were incinerated by the plasma deal out by the Squads. Screaming men ran from their previous positions, desperately seeking to extinguish the fires that had by now reached the combustion point of their bodies. No water available in the arid vista would extinguish such heat, and many of them blundered into their own comrades passing the affliction of pain and suffering to each other. Occasionally as one of the shadows rose to fire its head would disappear to the percussive sound of the sniper rifle as this symphony of death continued its deadly work. As the opposing force realised that the ambush had failed they attempted to use their superior numbers to push forward. Charging as one down the gentle slopes of the pass, they seemed to have no regard for their own lives. They fell, mowed down by the passes of the heavy machine guns. Snipers now no longer had to pick their targets with care, merely fire and move to the next man in the massed charge coming towards the Imperial line.

No tactics beyond the initial charge seemed to have been employed by the robed men beyond that of the initial ambush, seemingly intent on guaranteeing their own demise. Waves and waves of the men fell to the ground under the massed fire of the Squads, but still the robed men managed to get closer and closer to the column. Their numerical advantage meant that the Squads simply could not cut down enough to halt their inexorable advance. Each fallen man brought the wall of screaming men closer and closer to the squads. This decreased range also meant that the accuracy of the horde increased, despite the anachronistic firearms they wielded. The initial advantage the column had enjoyed melted away as Imperial Guardsmen under less advantageous cover were hurled from their feet by the impact of the bullets into their torsos or heads.

Sergeant Curtius had taken cover behind one of the Crabs and leaned heavily against the treads of the tracked vehicle. He felt dizzy and weak from the lack of food. He could not aim a damn. He took another glance around the side of the vehicle and opened fire again into the charge; well it did not seem his lack of ability to aim would matter much now, for it was almost impossible to miss. He ducked back as he felt rather than heard a bullet hum past his head.

Halberdier Amatius was in a similar position and condition to Sergeant Curtius, but, having less experience, was rather more agitated. He could see the faces of his parents in his mind as they were brought the bad news of his imminent demise. The words of his mother as she stated she had tried to warn him as all his dreams of citizenship fell down around him. He opened fire blindly around the rock he had been sheltering behind, trying to keep as much of his body under cover as possible. He heard the screams of several men, before he retracted his arm as the earth erupted around him from the retaliatory bullets sent in his direction.

Halberdier Valerius Cato rotated his chair to move from viewing the multiple sensor readouts to the weapons station. He cursed inwardly as he realised the attacking force had used the sandstorm and resulting heat wave afterwards as screen to sneak up on the column. Whoever they were, they were familiar with the terrain and environmental conditions. “Well”, he thought, “let’s see how familiar they are with modern weaponry”. He engaged the turret controls to extend the laser targeting and cannon mounts. While the Crabs could not afford the space to house a full tank turret, they could contain a dazzling array of smaller weapons and one reduced calibre large calibre barrel, all of which could be used independently. He frantically ordered the computer to seek out the heaviest concentrations of enemies for laser targeting, given he could see no trace of any vehicles yet. He then worked on getting the computer to aim for the remaining gaps in the line with the large calibre gun.

Along the line, the Crabs dug in their retractable legs for greater stability and unfolded their turret weapons. As soon as the long barrels reached a horizontal position, the turrets rotated to face out from the column. In the infra-red monitors it could be seen that a number of laser targeting systems flickered into life and painted small dots on close grouped concentrations of men. The turrets shifted back and forth lining up their shots, the laser sights raining trained no matter the movement of the turrets. Then the heat of the explosive percussion of the turret-mounted weapons obscured the monitors.

A line of earth rose up as the heavy weapons did their deadly work, felling hundreds of men at a time. The computer systems of the Crabs synchronised each round so that no matter the position of the individual vehicle its deadly payload landed at the same time as all the others. Men fell, while others flew through the air, wholly or in pieces as the shells hid the advancing host. In concert, another discharge from each APC filled the air with their cacophonies. Another wall of earth rose to meet the attacking force but still they advanced.

A wall of sound blasted into every man, woman and child on the ground forcing them to cover their ears and find what little shelter was available. A line of small dots would, had anyone chanced to look upward, have been visible as the Imperial tactical strikers dropped their deadly payload. From the rear of the column fire rose skyward, and on each side of the column this line of hellish proportions grew, engulfing the advancing men in their entirety. Where the laser sightings had been targeted thus the fiery rose blooms blossomed taking their deadly harvest of men’s lives. A wave of heat washed over the column as all sought out the cover of the APCs. Then the shockwave hit basting sand, dust, and rock at twice the speed of the storm they had only just escaped.

The roar died down and the ringing was all that was audible, soldiers shouted at each other to ascertain the position they were in, but not one was heard. Men stumbled from cover to survey the charred and burning vista. Gone were the advancing hordes; and in their place were charred bodies, mainly in their component pieces, indistinguishable from each other. The silence cosseted everything. As the soldiers realised that they were now no longer in danger they stood and shook the dust from their uniforms and looked round to see which of their comrades had also been so fortunate as to survive.

Lieutenant Gratius took the time to survey the reminder of the column, trusting Sergeant Curtius to apprise him of the state of his own squad when he had checked the status of each man individually. The altercation had decimated several squads. Pompeius Squad had fared particularly badly reflecting their lack of professionalism. They had lost a full half of their command structure and a third of their men. Luckily to the success of the mission, but not the prisoners, they had the least number of surviving prisoners left, meaning their diminished capacity was of little consequence to the overall mission. Lieutenant Gratius was not proud of having to appraise the mission in such a manner when it came to human lives but such was the realism of the mission’s objectives. He listened attentively when Sergeant Curtius similarly informed him of the state of his own Squad. Several guardsmen had fallen to enemy fire, but none of the specialists. While certain re-assignments had to be catered for to ensure cover and mobility issues, there were no casualties in his own command structure. Whilst the loss of several members this early into the mission did rankle, he was painfully aware the attack could have been worse. Had this been anything else than a wholly infantry based assault his losses would have been worse due to the lack of warning, although had vehicles been used the radar would have given more warning despite the storm.

“Is the settlement ahead of us confirmed?” he asked Sergeant Curtius.

“Yes Sir, Jerusalem is confirmed Sir.”

As the column made its way ahead the sand toned buildings hugging the multiple hills became more apparent and the minarets of the more prominent structures faded into sight from the obscurity of distance. The Dome of the Rock, its golden main feature and pale blue walls made it easy to distinguish from the earth tones of the other buildings. Although this building was situated upon a promontory, the surrounding hills gave it the appearance of being nestled in a valley. The urban sprawl hid the complex of walls that surrounded the construction obscuring the remainder of the impressive complex. Although the Dome dominated the skyline the remainder of the landmark buildings of the city were hard to distinguish, being made of the standard sandstone that was so readily available in the locality. The city in and of itself looked carved of the very bedrock, save for the occasional dilapidated pre-Imperial concrete structure in the newer quarter in the distance.

Halberdier Amatius looked down upon the vista that had housed generations of his pre-Imperial ancestors; not with the awe that in times past he may have done, but with the contempt of all that this mass of buildings evoked in the mind given he believed this city had birthed much of that which was evil in the pre-Imperial world. From these sandy buildings had sprung Judaism and Christianity, the seeds of Holy War and Jihad had been created from a struggle for this very city. A struggle that at its very core, to Balbus, was misplaced at best and heretical at worst. Judaism and Christianity had given birth to Islam, the very religion he sought to purge from the annals of his family by becoming a citizen of Sol Invictus. In the surrounding area lay the Church of the Nativity and close to the Dome itself, the Wailing Wall. All symbols of all that had crippled and brought low the fractured religious movements prior to the ascendancy of the might of Sol Invictus.

Lieutenant Gratius drank in the vista, remembering the hundreds of years of warfare he had read about in the textbooks and treatises he had studied. The Egyptians, the Romans, the Israelites, the Muslims, the Crusaders and the Ottoman Empire, all had found this poor desolate outcrop of rock hard to hold, but it seemed to all of them to hold some dreadful fascination, for they had expended much of their available resource to hold it against those that would take it from them, be it an invading force or an insurgent one from within. The tactical importance of this city was minimal, but its importance to the various religious movements of the area had meant that conquering and holding it cemented their mastery of the area in the minds of those they opposed. Had they adopted a purely tactical occupation of the surrounding area then those within would view their gods to be on the side of those in the city and would, consequently fight all the harder to rid the occupiers of the remainder. Such psychological factors as these played across Lieutenant Gratius’ mind, for it was no co-incidence that such an assault as had been launched was done within sight of such a rallying point. It did not bode well for the next few days while such evocative sites were near.

Chapter 9

Sol Invictus was surely not present in the trenches of the rebels mused General Hostilius to himself. Unable to cope with the thought of not witnessing the extremes to which the Investigator would go he had tapped into some of the forward observation post feeds. Perhaps if he held some leverage, some excess that even the Empire would not condone he could extricate himself from this predicament that he had found himself in. The warnings had been correct; any campaign involving an Investigator was bad news. General Hostilius, however was forced to concede to himself that this campaign was probably the worst, for normally the Empire retained a tight training an theological control over the Investigators. Cold and inhuman, they followed their instructions to the letter with no mercy and little deviation, save for operational necessities and always the objectives of their mission were paramount. Investigator Celeris could be seen moving around the bunker practically skipping, as compared to the measured stride she had used to enter the forward bunker. It would seem that Investigators took setbacks extremely badly and was now in the process of extricating some form of revenge on those that had inflicted such ignominy on her. Perhaps it was the training that taught her that Sol Invictus had tasked her with holy missions that had so unhinged her. The temerity of rebels who had no heavenly intervention frustrating the will of an all-powerful god must have shaken her faith to the point where she either felt as though her religion was false or this was a trial of her faith. Evidently she had decided that the trial was one of inflicting suffering on those that would so sorely insult her god and holy mission. General Hostilius himself had started falling to the other side of the fence, for how could a mission the inception of which came from Sol Invictus himself possibly fail? How could the compound suffering of men who, though mistaken in their actions, had fought bravely with valour utilising brilliantly those weapons at their command? There was no real resolution to these questions for General Hostilius, especially when Investigator Celeris was practically taunting him with the suffering of those in the opposing lines. The effects of the gas had become apparent for many of the rebels who had breathed in the noxious gasses made their way over their own lines, knowing that time was short. They hoped to throw themselves on the mercy of the Empire and gain medical aid for the agony that suffused their mortal remains. The comm.-link carried their screams for aid through to the bunker with crystal clarity. The first few had been shot immediately, for the soldiers had thought the rebels had instigated a retaliatory advance. This proved not to be the case as white flags were seen carried by those that made the walk into the gap between the two lines. As the men advanced they were seen stopping doubled up in agony, stopping to either spit or vomit before continuing. Investigators Celeris had ordered that such men not be fired upon. General Hostilius was surprised for he had not dared hope to see mercy in the actions of the Investigator in the throws of her madness. She had also ordered the advancing men contained and medical units dispatched to strap them to gurneys. General Hostilius had at that point tried to re-evaluate the Investigator. Perhaps the gas was a tool to further weaken the rebels so that they could be cured and tried for their crimes; perhaps this was the mercy of Sol Invictus in action.

General Hostilius’ hopes were quickly dashed when Investigator Celeris had ordered him to accompany her to the enclosure where the former rebels were to be housed. Rows of beds lined the tent each with the affected men strapped securely to them.

“See General, for whilst Sol Invictus passes judgement through me they shall not escape their fate by the hands of our men. If they advance and they are shot, then they are mercifully released from that which I have inflicted upon them. As we deceive them into the hope of medical attention we contain them here so that they may not seek an alternative end to the holy suffering they so deserve. They shall be contained here and they will feel the full horror of their choice to reject Sol Invictus’ will.”

General Hostilius could see the fronts of the grey urban camouflage uniforms stained black with bile and blood. The convulsions spreading the spray of internal fluids past the confines of the bed. Screams were muted by gurgling as those no longer strong enough to turn their heads or spray the blood from their lungs slowly drowned in the source of their own agony. Chunks of flesh occasionally flew from the mouths of those strapped to the beds as the lungs tore themselves apart under the influence of the gas that had been unleashed on their lines. The noxions were slowly ripping the rebels to pieces from inside with the force of their own reactions to the toxins.

To compound the horror of such a scene of mass carnage and agony there were to the side of each bed, a camera relentlessly recording each spasm and convulsion. Each fleck of blood that passed the lips of a rebel was recorded for posterity so that this tirade of human suffering could be replayed again and again. The screams of the death and dying and the death rattles of each man giving in to that eternal rest for which he had been perversely craving for days would exist in the Imperial archives for all time.

“It is not enough that each of these men should suffer the torments of the flesh. We must cause those rebels that remain to understand the anger of Sol Invictus at their actions. The replays of these cameras will shortly be transmitted to every speaker and comm.-link in the rebel positions. They shall see that which will befall them.” gloated Investigator Celeris.

Calidius Squad held their position at the edge of Jerusalem, the majesty of the historic vista having grown somewhat cold. Thankfully they had been left alone by the Black Guard who were moving with purpose transporting a number of packs into the city. When he had enquired as to the purpose of this Lieutenant Gratius was told in no uncertain terms that the movements were classified and he was to keep his men clear of the city. This was an order Lieutenant Gratius was all too pleased to follow.

“Why are we waiting here Sir? I mean we were just attacked within sight of this location and we could be again. Personally, I’d just keep moving.” Sergeant Curtius was never at his best in enforced stillness when there were objectives to be fulfilled.

“Our orders are to hold here and contain the prisoners while whatever the objective the Black Guard has been given is completed.” Lieutenant Gratius knew all too well the curiosity that would be in the minds of his men as the location of Jerusalem was all too important to those who opposed the Empire and its persecution of alternative religions.

The combination of a mass transit of prisoners and a secret operation within Jerusalem itself was an odd combination which had kept Lieutenant Gratius wondering for the march. A top-secret mission should be done with the least number of witnesses, for leaks could come even from within the prisoners. If the attack they endured as they had approached Jerusalem had resulted in the escape of even one prisoner from the convoy, then who knew what intelligence they would have gleaned from listening virtually unnoticed in the column. They would easily have picked up that something big was planned for Jerusalem, for why else would the entire convoy be routed here? After all would not it have been easier just to transport them over the Mediterranean on board ship or on an aircraft where it would be highly unlikely they would affect an escape, unlike on a long march through hostile terrain? It was not beyond the realms of possibility that the Empire had merely determined that as it had two objectives using transports was simply not energy efficient - so decided to combine the two. Lieutenant Gratius dismissed this possibility as the troops present would have had to have been requisitioned from around the planets of the Empire; the energy cost simply to transport them must have been phenomenal. There was something going on, that he did not understand. There was some implicit aspect of this mission that he was missing. It all centred on the prisoners, and Jerusalem. The troops were perhaps just a means to an end. Why would the Empire want the prisoners here of all places?

Sergeant Curtius was used to certain parts of his missions being on a need to know basis, but he was unused to being forced to wait around in potentially hostile territory while the Black Guard got on with the classified part of the mission. It did not seem all that complicated; all they did was carry boxes into the city and come out empty handed, and they had been doing this for a day and a half. Aculeo did not trust them at all. If they had all of that storage space why hadn’t they packed it with rations and water to cover the event of a sandstorm? These crates could have been dropped off here separately by the local garrison. The rumours of the Black Guards lack of anything resembling morals of propriety were astounding. The messy, grey level operations were all the Black Guard. At least the Investigators, as a general rule, left you alone unless they were investigating you specifically, or you were stupid enough to get in their way. On the plus side, with the city off limits, there was no prospect of being forced by the Investigators’ authority to attend another service at the Temple. Whatever was in those crates was bad news and Sergeant Curtius had made sure that all of the Squad had been warned not to have anything to do with the crates or the Black Guard if they could help it. There was however a way to see if there was anything that could cause his Squad a problem. He went in search of Halberdier Galbinius, although he was almost entirely self-centred he was at least capable of understanding that his survival was linked to that of the Squad. He was also able to keep his mouth shut, which, if Aculeo was going to attempt to find out about those crates, would be an advantage.

“Gurges, get over here.” Aculeo hissed at the sniper.

“What Sarge?” the urgency and secrecy inherent in Aculeo’s voice had carried over, thankfully.

“For the purposes of this conversation it’s Aculeo. This is an unofficial conversation, got it?”

“Sure Sar... Aculeo. Are you in the market for something?”

“No,… I’m looking to get some Intel on something we shouldn’t be looking at. Can you use your scope, not attached, to get a look at those crates and let me know if there’s anything I should know about them?”

“Well I could but …” Gurges made the universal gesture for money by rubbing his fingers together suggestively.

“No money, something’s wrong, I need to know to keep all of your asses out of the fire. Got me? Feel free to say no, but I’m not going to pay you.”

“If you put it like that Aculeo, I’ll give it a go. I’ve got to be careful though. I’ll only be able to do quick glances; I’ll have to look like I’m cleaning my gear so I can’t just point the scope at the crates and keep it there.”

“Good enough and thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet, we could all end up in a court marshal if I screw this up.”

Gurges took his station overlooking the prisoners, he did not want to start surveying the crates until he was not assigned; it would look more as if he was truly attending to his weapon. He could hardly take his weapon apart for maintenance when he was supposed to be on alert to use it. Every so often he would glance to his left where the unloading continued unabated. The line of black clad soldiers looked like ant carrying loads back to their nests but Gurges knew that the loads were something more sinister than food. It was not just the fact that Sergeant Curtius was worried, although that did little to salve his mind. The rumours of the sheer brutality and amorality of the Black Guard had reached his ears too. Given that Gurges was acquainted with some of the less reputable people in the Empire, although not the truly malevolent, he was a low-level acquirer of less than legal items, not a full-blown criminal. For a while now there had been whisperings of the Empire taking certain groups more seriously, more raids in the night of those suspected of not subscribing to the beliefs of Sol Invictus. This was not just the arrests of those suspected of being of another faith, for they were already common, but now there were also the capture of those who merely did not believe. Many of the more seedy inhabitants of the Empire simply nodded their head in the direction of belief and continued their merry way. However, they had started to attend sermons at the Temple more regularly and allow the priests more leeway in their business dealings. Gurges could tell there would soon be a crackdown if the criminal elements were becoming pious, especially as it was not in their financial best interest, from a purely economic point of view.

When his watch was over Gurges nodded almost imperceptibly at Sergeant Curtius. There were ways and means of going about things and Gurges did not want to give any indication of what he was about to do.

“Have you even bothered to clean that thing since we set off?” Yelled Sergeant Curtius, “We have been through a major sandstorm and an engagement! You know as well as I do that any dirt could throw that thing out by enough to put my life and the rest of this squad in danger. Get it sorted!”

Gurges now had his excuse for dismantling the rifle and looking carefully at all the components established; from here on, he was on his own. He climbed onto the roof of one of the Squads Crabs, one of the few flat areas with the space he would require. Sliding back the restraining bolt he removed the barrel and placed it on the Crab. After removing a number of other components, some screw, some bolted into place the sniper rifle was separated into a number of independent cleanable pieces. He then unpacked his field cleaning kit. Taking a number of paper towels, he wiped down the visible parts of the gun, just to get rid of the surface detritus. Gurges then took care to cover the stock with a regular towel so as to stop the various solvents he was going to use damaging it. As it would take a little while Gurges liked to spray everything but the barrel and the stock in solvent and let it sit while the time consuming process of barrel cleaning was done. As a sniper rifle was by necessity rifled to increase accuracy it was important to remove anything that could slow the spin of the round or throw it off on its route down the barrel. This could result in inaccuracy, dangerous enough in a military sniper rifle but there was also the chance of damage and backfire, which Gurges definitely wanted to avoid. With a reverence that would not have been out of place in one of the Imperial Temples during a service Gurges threaded the cleaning patch through the jib at the end of the end of the cleaning rod and inserted it into the muzzle. After he pushed it down in the muzzle he removed the cleaning patch at the other end, as he did not want to re-coat the interior of the muzzle with the materials he had only just removed. He repeated this until the patches came out clean. Gurges finally came to his favourite part, while this was not the most important part of weapon maintenance he found the intricate work of firstly oiling the stock, spraying the metal parts with rust protector and finally using a cue tip to apply Military Rifle Grease onto the moving parts strangely cathartic and helped in his mind to bond him to his weapon. After re-assembling his scope-less weapon Gurges packed the used portion of his field cleaning kit away and turned his attention to the scope. The exterior was rubbed down and a light solvent applied to the lenses. He then spent a good five minutes rubbing down the lenses with an extremely soft cloth so as no to scratch them. After a final light blow he deemed the job to be good enough and raised the scope to his eye to test it, a distant target was required to make sure nothing was out of alignment and Gurges, seemingly at random chose the line of Black Guard carrying the crates as his calibration point.

At first it was hard to make out any writing at all on the crates for the original markings had been painted over with black paint. Many of the crates looked simply unmarked as a result, but Gurges knew that eventually one would appear upon which a shoddy job had been done. He was not a cynic, but he certainly did not have much faith in human nature. He did not go disappointed. One of the crates although painted had not had a second coat applied to it and in the partial reflection of the Sun off the ridges on the crate he saw the remnants of the original markings, which would have been invisible close to or at the wrong angle. The markings read ‘C4 + Mg Combine’. This was a potent mixture of plastic explosive and a high temperature magnesium reactive burning agent, hot enough to melt steel. Whatever the target was it was formidable indeed, that reactant was generally used against military grade bunkers and field fortifications. Gurges decided it was time to tell Sergeant Curtius what he had learned when he noticed a Black Guard turn to see him looking down his scope at the line. With exaggerated care Gurges blew on the end of the scope and polished it off one last time before looking through it again, this time on a similar angle but this time not looking at the Black Guard’s operation.

“They’re unloading WHAT?” Asked Sergeant Curtius, while Lieutenant Gratius looked on in puzzlement.

“There’s no Intel I’ve come across that indicates anything that would require that level of explosives here. It’s been a backwater of Sol Invictus for years. Even the Imperial Compound is a basic, made of steel-reinforced concrete and capable of being breached by conventional plastic explosives,” mused Lieutenant Gratius. “This stuff is overkill.”

“Let’s get everyone back a bit further from the city; I’m not sure how far the effect of that stuff will go. It could blast the lot of us to Invictus himself if the Black Guard aren’t careful,” Advised Sergeant Curtius. “and there’s no way I trust them to be careful.”

The calls went out via the chain of command and all Halberdiers not only moved themselves but also moved their contingent of prisoners as far as they thought they could get away with, whilst still remaining ensconced within the overall encampment being used to contain them. It was a difficult manoeuvre as an entire block of prisoners would seem totally out of alignment compared to the roughly straight line maintained by many of the other squads. Fortunately the Black Guard were pre-occupied by the transport of the crates into the city and the rest of their orders and by the time they had finished these tasks a number of the more clued up Squads had also followed Calidius’ lead. As the squad that had not only managed to rid themselves of their Black Guard liaison and came through the recent attack relatively unscathed they had become an example of sorts, of what to do if you wanted to survive the mission.

The Black Guard came running out of the city, barely looking over at the Squads or the prisoners; obviously they cared little for the troops supporting them or the civilians they were supposed to be escorting. As the Black Guard ran behind their more distant Armoured Personnel Carriers the squads that had followed on from Calidius’ lead caught on, just after Lieutenant Gratius did.

“Hit cover! Incoming!” He yelled so that all within earshot could at least have the maximum chance to obtain what little shelter was available.

To the west of the prominent golden curves of the Dome of the Rock a square bell tower exploded in a hail of harsh silver sparks, the embers of magnesium melting through the surrounding buildings’ roofs and setting their interiors alight. The bright dancing lights were a parody of the fireworks seen in the skies of the Empire when the main Solstice Celebrations were in full swing. The Solstice Celebration fireworks however were much higher in the sky and would be hard pressed to be visible during the day. This blast, however, had no such difficulty. The force of the blast almost took the pale blue domes next to it off with its ferocity, but they were not to be spared as they too erupted with the same crescendo as the tower next to it. As the tops were blow off the blue domes a secondary explosion rumbled into being shaking the very earth upon which the entire column was sitting.

“What the HELL…” Sergeant Curtius started to exclaim as the rumble reached ear-splitting proportions.

The entire building that had housed both the tower and the delicate domes lifted off the ground and a jet of white fire spewed out of its narrow entrance. The entire world seemed to go silent as the structure reached the parabola of it journey. A wall of shock and noise burst from its landing point as the impact of its fall and the shockwave of the explosives set by the Black Guard flattened several thousand meters of the city.

As peace re-asserted itself a wail rose from the prisoners who had realised what had been decimated by the charges set by the Black Guard. Their visceral pain echoed from the surrounding hills as the Christian contingent of the prisoners realised the result of the blast. The Empire had eradicated the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. This was, according to their belief system, the place where their god-figure’s avatar had been killed and then resurrected. Several of them fell back to their knees and wept unashamedly in the face of such a cruel attack on their beliefs. Others were held back by members of their family in their anger, and in many instances individuals of other faiths who understood their pain given their own mythology was so tied in to this landscape.

Lieutenant Gratius, although not a believer, was staring at the smoking crater is disbelief when he overheard a Black Guard. The Black Guard had still not emerged from their sheltered position.

“Well, that’s one down. Just wait till they get a load of this!”

Sergeant Curtius had also heard the throwaway comment, “Oh Shi…” he exclaimed as everyone around them threw themselves back towards their cover.

The destruction of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre seemed as nought compared with what followed, intentionally or not the Black Guard had emulated the rains of fire and brimstone so inherent in the religions they scarred that day. There was a deep bass bump, which seemed to come from everywhere around the Squad. Nothing appeared to happen on the surface but there was an increase in the amount of wind towards the city. Silence once again reigned supreme, but all lived in dread of what would happen next as the anticipation hung in the air suffocating almost as much as the drawing of air towards the city. As it seemed that nothing untoward would happen; the entire earth dropped from under the column. Even though most people were lying on their fronts to reduce the target they presented to the blast, this unexpected gravitational assault winded all of them. As breath returned and eyes turned towards the city all realising that this was but the start of an event never to be repeated. Just below the golden dome in the centre of the city, a series of ancient walls blew outwards - dull thuds punctuating the sequential detonations. Surprisingly the Dome itself, close as it was to this amount of explosive, held its position and did not fall. It was then that it became apparent it was not falling because it was slowly rising, in one piece. It was borne aloft on a silver and white column of flames much like a pre-Imperial rocket launching toward the cosmos. Just as it was starting to slow its ascent the ground around the complex dropped in a circular formation, the sinkhole growing exponentially and a wall of white air flew outward ripping the Dome to shreds, the fragments of gold lost in the sheer power of the explosion. Buildings dropped into the crater forming around where the dome had stood and as the sound of the explosion hit the prisoners and the soldiers alike the world went truly silent. The panorama of continuing destruction became surreal when the sound disappeared. It was impossible to believe in the scale without an iota of sound to gauge it by. It became increasingly difficult to do that even visually as a cloud of dust obscured the scar left where much of the city had been, until recently. The dust being of larger particles than the sandstorm they had previously endured did not clog the senses it assaulted them as fragments of rubble battered at the cover and prone bodies indiscriminately. The haze and smaller dust particle felt unclean as though they were the dead and breathing them in was somehow cannibalistic. Many retched soundlessly as the particles made their way into the respiratory tract and they were disgusted by the feeling.

Then the shockwave hit, rendering all unconscious, save for the Black Guard and approximately half of the Squads who had managed to shelter behind their APC’s but even they were unable to raise themselves for a good number of minutes.

Chapter 10

“Surely releasing what-ever this other weapon is in the centre of the rebel controlled area would be more effective than on this minor outpost? I know tactically it has been a thorn in our side for a while as it meant the rebels had warning of many of our assaults, but there’s nothing much it can do if there’s no-one to warn.” General Hostilius regretted the words even as they came out of his mouth. Questioning an Investigator was an idiotic idea, much less one that had so clearly taken leave of her senses.

“You forget yourself General. Not only am I now in command of this mission - one that you have failed to complete, I hasten to add, - but the objectives of this mission have changed due to your failure. We are no longer seeking to end this little uprising as quickly as possible. Those who would throw off the rule of the Empire must be shown what the consequences of rejecting the rule of Sol Invictus are. We are to build a legend so dark that none would dare rise up again. The nature of this weapon is such that by instigating a strike on a minor target, albeit one that is tactically significant, it will achieve this end much better than simply launching it into the most densely populated area. That would be too quick. We need to let the fear spread as they try to figure out what is going on. When they realise the terror of their situation we unleash the penultimate weapon at our disposal.” Investigator Celeris shouted, clearly in the depths of some religious fervour from the depths of her being. Although her external demeanour was mainly calm and measured the cracks were beginning to show as a glint in her eye betrayed the pleasure she felt at the thought of what was to come.

“General, despite the fact that you are clearly flawed in your approach to this campaign I will allow you some share of the honour. You may enter the command to launch the second of the weapons I have selected. The second horseman shall be unleashed on the ungodly, exactly as their heathen beliefs say that it shall. This horseman is named ‘Plague’ and shall tear through their ranks. The only way to contain it with the facilities at their deposal is for them to eliminate their own as and when they show signs of the sickness. This may or may not be enough, but it will sap their spirit.”

General Hostilius knew that he should refuse the veiled order, this knowledge was not from any teaching of the Empire but from the confines of his own being. He knew that no human should inflict that degree of suffering on another, even when ordered by an Investigator with the authority of the Patriarch himself. A use of biological weaponry was not only disproportionate to the objectives but the deployment was in such a manner as to spread slowly through the ranks of the rebels and not to bring an end to the siege quickly. The outlying outpost would be infected and they would slowly spread the disease through the rest of the rebel lines as the troops were rotated. At first nothing would be noticed as illness would be relatively normal but the exponential growth would then panic the rebels as they would be brought low without the certainty of enemy action to define their losses. They would then be forced to quarantine anyone with signs of the contagion. The prudent course of action would be to exterminate anyone with the symptoms of the illness and burn the bodies. In the cramped quarters the rebels occupied this would merely serve to slow the spread. General Hostilius pondered if he could refuse to enter the firing instructions into the computer, but he quickly realised this would not help matters for the Investigator having superior clearance would just kill him and enter the order herself. With marked reluctance, he stepped towards the consol and entered the activation codes.

As people managed to find their feet around the squad, their mouths opened in horror at the consequences of the explosion. They cared not for the ringing in their ears that obliterated all other sound, for their agony was predicated on a more fundamental level. All that they had spent their lives believing in had, in that one instance, much of its earthly presence removed. The places that had reminded the prisoners of their steadfast doctrine in the face of such oppression from the Empire had been wiped clean away. Many of the scriptures to which they had subscribed described the eternal agony of being removed from their Gods presence and his love. Such separation was described as a black hole of despair that tore at the very soul of those so sentenced to spend an eternity in that place absent of that which they hoped to enjoy. In that moment of realisation after seeing the crater that had been Jerusalem, they began to feel the indeterminable agony that this described. The structures, which by their physical presence on earth had been such a comfort and served to bring them closer to the eternal of their worship, were suddenly ended and thus brought a sense of non-permanence to their beliefs; a set of beliefs that had depended entirely on permanence and eternity.

As the ringing in the ears of the column dissipated it was noticeable the mouths of the prisoners were not open merely in shock, but they were crying, tears flooding their cheeks, washing the stain of the dust from their faces. Men attempted to comfort the women and children as best they could numb in the shock that such an attack had on their very psyche. This was not just an attack on them or their person, which could be borne as sacrifice to the God they worshiped - be they Jew Christian or Muslim - but was an attack on the very identity of their people and their beliefs.

Balbus stared at the ruins of the city that had so captured the souls of the ancestors he was now atoning for by his service - those that had condemned him to have to earn his citizenship rather than being awarded it like those who were descended from over four generations of faithful followers of Sol Invictus. Inwardly he rejoiced for such a blot on Invictus had been eradicated. Now the unbelievers would know the true might and judgement of Sol Invictus himself was ranged against them and the futility of clinging to such outmoded and superstitious beliefs would be known. In his heart he saw the ascendance of the Empire joyful and resplendent. Never again would the old religions be in a position to challenge the true order of things. The Empire would be eternal and the souls of future generations would be saved; for the old religions were so dependant on structures and symbols to survive. With those symbols destroyed they would be powerless to hold man to their heretical beliefs. Balbus glanced around to see to the perimeter. The haunted hollow expressions of the prisoners hit him like a fist in the stomach. He could not understand the strength of his reaction, for was not this for the good of those that stood accusing him with their silence and horrified expression. Was not the will of Sol Invictus evident for all to see in the very destruction of the three religious sites? He saw the pain in his parents’ eyes as he left to join the Imperial Guard, the disappointment. He tried to imagine they would be proud of his involvement in this venture, glorified that their son was present at the salvation point of mankind. For some reason the image refused to come. He could just see the same expression over and over again; their faces did not change from that which he had seen when he left. Was this not a proud moment? Was this not the very pinnacle of his service to the Empire?

Lieutenant Gratius also stared at the devastation in front of him. Why had this objective been set as part of a mass prisoner transport? Surely, this would provoke a reaction among the factions that remained uncontained. A reprisal attack would certainly be an operational hazard if it had not already been so. Lieutenant Gratius’ quietly calculating mind pored over the possible repercussions. The Empire had obviously wanted the prisoners to see the destruction of their spiritual heritage; but for what purpose? This action would only effect as provocation and would certainly not subdue the prisoners, for they had been subservient and easily directed to this point, not even seeking their freedom when the attack had come outside Jerusalem. If anything this would cause the prisoners to harbour resentment and make them harder to control. The factions around this area had always been too caught in the past to ever be a credible threat seeking the destruction or conversion of each other, while simultaneously hiding from the Imperial gaze.

Cold sensations mad their way down Lieutenant Gratius’ spine as a realisation became evident. With the transport of the prisoners and their involvement, passive as it was, they were now the primary target of all of the factions who were not religiously loyal to the Empire. The action of destroying the sites at Jerusalem would serve only to unite the factions and force a confrontation. The column was merely bait, an affront to all the various factions believed in and now a primary target for vengeance. The Empire was seeking to bring the remainder of the factions into the open by their open assault on the very core of their religions. Lieutenant Gratius, despite his military training, could not see the resolution of his assessment of the situation. After the devastation of the forces ranged against them prior to the entry of the Black Guard to Jerusalem there could not be enough men left to perform an assault on the column. The firepower at the command of the Empire would require a veritable horde of men poorly armed, as they were to affect even a small breakout from the ministrations of the soldiers guarding the prisoners.

“Better fireworks than even the Quirinal,” exclaimed the Black Guard nearest to the squad. “Pity we could only do it once”

A prisoner was tackled by one of his compatriots as he sought to challenge the Black Guard for his comment. He hit the ground with a thud and remained pinned there struggling as the other man shushed him lest he came to the attention of the Black Guard. Sergeant Curtius swore under his breath. Up to now the prisoners had, with the exception of the sole attempted escapee, been easy to control. If they now felt like assaulting the Black Guard single handed then the duty which he was under would now be all the more difficult. He resolved to make it absolutely clear to his men that no taunting or baiting of the prisoners was now to be even perceived to take place; he did not want a riot on his hands.

“Move out. These unclean bastards have seen all they are supposed to. Let’s not wait for them to get a supply of relics to hold on to in the camps.” Came the order from Colonel Marius over the comm.-link.

The squad formed up into their previous marching formation and hustled the prisoners, who were still openly weeping, back into line between the various APC’s and started to move them out of the vicinity of the ruined city.

The landscape of broken desert began to give way to lands that contained at least some semblance of farmland and industry. The arid desert air began to pick up some cooling breeze from the sea and with it came a sense of comfort for the Squad for it distanced them from the events at Jerusalem, which still held some indefinable unease for even the experienced soldiers. It was one thing to destroy an opposing force, but to destroy an entire city, wherein people had lived, did not sit well at all. Resources were at a premium on Sol Invictus, having been practically picked clean years before in a last ditch attempt to save the human race. The resources had been expended on interstellar travel and the vast resources the wealthy had access to all came from other planets in the Empire. To completely destroy an entire city was unimaginably wasteful. Rather than to make the Empire seem powerful, it did to the soldiery make the Imperial power seem diminished and empty, carrying out such an act to subdue an ultimately powerless people.

“Is it not enough, Oh Lord that you punish us, the last of your people, with the persecution of the Imperials, but to destroy the last outposts that remind us of your mercy, what have we done to so offend thee?” came a prayer from the column to the ears of Sergeant Curtius.

Lieutenant Gratius used the night camp to fill in the squad on what he feared was the true intentions of the mission. He was careful to stress that this was only one possibility and faithfully avoided any mention of the wastefulness of the destruction of the city. He also made it clear that the squad should maintain combat readiness at all times.

“Sir, I heard one of the prisoners praying and he referred to themselves as the last of his people.” Sergeant Curtius reported.

“Hmm, well, that may well be true but given the actions I have seen so far then I doubt that that is true. He is one of a number of factions in this area and he could have been referring solely to his own faction. The others may be preparing to attack as we speak. I cannot think of any other reason for the destruction of the shrines that does not include provoking the factions into an ill-considered assault with the prisoners and ourselves as bait.”

“But Sir, he was in prayer, doesn’t that mean he couldn’t lie to his God or something?”

“I am no expert in the ways of these prisoners, even if you could identify which faction this prisoner belonged to it would very well be a ruse to put us off-guard. He may have sought a special dispensation while you were not listening.” Lieutenant Gratius paused, “Remember, we are taught that their Gods do not exist, there is little punishment to be metered by a deity that does not exist, therefore he is free to lie to his God as he sees fit with no fear of retribution. He is not bound by the same constraints that we are.”

The following day Mya followed the squad at a distance. She could sense the pain in the groups of prisoners as they shuffled along. She was at a loss to understand why the squad, the very one that had helped not only her but those others she had travelled with, was not now helping. They had given their food and water to the prisoners; they had let them take shelter from the storm. Why were they not helping now? Her people were sad and that made her sad. She was fed at least. After they had left that big city that had blown up the shipments of food had come regularly and the prisoners did find themselves passing wild bushes, which could yield some fruit, berries and nuts. These had been shared out mainly among the children but others had been allowed a share. Mya also did not understand the looks that the prisoners were giving the squad. She knew her people were heartbroken about the city being destroyed but the squad had not gone anywhere near it. The men who went into the city were the ones dressed in black and were cruel to the prisoners. The squad were different; they had been nice to her. It was all so unfair. She stamped her foot in frustration, keeping her distance part way between the squad and her people. She did not know which side of the glowering was the right side but she did know that she wished they could just make up. When she was younger, she had accidentally broken another child’s toy. She had been too ashamed to go near the other child for she knew she had done something wrong, not on purpose - she had not meant to step backwards without looking. She had also known the other child would miss that favourite toy terribly and be hurt that she could have been so careless with something that was so important. She had taken to hiding when the other child was around until her mother had asked her what was wrong. Mya had shook her head to indicate that she was not going to tell her mother anything, perhaps her mother would have been as hurt as the other child and would not love her anymore. Her mother had taken her into her arms and held her until Mya had realised that her mother would love her no matter what and had spilled out the tale over vast sobs and not a little mucus from her nose getting in the way. Her mother had wiped her eyes, and the rest of her face, and explained that love comes with an extra part that comes in useful.

Mya had, with the encouragement of her mother, gone up to the other girl, and apologised the next day. The toy had been long forgotten along with the hurt that the girl had taken as she thought her friend was angry with her. The girls had become fast friends just as they had been before the toy was broken, picking up just where they had left off and the whole incident nothing but a vaguely recalled memory. Mya wondered why the grown-ups could not just say sorry. She realised that all the buildings were much bigger than that toy, but surely that just meant the apology had to be that much bigger. After that they could all apologise to her for making her feel uncomfortable, after all she had had nothing to do with the city and it was not hers so why should she be made to feel bad about it?

As time passed and the fields grew green and verdant, the buildings that the column passed grew more opulent. As the largess of the surroundings grew so did the complaints of the persons that lived in the dwellings. They objected strongly to the passage of the unclean by their homes and only the presence of the soldiers managed to hold back the aggrieved residents. Mya hid in the middle of the prisoners when these deputations came to yell at the prisoners. They did not say nice things. They also threw things, nasty rotten things and hard things like stones. One had struck Mya and she had cried. The big soldier who yelled at the others a lot had seen what happened and he turned to the person who had thrown it and said a very nasty word, a word that Mya was not supposed to know. She did not know what it meant but she knew that it was a bad word to say. The person who had hurt her had not been happy, he had been even less happy when the big soldier hit him in the face. Mya had giggled when that happened and the big soldier had winked at her. The soldiers were not bad, they were her friends. She wished more than ever that everyone saw things the way she did. The big soldier had been in trouble for hitting the bad man, but afterwards he had winked again at Mya. He did not seem to mind being in trouble for stopping the bad man hurting her again. Why would not anyone see that they could all be friends again?

Mya steeped in these thoughts for days, and the days became weeks and the days became months. The routine never changed. At daybreak, provisions would be distributed and then everyone would start marching. They would not stop until nightfall when they would enter another camp and more food would be handed out. Mya did not like the food but as she was very hungry she ate it anyway and soon it began to appeal to her, but that was only because she was so very hungry and did not remember many of the other foods she had eaten in the past. The prisoners still kept their distance from the soldiers unwilling to trust those who had had a hand in the destruction of that which was most dear to them. Mya grew used to this separation, but she still was able to steal a wink from various members of the squad and she would cheekily wave back when no-one was watching. She was not angry with them so she wanted to let them know that. She would be carried for much of the marching for the distances were so great she did not have the stamina to cover them. She was circulated around the prisoners so as to share the burden. She would have preferred to sit in the big vehicle again, but she had grown used to having little say in anything.

Mya’s eyes widened in awe, the city that had blown up was nothing in comparison to the one that stood in front of her. There were marble buildings that gleamed in the sun. They looked like representations of heaven itself. She had never seen magnificence of this scale. The long straight roads that could be seen cutting through the labyrinth of smaller streets resembled canyons, not of nature, for their uniformity rendered them unnatural, yet fitting, for this monument to man’s advancement in the arts of civilisation. Mya was unaware of the history of the hilled city that lay in front of her, but the city of Rome was the inspiration for so many civilizations, good and ill, that it was in fact much more than a monument in said art. Although Greece, Persia and Egypt had contrived civilisations much earlier than Rome the Romans had generated a spreading, uniform system of governance that set the template for much of which followed. The Empire had of course damned it for abandoning Sol Invictus for the Christian God and had appropriated its’ largest religious palace for its own use, but fearing the toxic and apostolic influence of the city it had moved it to a small island on the northwest of the coast of the continent on which Rome was located. The Empire said that this was a result of the true religion coming from the ashes of the old. Since the world could never go back to the old ways, the temple had to be moved. To Mya, even with the lack of the Basilica structure, the city was glorious; surely this was a place of wonder. That the soldiers had brought her here surely meant that they were friends. Perhaps everyone would be able to put the other city behind them. This one was much better anyway.

Chapter 11

There was a shimmering in the Courtyard of General Hostilius’ Headquarters, he craned his head to see what fresh horrors the Investigator planned to loose upon the rebel soldiers. In the courtyard were several robotic tracked vehicles. They reached not to the height of a grown man but, clearly due to their squat tracked configuration, weighed at least twice as much. They did not appear to be armed in any way. For the second of the two plagues General Hostilius was confused as he was expecting something much more manifestly menacing for the plan of the Investigator was surely one of escalation. The gas had at least seemed unnatural and chilling prior to its effects being known. These automatons were not in the least threatening; they were almost, well cute, by Imperial machinery standards. They stood motionless as though they knew they were being inspected. Tracks lay at the bottom of the vehicles with a squat square body containing the electrical engine and battery. A series of small cameras’ sensors and antennae poked out from the almost cube-like body while a primary large pair of visual cameras, almost like eyes, sat on top of the ensemble.

The tracks ground into action crunching the gravel in the courtyard as the five automatons moved away. They moved ponderously, as though reading from an internal map, occasionally turning this way and that when faced with a new piece of scenery that appeared from behind another. They appeared to be getting their bearings from the visual markers rather than merely using GPS. Whilst this was more time consuming than the remote variant, if the GPS signal was disabled, either by attacking the satellites themselves or by scrambling the signal, these drones would continue to their target regardless.

Investigator Celeris turned to the General with a smug grin on her face, her previous efforts to keep her joy at inflicting punishing agony on the rebel positions from her face was now abandoned.

“The second horseman of Plague will shortly fall upon those impudent wretches. Each of those drones contains a virus that was feared in the pre-Imperial era. It was made airborne by scientists playing God, and they were rewarded by hubris. We found the complex in lockdown in an effort to contain the contagion. Everyone in the laboratory had died - their bodies eaten from the inside out by the virus they themselves had created. Samples of the virus were already secured within the remote release systems which are now attached to the drones you have just unleashed; your bow tipped with poison arrows. Lo how the unfaithful shall suffer, the weapons used by their kind turned traitorously against them, their petard rebounding its charge again’ them”

General Hostilius stared after the rapidly receding spectre of the drones in abject misery; such a weapon resisted all attempts to contain it. That was one of the principle reasons no current research was permitted into biological weapons. The containment of an outbreak was so utterly disproportionate to the potential gains that even a mass air strike would be preferable. In fact after a biological weapon was released perhaps the best way to contain it would be via an airborne barrage of incendiary devices. One might as well skip straight to the incendiary devices and save the hassle of wondering if all the microscopic threats had been eliminated.

It appeared that the city of Rome had been cleared of human occupants prior to the arrival of the convoy; the wind whistling down the deserted roads and highways with ne’er an object to impede it. Small quantities of dust swirled in the eddies of the air currents, twisting and turning in forgotten corners. For a sprawling metropolis, the silence was unnerving and put the observer in the mind of a curse enacted by the God that had been worshiped here in revenge for all that he had since endured. The column moved onto the deserted Highways that lead to the central complexes. The modern structures comprised of box-like functional structures that slowly metamorphosed into buildings designed more for their artistic qualities than their mere functionality. White marble became more apparent and the number of religious buildings increased. Devout Sol Invictines made various signs of devotion for the disconcerting effect of a deserted city and the bastions of a dead or dying religion were a distressing combination. An air of wrongness pervaded the air, which only increased as the column moved further into the city.

At the centre of the city complex was a vast earth covered area. It was unusual for a city to have unused space in the centre untouched by human hand or even plant life. The area looked as though it had been contained within a pedestrian square but the square had been removed. A massive crater dominated one side of the square, as though whatsoever that had stood there had been scooped out of the very earth by a gigantic hand. As the column grew closer to the crater it was evident that a more careful excavation had taken place with straight edges and corners being observable as the distance fell and the perspective did not blur the hole into massive proportion.

The soldiers used this open area to settle the prisoners at first for it allowed a clear staging area while more permanent solutions were constructed. The prisoners sat in huddled groups on the ground in loose family units surrounded at the edges of the square by soldiers. The square slowly filled as the column grew shorter its final destination swallowing its personnel, feeding its giant belly. The squads took guarding positions at the perimeter of the prisoners until at last the square was full and the soldiers were positioned around the exterior of the square. The soldiers looked uneasily to their commanding officers as it became clear that there was no compound to house the prisoners and no-one to hand them off to.

“A portable compound will be arriving shortly. Secure your section of the prisoners in one of the nearby buildings. These will serve as temporary accommodation until it arrives.” crackled the orders over the comm-link.

As the abandoned buildings were secured and filled with the prisoners the oppressive weight of the deserted city lifted partially and the squad looked forward eagerly to visiting either the Capital City, Invictus for a period of rest and relaxation, or at least one of the nearby cities. The march was over and they could now hand over custody of the prisoners to either the local contingent or whatever other force would be assigned to this soon to arrive compound to be established in the bones of the abandoned city.

“What’s the first thing you’re going to do on R&R Gurges?” asked Cato, an assault trooper, of the sniper.

“What do you think the first stop on an R&R is going to be?” Gurges laughed “I’m going to a Library”.

Cato looked at Gurges in confusion.

“For Invictus’ sake, I’m getting a drink. You really thought I might go to a flipping library? What type of pathetic looser do you think I am? I’ll find the strongest drink I can to help me forget this entire Invictus cursed march. I have tasted nothing but dust since that damn storm.”

Cato nodded. The memory of the bodies dropping into the storm despite the squad’s best efforts still appeared in his dreams, though not as frequently as it had in the vicinity of Jerusalem. The sooner he could be rid of both the prisoners and the memories the better. He let Halberdier Gabinius enter the building adjacent to the one that housed their portion of the prisoners.

Halberdier Gabinius reached the roof of the former office block and took a deep breath of the much fresher air. The dust of the abandonment had not yet permeated this high up. In fact the air was, given the size of the city, cleaner now than it had been for some time, as humans were not generating so much detritus with their machines and movement. After a brief stretch he settled down to observe for signs of either escape or assault down the main streets of the metropolis. He surveyed first the North of the city, for if a force was following it would come from the same direction that they had arrived from, but there was no sign of pursuit. He then turned his attention to the South. There, on the edge of visible distance with the scope of his sniper rifle a squat grey mound sat on a hill. It looked fresh, as though it had been recently constructed.

“Gabinius here. There’s a large concrete structure to the south, conforms to the standard for an Imperial Military bunker, with secondary lines. Awaiting orders.”

“Maintain position. We are aware mobile structures are on their way, more permanent additions would have had to have been constructed prior to our arrival. Observe only, it is probably only a part of the complex we are expecting and will be utilised in containment.”

“Understood.”

Lieutenant Gratius was not overly concerned about the presence of a concrete Imperial bunker, despite the fact that it indicated a more permanent compound than he had been led to believe. Once the mobile compound pieces arrived and were assembled to provide a secure complex to house the prisoners, the local contingent could take care of guarding the prisoners. His men then would be free to enjoy some R&R, and before being sent to their next assignment. Hopefully, a nice quiet Hell-world. Aquilinus had never thought that he would look forward to guarding over the poverty and desolation of a Hell-world, but compared to this march it would at least be peaceful and he knew that the criminals that populated such worlds had received a trial under the laws set out by Invictus. Most of the criminals were abjectly honest that they had committed the crimes they were accused of and bore their imprisonment with dejected stoicism.

A rumble of tracks woke him from his reverie and he turned to see the arrival of vast transports carrying the walls and other components required to construct a prisoner containment complex. The wire fences with razor wire toppings were placed on the top of the other materials. Lieutenant Gratius groaned, he hated Imperial razor wire; some poor idiot always got slashed when unloading or otherwise handling it. The gloves never seemed to offer enough protection, although more than was afforded than by not using them.

Lieutenant Gratius was about to order his men to assemble for construction duty when the comm-link hissed into life. “Assemble the prisoners for construction duties in the square.”

Lieutenant Gratius gave the order, but was puzzled. It did not seem prudent to have the prisoners construct their own detention complex, and surely, the possibility of constructing an escape route into the complex would enter into at least one of the prisoner’s minds? He would have to be extra vigilant when over seeing his portion of the camp construction to make sure no such mechanisms were embedded in the project.

As the soldiers guided their detainees to the square a Black Guard member stood directing each prisoner to various areas of the square. Men were sent to one area, women to another, children to yet another and the elderly to the final area. Women screamed as their children were pulled from their arms. The men attempted to push to reunite themselves with their offspring and the children were carried in a conveyor belt of Black Guard to their assigned area, tears tracing lines down their stained cheeks. Some of them still clutched stuffed toys that had barely survived the march. Those parents who struggled overmuch to retain their infants were beaten over the head with rifle butts and shot as they lay gasping in widening pools of their own blood. The majority of the prisoners, however, allowed themselves to be pushed and herded into the respective groups created by the Black Guard. The largest part of the Black Guard stood by the children and elderly, the prospect of violence to these two groups serving to control the remainder. Calls of “This way, rat” echoed out across the square as the Black Guard separated groups that spanned several generations, segregating people as though they were cattle. It was clear that the Black Guard no longer saw these people as human.

Colonel Marius watched dispassionately as his troops sorted and separated the prisoners. He was not in the least bit happy with the orders given by the Investigator as to how the prisoners were to be treated. It went against everything he believed in, everything the Temple had taught him about the compassion to be shown to those who refused the Empires doctrines and held to the old faiths. Why keep them alive? It would be more efficient to simply exterminate them now and let them be sent to the Hells for their impudence in rejecting Sol Invictus. That was the only mercy that he had been taught would be appropriate for these animals. They had forfeited their right to be human by their blasphemy. Even better, some of the explosives he had been assigned was unused. This vast stain on humanity could have been removed in a fraction of the time by sealing them up in one of the disused buildings with the explosives primed and detonated. In fact he could have achieved some part of efficiency by sealing them in those heretical “shrines” in Jerusalem before they were eradicated, never to be used as a symbol against the Empire again. Still it was meet that at least the prisoners would at least perform one service to the Empire before they met Sol Invictus himself to be punished.

Lieutenant Gratius stared with incredulity at the sight of a heavy assault squad from the Black Guard making their way to the group of elderly prisoners. Why station them there? They were the least likely group to make any trouble. The prudent course would have been to station the heavy troops with Gatling cannons by the men. The women would not make a move for they would not risk leaving their children to face whatever fate the Empire had planned on their own. The men, however, would be potentially more aggressive and likely to take rash action. The elderly, by comparison, could not hope to tangle with armed men and hope to achieve anything; they were too decrepit and starved to put up much resistance. They could barely stand; they certainly would not have survived much more marching on the rations that had been assigned them; especially as they had insisted on donating so much to the children.

The scene before the squad seemed to slow as the march of the heavy troops stopped. The black carapaced soldiers executed a smart left turn, their right feet meeting the ground in perfect unison. The rumble of this precision manoeuvre echoed round the square as it halted all other sound. Everyone turned to see the following actions as though hypnotised. The black soldiers were wearing regulation gas masks that hid their features and matched the rest of their armour. The effect was chilling; these were no men, but inhuman creatures of terror and the night. The entire uniform was designed to be a vision from a nightmare of a depraved man. As one, the Gatling cannons were moved to firing positions a ninety-degree arch of movement that seemed to take an eternity to complete. Realisation came in a tidal wave to Lieutenant Gratius as he realised that the soldiers were facing the elderly prisoners who were simply standing and staring at the hideous visages in front of them. The gas masks even appeared to sneer in contempt and derision when faced with the people they so despised. First one barrel rotated one click to the left and then another. Again and again the first click from each gun registered with Lieutenant Gratius. As he glanced at his men he realised this scene was washing over them in the same way it was him. Each click seemed to provoke a wince from each of the men under his command. Looking to the other squads; they too shook and winced as the clicks reached them. Although they all turned from what they knew would soon follow, their eyes remained fixed on the scene in front of them even as their heads and bodies slowly turned as though shielding themselves.

A high-pitched whir formed from the increasing number of clicks from the guns levelled at the elderly as the barrels spun round faster and faster so as to reach maximum rotation before the onslaught began. The multiple barrels of each gun became a blur and the inevitable drew closer the faster the barrels rotated. Eyes glued; the men of the Imperial Guard felt the bile rise in their throats and threaten to overwhelm them. It rose so fast it seemed that it could overtake the projectiles that all knew were coming but were helpless to prevent.

An elderly man moved in front of a woman the squad could only presume was his wife. The futility of the gesture was only outweighed by the indefatigability of his sacrifice. His body slammed backwards into the woman spinning her around, almost knocking her from her feet as a red spray covered one side of her face. The crowd of other elderly prisoners obscured where he fell. The staccato explosion of the first shot echoed around the square, soon joined by many others drumming out a terrible beat that saw prisoner after prisoner thrown back into their compatriots. Rivulets of blood ran down towards the pit that had previously housed the foundations of the Temple now standing in Invictus. The elderly fell as though reaped by an unseen hand, row after row falling prey to the deadly rain that lanced into their ranks. There was virtually no movement as they stoically met their end, knowing that they bought the other prisoners a brief sojourn with their sacrifice. The eyes all remained firmly fixed forward, a quiet acceptance of courage in the face of certain death. Soon a sea of bodies was seen in front of the dwindling field of surviving prisoners, their limbs contorted in unnatural positions. The impact into their briefly surviving friends and family gave them a mockery of life in their final resting posture.

The guns did not silence until the final elderly prisoner was mowed down. The Black Guardsmen then proceeded to walk among the dead like behemoths of vengeance firing upon the vast field of corpses to make sure each last one was indeed dead. The bodies convulsed under the onslaught, this mockery of their humanity too hard to bear for those watching. The members of the Imperial Guard, now free of the compulsion to watch, turned away, sickened at the wanton and wholesale slaughter and ignominy of those that lay bleeding and dead, twitching from the momentum of the bullets that shattered their mortal remains.

A cry rise into the dark silence from the group of children. “No!” as Mya was held by an older child from rushing not to the aid of the elderly prisoners, but to Calidius squad; her hands raised in supplication. Begging for them to do something, to make this not be.

With a heavy heart, Lieutenant Gratius turned from the crying child, shame making a heavy burdensome home within his breast. He could not bear the tear stained eyes to bore into his being any longer. What had been a pleading stare, imploring him to act, had turned through the many emotions of realisation of betrayal. She had disbelieved, but finally she was disgusted, almost as disgusted as he felt with himself. Even Sergeant Curtius stared at his boots unwilling to meet the moral certainty of that stare. Halberdier Amatius ran round a corner and the sound of repeated retching could be heard for several minutes as the remainder of the squad stood shell-shocked at the harvest of death that lay before them.

Chapter 12

Red lights began flashing in the bunker as General Hostilius ran into the control room.

“What in all that is holy is happening now?” he yelled as the klaxons started to wail.

He watched the screens tracking the probes, for he knew that in all probability whatever was causing the lights and sirens to go off was connected to the probes.

“Initiate containment sequence” ordered Investigator Celeris calmly. “It would appear we have an issue with the probes.”

General Hostilius grunted under his breath, he knew that a machine entrusted with the most deadly bio-warfare weapon yet found by the Empire, at least as far as he knew, had definitely been a bad idea. The containment procedure would further deplete his already stretched forces, but at least the affected area would plug the resulting hole in his lines for him. The puzzling part was what had happened to the probe to make it malfunction and release the bio-agents early. The targeting was designed to operate without the need for GPS or external assistance. They were designed to be a fire and forget solution, once released it could be assumed that they would continue to their target. Even EMP’s would be ineffective due to the faraday cage that surrounded their electronics, shielding their vulnerable workings. Now he would be forced to shoot anything or anyone coming from the contamination zone, even his own troops. Another disadvantage would be the fact that his surviving troops would be required to wear full Hazmat gear, which would limit their effectiveness, as their field of view would be severely curtailed by the protective masks. Even though the masks were designed with the latest in HUD and anti-glare technology peripheral vision was lost, hearing was muted due to the interference of the cocooned environment.

“Why are the probes malfunctioning?” Asked General Hostilius, his voice edged with frustration.

“It would appear from the diagnostics that at least two of the probes were damaged by a precision shot to the processors. The third probe is at least for now, despite minor damage proceeding on target.” Investigator Celeris intoned, her earlier enthusiasm somewhat waned. “The impact will be somewhat lessened with the reduced payload, but this in itself is not an insurmountable problem. The payload is essentially self-sustaining and will replenish and expand on its own. The period before it becomes critical will be increased due to the less than ideal start point, but we did not need criticality for this is a weapon of fear and demoralisation. We still have the third and forth horsemen to unleash. We would not want for the rebels to escape the horrors to be found in these weapons. I abhor unfinished business.”

General Hostilius shuddered. The sheer dreadfulness of a biological weapon severely stabbed  his soul and the thought of yet more weapons designed not to win the battle but prolong the agony did not sit well with his training as a soldier. He was, however, trained to follow orders and as such, he could do little to end this encounter.

The prisoners, now freed from the weight of caring for their elderly and with the children now effective as hostages, worked upon the task set to them. They erected the wire fences and sandbags with startling efficiency despite the harangued expressions on their faces. Their movements, although tired, were efficient and they worked in such a way as to stay out of the way of the Black Guard.

The prisoners were not the only people attempting to limit their exposure to the Black Guard. The Imperial Guardsmen, almost to a man, could not bring themselves to look at the heavily armoured men that had propagated such slaughter. They maintained a distance and adopted positions as far out of the way as possible. Lieutenant Gratius, who would normally have taken steps to halt such dereliction of duty, seemed drained and diminished. The lack of discipline was endemic amongst all the squads, not just his and no-one seemed willing to do anything about it. The only discipline was found within the Black Guard itself and surprisingly the prisoners, who worked without complaint or much rest. It could not have escaped their realisation that the complex they were working to complete would become their tomb once it was completed. Their serenity served only to shame the squad even further. Halberdier Amatius chose to spend ever more time on the roofs to avoid the accusatory glare he could feel coming from where he knew Mya to be. The previously clear air filled with cloying dust from the constant construction below, seemed to reflect the unclean taint on the squad itself for its complicity with the killings. The dust would cling and no amount of washing in the poor facilities available would remove it, much as any amount of self-pardoning did not wash away the blood.

“Why did they do it?” asked Balbus of Aquilinius one day.

“The old would not be able to work as hard and so were a liability. They could kill them and still keep the children under control. It showed that they were serious and that any attempt to rise up would be met with instant reprisals directed not against those who rose up but those they would seek to save by doing so. It was to remove all hope so that they would be subdued like cattle.” His eyes stared at the ground in shame that he could actually comprehend such atrocities as though they were simple acts of economics.

Balbus stared incredulously. How could the Empire simply use lives in such a manner? It was one thing to execute those accused of a crime, but as far as he knew the elderly had been sent here to be tried and processed. They had been pawns in a deadly game of chess for the beliefs of the Empire. The teachings of Sol Invictus were nothing if not completely clear on the rule of law, for that was where the unerring unbending aspect of the divine was contained. If there was no divine justice, then there was no Sol Invictus.

Over time the construction of the wire fences was completed thus giving the perimeter some form of permanence and enabled the squad to further focus on introspection. This was not an opportune time for they could see the prospect of that which would soon come to pass. When the complex would be complete so then would the use of all the prisoners. For other squads the prospect of yet more slaughter did not sit well, but for Calidius they had formed an attachment with Mya and relished not the prospect of watching her mown down or cast into the flames of the Inquisition as fate may decree. Thankfully, she was too young to merit the attentions of the Black Guard. The screams of those women who had managed to catch the eye of the heavy troopers echoed around the camp at night with no sign of stopping. Several women had attempted to escape, as a way of terminating their own lives in horror at their treatment. This had not worked; the attractive were merely retrieved and handed round the barracks. The end that the women desired was evidenced by the crude nooses that were found around their necks in the morning, they had been self-fashioned from the very rags they wore. Lieutenant Gratius wondered how long it would be before the Black Guard ordered the women to be maintained nude so that no more could escape their clutches. Either that or they would be strung up restrained so as not to be able to defend themselves or end their own suffering. They would also be available for use whether they were conscious or not. Lieutenant Gratius suffered noticeably on nights when the screaming was particularity bad. He started out unable to sleep and finished unable to wake from the visions that tormented him as a result of the screaming. The squad also suffered similarly, Balbus started crying himself to sleep. For one who had been so attached to the idea of being a citizen he had been a gentle soul at heart and had not truly understood that which would purchase his goal. The pain and suffering that would be paid by others in his stead was beyond that which he had contemplated. It was inconceivable that he would be able to continue on to the inevitable conclusion of this mission. Lieutenant Gratius realised that this mission would be a death sentence for many of his men who would crack under the pressure of committing or being party to such acts as they would be called upon to do, for it was painfully clear that there was no relief and no hand-over of the prisoners. Even if there were, would he or his men be able to simply walk away knowing what was to be done. Was not what was being done the same or similar to that which these prisoners were accused of being linked to in the bodies of their old religions? Was not this exactly what was supposed to be avoided by such an act?

Sergeant Curtius lay in his poorly sheltered bunk listening to Balbus sobbing again. The dreams were getting worse, not just for Balbus. The rest of the men were now frequently waking with a start as though the final days were upon them. Several of the other squads had seen members simply walk away from their posts and blow their own brains out. Calidius had for some reason escaped this. It was probably because they were much less controlled and found small outlets for their emotions, such as placing a gentle hand on Balbus to stop the crying, when possible. Such small measures of mercy, even within their own number made a small yet important difference.

As days passed the size of the project became apparent, there were large basements, heat shielded made out to look like showers, but no shower could get hot enough to require heat shielding of that measure. There was no disguising the gas pipes aimed into the chamber and the mechanised sweeping systems installed within it. The complex seemed completely taken up with chambers of this type but there was precious little within the build of living quarters making the purpose of the complex all too clear. There was to be no detention of prisoners. The temporary constructs would not hold for an established camp and no new accommodation was being built. The inference was clear, there was to be no-one living in the camp and the dead were to be disposed of a quickly and efficiently as possible.

The malnourished prisoners soon started falling at the wayside of the construction project and due to the segregation of the prisoners and the guards the squad was unable to revert to the behaviour that had so sustained the prisoners during the march. The pain of such inactivity held them apart from each other and the camaraderie that had sustained them thus far began to falter. Had but there been some way of extricating themselves from the vicinity of the horror they were witnessing then they may have coped better but as it was they had to stand by idly. The unholy combination of the dying constructing the method of their own execution was of tortuous irony to the squads. Gaunt eyes stared in pain at events beyond the control of the ordinary soldiery as numbness settled to replace pain.

“Oh god, not another one.” Mumbled Corporal Triarius as he saw another girl being dragged into a nearby tent from the lines transporting raw materials to the main construction area.

The revolution on Aulus’ planet had started as a result of the planetary governor insisting on the right of Prima Nocta, a practice that was slowly taken up by his personal guard and hangers-on. A large number of children had been born with a small number of distinct characteristics, indicating a small range of genetic source material. He had been studying in school when his sister had been taken and the revolution started. At some point in every atrocity, a small act will spark a much larger one like a snowflake triggering an avalanche. The flash of the image of his sister’s broken and naked body speared into his brain as the girl screamed again.

“Leave it,” Sergeant Curtius warned quietly having overheard the twinge in Aulus’ voice but Aulus started forward anyway shrugging clear of Sergeant Curtius’ restraining hand.

Aulus walked forward not with any speed but in a calm and resolute manner, he held himself tall and proud, the hopeless matt to his eyes finally gone. Pride filled his soul as he finally fulfilled what he thought he should have done all those years ago as his sister lay on the bed screaming at every touch meant to comfort her, when his mother brushed her arm she would flinch and recoil. It had taken days to clear all the blood from her face. He reached the entrance to the tent as Sergeant Curtius reached Lieutenant Gratius.

“Sir, we have a problem Corporal Triarius has snapped, he’s going for a Black Guard.” Sergeant Curtius yelled.

“It’s too late, I read his file, we can’t help him. Anything we do will implicate us as well,” Lieutenant Gratius sighed knowing that that was the only way that Aulus would find peace. In avenging this anonymous woman, even at the cost of his own life, there would be transference to salve the guilt that had flowed so freely. Death would be his only release, vindicated and triumphant in a much belated attempt to right the wrong of his inaction.

Aulus opened the flap of the tent and lunged for the semi-naked figure of the Black Guard seeking to unleash his bestial needs on the innocent within. The tent collapsed as the Guard struck the centre tent pole and fell writhing under a whirlwind attack from Aulus. Aulus no longer constrained by the teachings of his training was using all the tricks that he could muster to remain in control of the fight. His teeth, knees and elbows were all well placed to keep any semblance of rational thought from the Guard’s brain or air from his lungs. While this tactic was initially successful, it was only a matter of time before the Guard’s superior weight would begin to turn the tide. Still the position of his trousers around his ankles did provide a major balance advantage for Aulus, which was why he had taken his time getting to the tent, as well as to avoid the attentions of the rest of the Black Guard.

The collapse of the tent had unfortunately negated this part of Aulus’ plan and the attentions of the Black Guard were firmly fixed upon the writhing figures within the flapping canvas. Cries of “she’s a spirited one” and other such raucous ribaldry reached the ears of Calidius Squad, but it was not long before the extra figure was visible in the melee and six Black Guardsmen ran to the aid of their compatriot. Still fixated on the rapist Aulus struggled not to free himself but merely to reach the object of his ire. His eyes remained fixed as the first punch struck him in the gut knocking the air from his lungs. The fire in his eyes did not die with the lack of oxygen and the intensity flared with the second and third impact. His legs crumpled as his ability to stand deserted him, but this did not stop the breathing as kick after kick rained into his body. As no scream exited his tortured frame, the attending guards started using rifle butts to vent their frustrations on his bruised and tortured frame.

As one man Calidius Squad turned away from the scene of their friend being slowly beaten, the shame of doing nothing in the face of their friend’s pain a dagger in each of their hearts. They trudged back to their adopted posts as the screams started, for howsoever strong a man’s spirit is there is always a point where his body overturns the resolve. For Aulus the vicious attacks had broken his resolve not to scream, not when the steel toecaps targeted his face, nor his kneecaps but when the attentions were turned to his genitalia he broke. The Black Guard sensing weakness focussed their attentions on the area that had yielded such satisfying results. When they reached a state of boredom with simple bludgeoning, they broke out their service knives and proceeded to remove the skin from the already prone and screaming figure. Such vileness was the end for when the screaming gave way to exhausted sobs in order to resume their entertainment the knives sought deeper flesh to exact their tortuous price. Holding the dead flesh aloft the laughter bore the shame to the squad despite having no line of sight.

Exhausted by the depredations he had endured Aulus felt naught but the pain and humiliation but could not bring himself to care. He had failed, failed to protect when he had finally made the right decision and the knowledge tore at him far more deeply than those tears and cuts that the Black Guard had inflicted. He despaired in his final moments that all had been for naught; he had betrayed that which he had hope to preserve and been complicit in all he had promised to stop. As the darkness swelled to engulf him he finally sensed peace, not from within but without. A peace that encompassed everything he could hope to envision or experience. A peace that reached out to him and explained exactly what had occurred and why. Had he been asked in his final moments Aulus would have been unable to verbalise this feeling but he would have known its truth. As this light of comfort took him, he heard the words: “A snowflake can start an avalanche, as one act of compassion can change the world.”

Chapter 13

General Hostilius had come to accept that he was no longer in command, and was in a perverted way enjoying it. No longer were the inevitable deaths his fault. No cause could touch him now for he was irrevocably damned, for the Investigator would merely melt away leaving the accolades or the infamy solely to his supposed command. Corvus lay back in his bunk, now more relaxed than he had been for days, partially due to fiery spirit he had so vigorously imbibed. Such depredations were severely punished but as, at least on paper, he was the highest-ranking officer then he could allow himself a little licence. The relaxation and feeling of inebriated goodwill and ease with the world lasted all too small a time as he curled into a ball bemoaning his lot. The tears fell thick and fast as he shuddered with excruciating sobs of emotional agony. In times of need a man will find himself faced with a choice between making a decision or avoiding it, both may lead to the depths of despair. Corvus had chosen the latter and complicit in guilt was achieving a state of dark nirvana that can rarely be achieved. As this melancholia drew in as a set of macabre curtains on a Halloween night he heard a voice whisper in his ear,

"Come General, this is no way for a commander to behave, although it does serve my purpose. Too long has the military had the whip hand over the Investigative forces by way of numbers alone. We shall bring the night crashing down upon thee to serve the Empire ever more diligently.

Come; witness that which I have, with your help, wrought. The agony is a cacophony of sin, delicious with righteous vengeance that eats away that which is weak and unholy. I baptise the unclean in the filth of that which they and their ilk created in their darkness. That darkness which we protect the Empire from."

The Investigator manhandled Corvus from his bunk with a strength that belied her size, the training to which she had been subjected assisting her in manipulating centres of balance and gravity. The stumbling form of the once proud General brought gasps of surprise from those in the command centre. Whilst the General could have enjoyed, in his more private quarters, a few beverages of the alcoholic variety he could scarcely seek to avoid repercussions here, in the very nerve centre of command. Although he was incapable of command he was technically the ranking officer and, Investigative prerogative aside, his orders were to be followed, even in his current state.

"Make way for your ILLUSTRIOUS commander" mocked the Investigator chuckling, "He has come to witness that which he has wrought in the Holy name of Sol Invictus himself. No longer shall we round up the heathen for individual justice, but we shall corralle them and visit the wrath they so richly deserve upon them."

The almost comatose and gently crying General was dumped unceremoniously into the seat of command, in which, until recently, he had served with great distinction. Displays around the bunker showed zoomed-in displays of rebelled and Imperial troops alike, pitched in battle with each other while other troops in Hazmat suits mowed down both sides indiscriminately if they came past a pre-set point. The bulky Hazmat uniforms made the perimeter troops seem inhuman and monstrous, less so however than their actions. The lack of expression held a grimace to the countenance of the silhouetted figures in the murk of the battlefield. As men spun and fell, pirouetted from their feet by the hail of lead from the rotating barrels of the heavy troopers’ guns, their expressions all held the same sharp scream of pain and betrayal. Each flash of eye contact the camera caught stabbed at the General as he ineffectually sought his service pistol for the second time in that campaign. He was however foiled by the icy grip of the Investigator who simultaneously held his head to face the screens so awash with human misery and agony. Had he the strength he would have turned away but the blurred strength he still possessed was unfocussed and he could do nought but toss and turn to little effect, his eyes never leaving the screen which they sought to escape. As she held his head purely stationary, the Investigator started laughing manically. Blood flowed in waterfalls in his mind as the accumulated miniscule doubts of his life coalesced into one raging torrent. All that was present in that moment of clarity was a small remnant of himself and rage, pulling at the chains that had been imposed throughout his life. The rage held only one target, that laughing demon who so plagued him with visions of horror and sacrifice to a God he felt he no longer knew. No longer was the God one of righteous anger, but one of childish malice, pulling at the lives of humanity like a child would pull at the wings of a fly. Pure torment was the only expression that fit this simple agony.

Balbus was awakened in the dark from the horrific images that plagued his dreams by a gentle, yet firm hand over his mouth. Sergeant Curtius whispered in his ear:

“Now’s the time lad, we’ve all had enough of this. Are you with us to get some of them out of here?” Balbus nodded; and the hand was removed. “The Black Guard generally sleep off the effects of their, pastimes, around now. We need to get moving. Start with Mya and those we know for we will only be able to save a few.”

The squad had gathered their weapons and was waiting for Balbus to kit up. He did not fail to notice that several weapons had been lowered when he nodded his consent to the plan. He understood, for one word could raise the alarm and the scheme would fail.

Calidius squad crept out into the night, keeping to the shadows. Even though they were spotted by a number of other squads on sentry duty they were merely nodded at and let past.

“We have a number of the others in on this, try not to take out any Imperial Guardsmen, it’s the Black Guard we have to worry about.” hissed Sergeant Curtius as they passed the fifth sentry.

Covering each other as they leapfrogged positions of cover the squad made good time towards the holding pens. Each man looked lean and hungry for action, as though a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. They had never worked in concert as efficiently before. Lieutenant Gratius was finally proud of the speed and efficiency of the rag-tag group he had come to command and respect. Doorways were inspected for hidden threats and corners cleared as the squad passed by like a shadow in the dim moonlight. The moon was but a slim crescent, the daring plan would not have stood much of a chance of success if there had been more or less illumination. With too much light they would be detected and with too little they would be unable to navigate the compound without knocking over obstacles or bumping into chain link fences. Balbus took the lead on the final leg and felt his bladder jump as he saw the shadow of a Black guardsman silhouetted against the entry of the alley he had just cleared. He flattened himself against the wall to provide as little a target for detection as possible. His breathing came shallow and quick, as his body attempted to regulate the adrenaline flowing through his system for he knew that fight or flight were not viable options here.

The dark head snapped to the right as Sergeant Curtius stepped into the entrance of the alleyway behind the guardsman. The body hit the floor in a crumpled heap and lay unmoving.

“Move that corpse, we can’t leave it here to be discovered by any more that might come!” hissed Sergeant Curtius.

The corpse was a dead weight in Balbus’ hands but he managed to shove it behind some packaging that lay heaped up in against the wall of the alley. It would not hold up to more than a cursory inspection, but in the dark of the night, prior to any alarm being raised the place of concealment would suffice. After the alarm would be raised there would be no advantage in the body remaining hidden. Balbus glanced back and kicked an errant boot back under the wooden slats that covered the remainder of it. There was an air about this mission, unauthorised and treasonous as it was, that appealed to Balbus. Finally he would be doing the right thing, not chasing an end of his own ambition and selfishness. The knowledge was freedom and calm, like a cool breeze on the end of his mind, guiding yet allowing him the liberty of remaining himself and making his own choices as to how to proceed. The feeling reminded him of the gentle guiding hand of his father as he learned to walk. Allowing him to wander where it was safe, and yet ready should he attempt to reach riskier places or fall on those precarious steps of childhood. Although he knew he could die guiding the prisoners to safety Balbus had the feeling that everything would be all right, as though there was a plan and a purpose.

Throughout the camp stragglers of the Black Guard were unceremoniously pulled into alleyways from behind or stabbed noiselessly should they find themselves in a position to discover the Imperial Guard that were creeping toward the prisoner compound. Behind them Guardsmen who had proved to be loyal to the Empire lay in their bunks soaked in their own blood, gaping wounds covering their necks. Not one word would escape from their mouths; they had been identified as potential risks and had not even been offered the choice Balbus had. These were those who found the killing and slaughter to be enjoyable, or had given that impression to their squadmates. The religiously zealous were similarly dispatched before they could wake for they would have lied about their affiliation so that they could have the full treasonous bunch betrayed along the way. As with the Empire, suspicion was the only proof required and doubtless some that would gladly have joined the endeavour had been killed needlessly for their loyalties were not fully known. It was only the deep sorrow and anguish that Balbus had shown that had saved him from a similar fate, that and his connection to the child, Mya. Calidius squad had debated for hours whether to give him the benefit of the doubt or not. The discussion had proved fruitless until Lieutenant Gratius had taken a walk and found himself by the children’s enclosure. There staring through the chain link fence had been Mya, she said not a word and had needed none. Lieutenant Gratius had looked into her eyes and the decision had been made. A resting sense of peace had pervaded his senses at the realisation that Balbus would never betray this child, a child that calmed all around her. Lieutenant Gratius could almost see the waves of calm radiating from her toward the other children and comforting the crying, easing the pain of the grieving and soothing the afflicted. As he gazed further and further into the child’s eyes he heard a voice, of the echo thereof, within the confines of his own head. It echoed the choice he had found he had made, reassuring him it was indeed the correct one and that in this his torment would be over, the soul he doubted he had as a result of all that he had stood by and watched be done, would be saved and become righteous.

At the links of the fence separating the children’s enclosure Lieutenant Gratius was grateful for the lack of instructions given to him by the Investigator in his briefing, for he had in the squad’s kit various ways of getting past the fence with a minimum of fuss. Motioning forward Vice-Corporal Tarpeius Paetus he gestured to the fence. Paetus crawled forward and pulled from his pocket a can of pressurised liquid Nitrogen. The spray hissed from the nozzle of the canister towards the fence and the frosty tendrils of the forming ice spread over the links. The spray, deployed in a semi-circle, formed an arch which would be small enough to escape a quick glance but large enough for the squad to crawl through prone. One blow made a rattling noise that echoed away into the night as the small section of the fence fell outward, the cold having rendered the fence brittle at the points where the spray had made contact.

Calidius squad lay prone listening for sounds of discovery or alarm at the sound of the fence falling, yet none came. Still longer they lay, allowing for a delayed reaction from what little sentries the Black Guard had set on the perimeter. None came. Silently they crawled forward into the compound fanning out to grab as many of the children as possible for such was their plan, to save what innocents they could before they were discovered. It had been mooted by certain members of the squads, Sergeant Curtius included, that the priority should be to raid the armoury and arm the remaining workers rather than rescue the children. This had been rejected as futile, for such an act would bring the might of the Empire down upon them and the armoury would be as nought before orbital bombardment or a concerted assault by the remaining might of the Empire. Sergeant Curtius had argued that the fact that they were on the Capital planet of the Empire meant that a full orbital bombardment would destabilise the Empire too much and all they would have to do was hold off the assault for enough time for the children to escape. This too had been dismissed in favour of a stealthy option, as it would allow the children to cross a perimeter that had yet to be erected, rather than to attempt to steal across hostile lines where the casualties would be horrendous.

Balbus crawled deeper into the compound tasked with finding the only specified target of the mission, the child Mya. He had been chosen for he had spent more time with her than most, and had established a special bond; the child had followed him with her eyes ever since she had been dragged aboard the Armoured Personnel Carrier in Egypt. The thinking was that he could best keep the child quiet for he was familiar to her. Even as he crawled wondering how he would find the small child lost in this morass of sleeping bodies, he felt himself guided by an oasis of calm calling to him, gently nudging him on one turn or another to take a particular route. The closer he got to a particular spot the calmer and more centred he seemed to feel, as though there as some power watching over him and bringing him here. His faith in that which he held Sol Invictus to be grew in strength, where before it had been waning. Through the murders and the starvation he had never felt so apart from that which he held to be holy, but now, in this place he was encompassed and held within the very embrace of faith that he had yearned for his entire life. As he reached a state of near Nirvana; Balbus saw the brown wavy hair of the girl he had come to save, the gentle rhythm of he breathing holding a quality akin to a lullaby, the children around her had even matched their breathing to hers as they slept. Reaching out to her he placed his hand over her mouth, so as to stop a star as she awoke, but the gaze of almost complete serenity that came from her eyes reassured him that even this simple precaution had been irrelevant for it seemed she had been expecting him. As she rose to join him, several of the closest children also rose in complete silence to join her.

Investigator Celeris woke with a start, the ever close prescience that guided her startled her with the insistence that something was amiss, but she was at a loss to explain it. Never before had the guiding influence she attributed to Sol Invictus been this insistent. There were no alarms and no rushing of feet in the compound. All seemed quiet and managed. Dismissing the evidence of her eyes, for she trusted the unseen presence more than her own eyes, she crossed to the comm.-screen in her quarters and placed a priority call to Colonel Marius Galeo the man she had placed in charge of the Black Guard maintaining the perimeter around Rome.

“I will shortly be arriving for an inspection of the operation, make preparations to receive me.” The Investigator tonelessly spoke as soon as the comm.-link was active.

“Certainly, but what is the purpose of the inspection? We are proceeding on schedule and there have been no incidents of note.” The Colonel replied.

“No incidents of note?” The tone of the Investigators voice seemed innocuous enough but the stress on the last two words spoke volumes.

“Well , we did have an incident a couple of days ago when a member of the Imperial Guard attempted to stop one of my men enjoying one of the prisoners, but the incident was handled. There didn’t seem to be any reason to bring the matter to your attention.”

“Have you ever heard of combat stress Colonel? Such an incident is EXACTLY the type of thing I wanted brought to my attention. Where there is rot in the ranks, it spreads. Sweep the perimeter immediately. I shall be on route ASAP. Investigator Celeris out.”

Fully two hundred of the children had gathered by the hole in the fence and were feigning sleep when Balbus arrived with his small group of children. Half-starved and bedraggled, they were a dismal sight to behold, but this was not a surprise for the Squad as they had been rotated on and off the supervision of the children and had seen the deterioration of the children. They had been unable to assist with spare rations with the Black Guard surrounding them. Upon the arrival of Balbus he was motioned through and one by one the children already at the hole were gently pointed in the direction of the egress point. Balbus knew that his mission was to guide the children out and not to stop to assist the squad even if the escape were discovered. Lieutenant Gratius nodded directly to him, as though aware this would be the last time they would ever see each other, and with that he was through the gap and moving quickly and stealthily through the path already cleared by the entry of the Squad to the compound.

Investigator Celeris strode into the Imperial Bunker at Rome, tired yet alert.

“Give me all feeds on that screen there.” She yelled.

“Investigator, my patrols have discovered nothing amiss, everything is under control here.” protested Colonel Galeo.

“Are all the patrols accounted for?” she asked, intensely staring at the feeds she had requested on the main monitor.

“Yes Investigator. They all reported in. There is no sign of any movement anywhere near the prisoners.”

“Really, no movement? Would you not expect some movement in a large body of prisoners at night? Especially when many of those prisoners are children? Do they not wake in the night to relieve themselves? Show me the feeds for the compound housing the children.”

The feeds indeed showed no sign of movement, the dark masking any slight shifting. Investigator Celeris peered at the screen for a moment. There was a large lighter area of the ground in the compound that seemed strange and the guiding presence that she had trusted to bring her here nudged that area of her curiosity.

“Why is that area lighter? Shouldn’t it be the same as the rest of the compound?”

“The patrols report that that area seems abandoned, in most likelihood it has been designated as a latrine area and the prisoners would not wish to sleep close to such an area.”

The Investigator’s keen eyesight swept the edge of the area in question, searching for something the shadowy presence told her was there but seemed unable to give her a clue as to what she was searching for. She stepped closer to the screen before seeing something that wasn’t. She had been guided here to see something that wasn’t there, not something that was. Her hand struck out with the speed of a viper onto the general alarm button and harsh claxons sounded out, flashing red lights temporarily blinded those happening to be looking directly at them at the moment of alarm. The sound of running feet echoed around the compound as armed men ran down the corridors to their assigned posts, weapons clutched tightly ready for action and the use of lethal force.

“The fence, Colonel! The fence has been cut.” The Investigator shouted pointing at the gap only just visible on the monitor “You have a perimeter breach!”

Chapter 14

Holding fast to designs of honour General Hostilius swung from the crude scaffold trying to keep his head held high. The iron spikes through his feet were all that kept him aloft in this precarious position. Should he rely on the bindings around his wrists to support his weight he would be unable to breathe as the weight of his body held down the movement of the intercostal muscles and he would slowly choke to death. With the sharp agony and burning tearing of the ligaments in his feet he knew he would be unable to maintain this position for much longer and he would have to revert to the more supine position which did not allow him to breath and tore at the bindings at his wrists. The elegant torture of this method was that the executionee was forced to cycle between a lessening of pain or breathing, and eventually exhausted the prisoner would slump and slowly suffocate dragged under to his demise by his own body weight. Investigator Celeris had painstakingly timed the execution so that it coincided with General Hostilius’ hangover. A small torture to be sure but the dehydration made the constant cycling between positions harder and harder. Though his spirit was flagging he had no physical strength to hold to life and the dignity he had achieved with his final act departed him and he sagged lower on the cross.

The sweet embrace of nausea drifted him back over the recent memories. Shouting “Shoot the Investigator” and reaching for her gun, only to be easily stopped and thrown to the ground. As he hit the ground he glanced to his right and saw a Lieutenant swing his gun arm round only to have it shattered by the radial action of the Investigator as she leapt to intercept the aiming gun. She then wrapped her other arm around his neck and wrenched with a sick cracking sound. The revolt had been relatively quickly put down, only the troops in the bunker had heard the order, and then only some were suicidally foolish enough to attempt to follow it. The rest had stood around with a look of stupefied horror at such open rebellion coming from their decorated commander. As he lay on the floor General Hostilius had seen the Lieutenant smack down beside him his eyes glazed and yet staring directly into his own. As the blood trickled from his mouth a death rattle escaped the slightly parted lips.

General Hostilius was roughly hauled to his feet by two burly heavy troopers as Investigator Celeris stood in front of him. Her head snapped forward as she hurled spittle from her mouth onto his face.

“It would seem that even in the bosom of the Empire, the very chosen weapons on Sol Invictus himself would turn against him.” She spat again, this time onto the floor, “We will have to make an example of you. Let the rest see exactly what fate may befall them should they continue to oppose the will of the divine. I seem to remember, what was it now…” Investigator Celeris paused looking slightly up, as though only mildly perplexed she was having difficulty remembering some obscure facet she had digested from reading she vaguely remembered.

“Ah, yes. There was a story from the unholy texts of the blasphemous religions we struggle so hard against. A method, one I think rather fitting. Nails placed in the hands and feet, with the body in the shape of a cross. Hung vertically the recipient slowly suffocates as he looses the ability to keep his body in a shape capable of breathing. The unholy adopted the shape to remind them of their deceased deity. It seems somewhat foolish to worship a God so powerless as to allow himself to be killed, but never mind, that is what they believe. I think it shall form a fitting symbol of what lies ahead.”

The troopers yanked Corvus towards the door, with no gentleness or care as to his dignity for he was, in their eyes as bad as those who they fought against in the ruins. He was now, and forever, a traitor and unholy, for he had rejected Sol Invictus.

Returning to the present General Corvus, screamed his last agony to the ruins her had been suspended in full view of. The Investigator had clearly intended him to see all that she would do and for all to see what she had done to him. He collapsed down to the final breathless darkness that comes to those that need relief from pain and the trials of this world. The void reached forward to claim he, who had sent so many to its embrace, he who had worshiped at its altar all these years by the gun and the sword. The fingers grasping round him withdrew slightly as shimmering illumination came to ease the pain. “This shape once held a message. It negated the horror of the form, and shone a light into men’s hearts. I remember it; it was one of many shapes I remember. They all had their uses, to inspire and to warn. This shape will, however briefly serve again. Now rest, for at the last thou wert my good and faithful servant.”

Red lights flashed as the claxons sounded alerting Calidius Squad to the alarm that had been raised by Investigator Celeris. The squad immediately hit the deck as one man as automatic rifle fire caused miniature eruptions of dirt near them. Each spread to the nearest piece of cover available to the withering cover fire designed to keep them pinned in place. A number of the children were spun from their feet as they stood up in alarm at the percussive sounds around them. Each member of the squad flinched at the palpable reminder of failure that each corpse became. They could do nothing but hold their position and hope that the children under the care of Balbus would escape the confines of the camp and be secreted away in the backwaters of Earth; for escape through the transportation hub was impossible and only a fool would attempt such a foolhardy errand despite the greater prize of anonymity at the other end of the journey.

“Code Red, we have been compromised.” yelled Lieutenant Gratius into his comm.-link.

Immediately the gunfire changed tack, where before there had been an overbearing inward aspect, suddenly there seemed to be a more universal element. The wisps of dust that had been kicking up around Calidius squad seemed to halt their deadly dance and the Squad quickly took advantage and moved to more secured locations.

“Hold fast, I’ve arranged back-up. Let them clear the perimeter and we can make a break for it.” hissed Lieutenant Gratius.

“How many of the rest of the Squads are with us? We could do with some serious cover if the whole Black Guard are coming for us.” asked Sergeant Curtius.

A grim smile played over Lieutenant Gratis’ face as he answered.

“All of them, Sergeant. ALL of them. They were as sick as we were with the way things were going. We are soldiers; we aren’t supposed to be slaughtering children and the elderly. They weren’t combatants, they were victims and I don’t know about you but neither I nor the other CO’s have ever really been that keen on butchers.”

“What happens next? Do we make for the Crabs?”

“Negative, they can be tracked, and will make easy prey for aerial or orbital bombardment. We wouldn’t last five minutes. We wait and hope we can punch through the perimeter. We have numbers but they have more firepower. It’s the exact opposite of how we normally operate. If you can think of anything that’s ever worked against us in the past, however briefly, I want to hear it, five minutes ago.”

The firing lulled again.

“Snipers up high? Dig in and move with the lulls? We’ve never had to take on anyone who kept moving or maintained decent cover fire. They were always more concerned with defending their homes and families.”

“Good plan, but keep what prisoners we have left with us. We didn’t betray the entire Empire just to slink off into the night with our tails between our legs. Besides if we keep a good chunk of them with us it will hopefully keep some of the heat off Balbus and the rest. We can at least give him every chance at escape. See if we can make it to the armoury, we can then try and arm some of the older prisoners and swell the ranks. They may be useless at anything but cover fire but they might get some lucky shots in.”

The squad held for five minutes that seemed like a lifetime, taking shots at Black Guards that were drawn out of position by their confederates in the other squads. Several Black Guard were felled by shots to the back as they moved to exchange their somewhat one-sided cover for more utilitarian ground that afforded protection from both the front and the rear. The deadly killing ground served its purpose as the crossfire whittled down the numbers facing Calidius Squad. Through the mist of dust created by the gunfire impacting on the dry ground and brittle walls it became clear that there was a gap from Calidius' position to that of the alley, which lead to the armoury. A quick snap of the wrist from Lieutenant Gratius alerted Sergeant Curtius to the new opportunity and the two soldiers, now traitors, made for the opening, trusting their men to follow and provide cover respectively. Shrapnel and stray rounds pinged around them as they ran half-crouched towards the inviting opening. The rest of the squad moved in the patterns they had utilised on the exodus to Rome, moving then firing. The squad as a whole was always on the move, seeking to confound any observer from predicting their future movements and obtain a trace on them.

Sergeant Curtius threw himself into the alleyway in a heap near Lieutenant Gratius as a small splash of red decorated the wall near the entrance to the alley.

"Dammit, they winged me! I never knew those bastards could shoot straight." He wheezed as he sought to halt the bleeding with the meagre medical supplies he had in his pouch. "I bloody hope a medic makes it through all that!"

"Don't worry, the medics have always been good at dodging. They'll get through." grinned Lieutenant Gratius as he moved to help the sergeant. "You, on the other hand, have a habit of getting injured in action. I think that you think that it impresses the ladies."

"I do not. I very rarely get injured," retorted Sergeant Curtius.

"Coruncanius 9, you got shot in the arm, while charging the trenches."

"That was one time. You can hardly call that a habit."

"Hortensius 7, Shot in the leg."

"That doesn't count it wasn't a military action; that was a disgruntled husband."

"OK, Pompeius 11, shot in the arse when you...."

"I thought you promised never to mention that one again, Sir," grunted Sergeant Curtius as a binding on his wound was pulled tight, easing the spread of crimson on his uniform.

"Yeah, well I couldn't resist one last shot, given the circumstances. It's not like I'll get another chance." Both men nodded grimly as they realised that it was highly unlikely in the current situation that they would get out alive.

One by one the rest of the Squad tumbled into the alley, the first to arrive moving up to make room for the later arrivals to dive into shelter. Some carried minor wounds, others slightly more serious, but there had been no casualties. Lieutenant Gratius held up a hand to the children still in the line of fire cowering wherever they could find shelter, motioning for them not to move.

"Can we get a wall to one of these buildings open so they can hide while we raid the armoury?" asked Lieutenant Gratius.

"Not a problem, remember all those explosives used in Jerusalem?" the Lieutenant nodded "Well, I managed to, sort of, acquire some. I can blow a precision hole in that wall there and they can hide in the rooms all along the other side of this wall of the alley."

Sergeant Curtius grimaced as he reached into a small pouch near his spine. The pouch itself was not standard issue and looked like it had been designed specifically to be overlooked in searches. It faded into the green fatigues of his uniform seamlessly.

A wry smile played over the Sergeant’s face “You never know when a small tactical advantage might be needed, and let’s face it they really didn’t need all those explosives for one little city.”

“There is no problem howsoever complex; that cannot be solved with a suitable application of high explosives,” laughed the two men as they both quoted at the same time.

Sergeant Curtius eased his way up the alley past the panting bodies of his men adjusting the shape of the charge he was carrying at the same time. With practised movements he crafted a strange conical shape of the malleable explosives. Stopping at the entrance of the alley, just out of line of sight of the remaining Black Guard he carried on tweaking the form of the explosives he carried. Apparently satisfied, with one fluid motion he darted to the very corner of the alley and slammed the shaped charge onto the outside on the wall, darting back before the inevitable eruption of gunfire ensued.

A small red light blinked ominously in the grey mass attached to the wall, a single red eye glaring malevolently equally at the Black Guard and the children huddled opposite it. Lieutenant Gratius motioned to the children to look at him and made and opening gesture with both his hands and mouthed the word “Boom” as the opening of the hands accelerated. The children moved further into the rubble and the older ones covered the younger with their own bodies to shield them from the expected blast. Blinking steadily the red eye observed the scene impassively but an increasing frequency of beeps came from within the charge as though it had been waiting for this signal to commence its operation.

Red fire, dust and small pieces of masonry sped across the open ground around the children and several of them had to pat out small fires that had started in their hands and clothes. Small rivulets of blood ran down faces and arms where the shrapnel had scored their innocent skin. They all ran across to the newly opened hole in the wall as Sergeant Curtius made a sweeping gesture and pointed around the edge of the alley into the building. Again, although all of Calidius Squad had made it to the alley relatively unscathed, several of the children were mown down as they scampered into the more secure building. Not having been trained in evasive movements they were easy prey for the Black Guard who, now ensconced in more covered locations, knew exactly where they were heading. Small hands reached out of foxholes in agony as the last of their life’s breath ebbed away, stolen by a faceless Empire that sought control as an end in and of itself. Several flew through the air as high calibre rounds took them in the small of the back, the force of the heavy bullets lifting them and hurtling them into whatever obstacle would halt the momentum.

When the last of the children had either fallen or made it to the relative safety of the battered building Lieutenant Gratius called over his command and outlined his plan.

“They know we are pretty well supplied for ammunition and arms, so they probably won’t expect us to go for the armoury this early. They will expect either a punch through the perimeter, where we have already created a weak point or for us to go to ground. Find whatever supplies we can and fortify. So we make a break for the armoury, get whatever arms we can and then move to liberate the adult prisoners. We arm them and then come back for the kids.

Halberdier Valerius, you stay here with Vice-Corporal Ovidius and cover the children. If there are any aggressive advances comm. me and we’ll swing back and repel the advance. We will cover you no matter what; those children as a whole are currently our number one concern. Remember losses will happen and we cannot risk the group for individuals. It will involve hard decisions, but that is the way the cookie had crumbled.

As for the assault, there is currently minimal defence to the armoury, mainly due to the fact the Black Guard were not expecting this rebellion, so we hit hard and fast. Silent and deadly, we use covert engagement rules. This is despite the fact they know where we are and that we are engaged. We want them guessing as to what we are up to for as long as possible. They won’t be tracking gaps in their comm. traffic yet; the other squads are causing too much noise with the cover fire for that. They are also going to be trying to rally as many troops as possible for a concerted assault so they won’t be monitoring their existing containment at present.”

“Why don’t we just try and punch through that weak point we already have?” asked Vice-Corporal Ovidius.

“How would we react in this situation? We would be looking to set a trap on the other side of that hole so that whoever comes through it would run into a crossfire that would wipe them out. We work off the same tactics that the rest of the Empire uses so that all units can effectively co-ordinate. We have act in a way that isn’t covered in any of the tactics we have been trained in. If you can think of a way to counter what we are about to do that comes from standardised training, then we can’t do it. If something seems so unbelievably crazy we wouldn’t normally do it, tell me. It might just be our ticket out of here.”

The squad separated into three groups so as to pursue a pronged assault on the armoury. Each one was to advance to the armoury separately and not to assist the others. It was hoped that even if two of the attacks got bogged down the other would be able to slip past the defences, and then attack the opposing forces from the rear.

Sergeant Piso reached through a convenient window and dragged the patrolling Black guard backwards through the opening, throwing him back into the room of the building he had been hiding in; he waited for Vice-Corporal Metellus to slit the throat of the unfortunate trooper. Again no noise had been made and his section was making good progress. Sergeant Piso glanced out of the window again in time to see the second Black Guardsman reach for his comm. unit. A silenced round felled the Guardsman, who luckily fell into a pile of detritus, which masked both the sound of his fall and rendered his corpse hard to detect. Sergeant Piso ducked back into the structure to plan his next move.

Sergeant Bucco was breathing heavily as he hid in a similar pile of refuse, in another alleyway; he had only just avoided that last guard. He motioned for the remainder of the section to stay back. For good or for ill, here he would stand and he refused to let the rest of his men fall with him for one small error of judgement. If he had just looked to his left again he would have seen the guard round the corner. His training had impressed such an action upon him, but in the heat of the rebellion his training had deserted him, anger had lent his advance wings and now he could pay the price for his haste. Sergeant Bucco saw but one chance to escape his predicament.

Sergeant Bucco sprang to his feet and jumped towards a point equidistant between himself and the guard, but on the other side of the alleyway. His feet made contact with the wall and using all the strength in his legs, the tendons almost snapping with the exertion of reversing his lateral movement, he pushed back towards the wall he had just come from, all the time reducing the distance to the guard. Startled by the sudden movement the Guard’s rifle rose, but the weapon was too cumbersome to wield in an alley and track a target moving in such a haphazard way in some many planes. The sights always seemed to be just a hair’s breadth behind Sergeant Bucco. Reaching the Guard, while still airborne, Sergeant Bucco slammed his foot into the wall once more to reverse his course and gain height, his other leg snapped out to connect with the Guard’s head. The blow missed but the momentum from the wall carried his leg past the Guard’s neck and twisting his body in midair Sergeant Bucco rolled and brought both his legs together in a manoeuvre he had only seen in the Vid-feeds of Investigators in action. Rolling downwards a sharp crack a dead weight on his legs told him he had snapped the Guard’s neck. The gambit had worked; something he had only ever seen done on the screen had actually worked. Sergeant Bucco felt for once perhaps the endeavours of the squad weren’t doomed after all. The sniper round that took off his head barely took the edge off Sergeant Bucco’s elation as he was dead before his feet reached the ground.

Lieutenant Gratius swore as he counted heads outside the Armoury, only his section had made it. He had expected Sergeant Piso’s section to arrive late for Sergeant Piso was renowned for careful, plotted and stealthy advances, which ignored the need for celerity; he had expected to arrive in time to bail Sergeant Bucco out of a desperate fire fight for Sergeant Bucco was as headstrong as Sergeant Piso was careful.

“We have two guards out front, and probably another four or five inside. If we can take out the ones outside quickly and silently then we can move in and clear the interior. There are ID-cams in the bunker so noise will not be an issue once we get inside, they will know we are there and will respond. We will have a devil of a time getting out, but hopefully Sergeant Piso will get here in time to give us some cover and re-enforcements.”

A flurry of silenced shots felled the two guards at the entrance as the section poured from the shadows, Halbadier Mus made his way directly to the door control panel with his portable computer unit already out. He fed the leads into four carefully selected sockets and tapped away at the controls for, what seemed to Lieutenant Gratius, a lifetime. The actions were practiced and had been used a number of times on various rebellious worlds, but this time they were against an enemy so powerful that it seemed the sky would fall upon them upon the command of the Empire.

The door hissed open and the section moved in two by two, each one of the two covering the opposite egress. Crouching, they let the next pair pass them while they covered the points of cover that may have been utilised by the Guard if they had heard the door opening in time to hide and effect an ambush. The lobby was clear; evidently the interior guards had been alerted to the possibility of an assault.

“No time for subtlety, they’ve been alerted. Use Stingers to clear the rooms, don’t use grenades, we are in an armoury, There’s no telling what we might set off.”

Stingers were shrapnel grenades that, instead of sharp pieces of metal, utilised rubber balls to ricochet around the affected room to disorientate and stun the persons within. Since there was no metal and a focussed charge the risk of an accidental detonation of the more powerful munitions was negligible, unless, of course, one was thrown into a box of grenades by accident. The bass thump of the Stingers followed the opening of the doors and the screams of the guards inside quickly followed as the rubber balls found their way into the cracks and crevasses of their body armour. The section had split into two and each element moved to clear each of the remaining rooms of the Armoury. A few shots later and the building was clear, the section could not afford to leave survivors.

“Grab what you can carry, then we move out. Remember we won’t be coming back so grab the most useful equipment and shove it onto anti-grav trolleys, and carry as much as you can.” yelled Lieutenant Gratius.

Gratius reached out and grabbed Curtius’ arm, “Sergeant, have you ever blown up an Imperial Armoury from the inside before?”

Chapter 15

The corpse of General Hostilius stared out across the battlefield, an object of horrible fascination. Many could not believe that it had happened. Was the insurrection spreading even to the faithful, to those most entrusted with the might of Sol Invictus? The insurgents had not been party to the knowledge of the actions of the General and so were astounded that such a sight assailed their senses. Were the Imperial forces executing their own simply for not having crushed the rebellion quickly? If so, then surely a concerted assault would follow for such continued failure would not be further tolerated. The cat and mouse games that had previously plagued them could no longer continue and only overwhelming force would be an acceptable course of action for the Empire.

The decaying eyes of the corpse were oblivious to the speculation of which they, and the rest of their dead companions in mortality, were the subject; for they no longer held to this world. Drifting toward the putrefaction of the grave they pierced the veil not at all.

Investigator Celeris gazed upward with an expression akin to arousal, the deaths of others seemed to replace the intimacy she had lost with her indentured service to the Empire. As with many families, hers had been poor and unable to support the needs of the full family, contraception being anthemia to a doctrine which centred upon the power and involvement of a supreme being. Sol Invictus must have a purpose for those he causes to be born and thus to tamper with his will would be to rebel against that purpose and render yourself unholy and apostate. As a result the only way to reduce familial sizes was to send children to be of service to the Empire. They would not rise to rank, but would be trained according to their aptitudes and made use of in the greater glory of the Empire. Investigator Celeris, she had long since forgotten her real name, had shown an aptitude for informing on her follow indenurates. Whatsoever the sin she would be found to have know of it and passed on every detail to the section priest. She had not even been required to be bribed with better conditions or treats. This was a rare find in a child of her tender years. It seemed as though the betrayal of her family in her mind would only find release in the suffering of others that went against the only carer that she had found to protect her, Sol Invictus himself. She had been a solitary child, sullen and unable to form close connections. In such a child the Inquisition had found a willing candidate, possessed of a grace that would serve as a ballet of death and suffering - better than in the dancing halls. Her time in the care of the Empire had not been all to her tastes, however, as when assigned to scullery duties in a planetary governor’s mansion she had been forced to endure that which no child should ever have to endure. The sweaty groping hands of party-goers who laboured under the impression that as she was indentured she was the property of their host and they could do whatsoever took their fancy. The power of the governor seemed to take care of the screams and rumours quite effectively. Nights spent crying face down into pillows had eventually took their toll on Celeris and she had started to turn into the withdrawn child in which the Inquisition had seen such promise. She had turned away from the priests who had ignored her pleas for help and turned to the only source of solace she could find, that of the scriptures of Sol Invictus. In this den of inequitude Celeris had discovered that not all who rise to power in the teachings of a God necessarily adhere to the principles they so publicly eschew. She would, whenever the opportunity presented itself, retire quietly to study the words of her personal saviour.

Having spent many years tortured by this treatment Celeris had discovered a truth to her understanding of Sol Invictus. While he offered salvation he also expected action to cement this deal. Celeris came to the immediate conclusion that by passively accepting the abuse of the lecherous governor and his entourage she was in fact perpetrating the sins that they visited upon her and the others. She had decided not to allow this to happen again. Her blood boiled that she had been so cruelly tricked into betraying her faith and her anger lead her to creep into the room of the soporific governor, who had that night used a different girl of the age of nine. She gently tied his limbs to the bed; rings had been thoughtfully installed for that very purpose although their intended victim was very different.

The screams roused the entire house, but the fear of disturbing one of their master’s “games” stayed any real attempt to find out the source of the din. Celeris had access to the kitchen and had procured, not as one would suggest a sharp knife, but a blunt one that was rusty and due to be sharpened. As she made the first of a series of cuts the governor had awoken and screamed promises and platitudes to save the assault on his manhood. As the loose skin of the foreskin peeled back blood began to obscure Celeris’s vision of the act she was performing. Unperturbed she occasionally used the silk sheets to dab away the blood that so disguised the organ she was attending. The folds came away easily and allowed her to continue with the more sensitive areas with more attached and thinner skin. She slipped a couple of times and rather than the neat one piece of skin she had hoped to extract she had ended up with tattered ribbons. The task had been harder than she had thought. It hadn’t helped that the perverse tastes of the governor had alternately produced throbbing and tightening of the skin as his penis hardened. Thankfully this quickly passed as she had carried on regardless, the pain dampening his ardour.

Blood had soaked the sheets completely by the time the nine year-old girl had awoken from her drug induced coma enough to realise what was going on and run screaming from the room. The running girl had brought the house guards who had uncharacteristically vomited as soon as the entered the governor’s bedroom. The sight of the torn genitalia carefully dissected with the blunt kitchen knife had turned all of their stomachs. The stricken pieces had been carefully arranged as though the dissector had wished to remember where they had all come from either to in some way re-assemble the fractured member, or to serve as a revision aid to be remembered when re-visiting this experience in the future.

Celeris had been beaten senseless, not yet possessing the talents brought by the training of the Inquisition she had little choice but to be borne down by the rifle butts and the boots of her assailants. When dragged away afterwards it had seemed to her that every movement created little creaks as her body protested at the treatment she had endured. A macabre grin however was plastered across her face as she was carried down the corridors to face her fate, for she knew that whatever happened now she had performed Sol Invictus’ will.

Sergeant Piso and Sergeant Bucco both arrived in time for the yellow blooms of fire to erupt from the doors and windows of the Armoury. Fearing the worst they looked to each other for ideas as to what to do next.

“Don’t just stand there in the open lads, give us a hand with all this kit. We pulled enough out for you to carry as well. We even got you some anti-grav trolleys for you as well, aren’t we kind?” laughed Sergeant Curtius from behind them.

The Squad, now re-united, felt more secure. There were apparent losses, however. Sergeant Bucco’s section had taken the brunt of the casualties as they had charged recklessly into a squad of Black Guard, and it was only the timely intervention of Sergeant Piso appearing on the flank that had saved them. Sergeant Bucco was reticent about admitting it but the incident in the alley that had slowed his progress had probably saved his life, for there was no way a reckless charge could have ended well while he was outnumbered. Half of his men had been cut down in the course of that engagement, most in that initial reckless charge, but a fair few in the ensuing melee, for the Black Guard were more proficient in close quarters combat, no matter how dirty the tricks his men attempted to use were. Surprise as a tactical advantage only works once, and once it is lost, it is lost forever. They had been almost overwhelmed when a rain of long range fire from cover had picked out the members of the Black Guard not actively engaged and a lightning charge had turned the tide, cutting down the remaining members who were too engaged to do anything to protect themselves.

The Squad moved quickly to re-distribute the cash of weapons from its place of concealment, so that they could move out before an Imperial counterattack could be mounted. A sense of bonhomie spread over Calidius Squad as they fell into the tasks spread over the greater number. The shared knowledge that the majority had survived this served to bolster against the sense of loss at the deaths of their comrades. They all knew that the time to mourn would come later, if at all, dependant on their ultimate fate.

“OK lads, time to make our way back to the rest of the party. Let’s get what prisoners we can from the adult section, then pick up the kids.” yelled Sergeant Curtius.

Investigator Celeris watched the replay of the cameras shutting down in the Armoury; with little more than interest the second time round. The strike Calidius Squad had executed had been well-planned and had taken the commander of the Black Guard by surprise. The Investigator had only been informed after the explosion had taken out the bunker. Why the squad had made for the Armoury had startled her. Not only were they giving in to their weaker natures in their rescue of the children but they were going so much further in their revolt against the Empire. Such treachery in her mind needed to be severely punished.

“As the C.O. of that little debacle has been killed I am unable to visit punishment upon him” stated Investigator Celeris in an emotionless tone. “Find out who promoted him and execute him in whatever way you can think of to break him down over a period of hours.”

Investigator Celeris went back to watching the replay all over again. There was an enemy to analyse, understand and finally do what she did best, destroy. This simple Lieutenant had an air about him, careful and yet willing to take great risks to achieve what he set his mind to. If he hadn’t rebelled against the Empire he would have proved useful. Celeris pondered what his next move would be. A reckless man would attempt to punch through the perimeter using the squads’ greater concentration to break through a weak point. Celeris dismissed this option; it was too easily anticipated and did not take into account the moral choices of her target. He would attempt to counter her obvious advantages. She had greater numbers and firepower. This Lieutenant had already attempted to negate her advantage in firepower as best he could by liberating the contents of the Armoury before destroying the remnants he couldn’t use in order to deny her its contents. This meant that he would surely seek to augment his numbers to maximise his chances of obtaining his goals. The Black Guard had no qualms about the task to which they were assigned, it was a role which they had been given time and time again and they had never shown any sign of distaste. In fact the contrary seemed to be true; the only person that seemed to take greater pleasure in the persecution of the unholy was Investigator Celeris herself, albeit her pleasures were anchored in the cerebral pleasures of the pain she inflicted rather than the base gluttony of the Black Guard. Thus as a potential for conversion the might of the Black Guard seemed an unlikely target for conversion. The comm. links were encrypted to a point where it was unlikely that a Lieutenant with limited security clearance could use the Black Guard against her by deception. Re-enforcements were similarly unlikely as she could block any outgoing transmissions that did not contain the newly cycled codes, besides the Lieutenant would have a hard time, at the very least, trying to convince any Imperial Guard Regiments to commit to a rebellion over an obviously unsecured comms-link. Celeris compared the options that she would consider in the Lieutenant’s place and came to the inevitable conclusion that he would attempt in some way to use the Black Guard against her. It would not involve the use of the comm-link for she had taken sufficient precautions to exclude his use of that particular medium. Investigator Celeris pulled up the personnel file for Lieutenant Gratius. She read about a careful commanding officer, who rarely took unnecessary risks, but occasionally showed a rare flair when pushed for an objective that required either unconventional thinking or the sacrifice of a large section of men. As she poured through the history of Lieutenant Gratius and his various commendations (all of which had been refused for he was a face that did not fit; being far too reserved) she saw the influences of a number of historical figures; Telemarchus, Sun Tzu and Hannibal Barca. These commanders all had one thing in common; they would convince the enemy that they were where they were not and use this deception as a device to strike where the enemy was weakest. The problem lay in that her forces were evenly distributed and there was no such opportunity to drive a wedge into the lines and provoke a crossfire that would involve the Black Guard fighting each other each believing the other group was the Imperial Guard. This would be best achieved at night to maximise the confusion.

The bright lights on the digital map marked out the positions of the troops at Investigator Celeris’ disposal. There was really no way to tell which way the Lieutenant would strike as the dots were all evenly distributed around the perimeter of the encampment. If nothing was done there would be a good chance she would be left on the back foot and forced merely to react to whatever tactic the Lieutenant would produce from his unconventional mind. Investigator Celeris hated to be forced into reactionary tactics, it spoke of lack of control and she hated not being in control for that way was the path to defeat and she had sworn never to be defeated again, for would that not speak to the ungodliness of her quest. Such an outcome was unthinkable for her desires and purpose came from Sol Invictus himself and defeat would undermine his greatness. No, the tactic would be somehow to provoke a response. Celeris wondered if there was any way to use what she knew about the Lieutenant to force a rash action. She returned to the video playback to analyse not just the tactics but also the mannerisms and the character of this hitherto unremarkable man.

The crunch of the heavy tracks of the machines reverberated around the heads of even the shielded audio of the Black Guard as the artillery took their stations above the compound of Rome. Massive barrels rose majestically to the sky in tandem, the computer controls synchronising the movements of the battery. Computer signals raced between the massive machines calculating trigonometry, windspeed and other various factors so that the impact of their deadly expulsions would arrive simultaneously. Marvels of death and destruction, a concert of deadly economy of movement, the enormous machines moved like dancers in the dusk light. The deadly dance ceased with a silence of foreboding, all eyes turned to the almost vertical alignment of the barrels, which allowed for maximum penetrating power and explosive devastation over a limited splash zone.

Lieutenant Gratius and the remains of the squad extricated themselves from the embraces of the surviving prisoners they had just liberated. Although partly responsible for their captivity and subsequent treatment the actions of the squad over the long march had at least in part allowed some semblance of forgiveness, that and their conversion to a cause of liberation allowed the enmity to be placed to one side for the moment. Although many of the prisoners had expressed pacifist tendencies, the vast majority had agreed to be armed and would serve to repulse assaults on the ground currently held, and unfortunately encircled by the Imperial forces. Those who were pacifists were drafted into medical and logistical duties.

"How come so many of them won't fight?" Asked Halbadier Mus puzzled.

"It seems that their religion stops them from killing." replied Halbadier Camillus. "I don't understand it any more than you do. I was always told that they were a bloodthirsty lot, just look at the carnage they were responsible for over the centuries. The Crusades, Jihad and the Protestant/Catholic conflicts." Halbadier Camillus was, although rather poorly informed, the squad historical authority apart from Lieutenant Gratius.

"Hang on, we are the good guys, and we'll fight, but the bloodthirsty bastards won't?"

"Fucking weird ain't it?"

"And it's our lot that slaughtered all the old folks?"

"It's all gone a bit FUBAR hasn’t it?"

"You're telling me! I'm getting the idea we were on the wrong fucking side the whole time!"

The air reverberated silently with electromagnetic signals, machine’s communication unseen but effectively. The economy of death held court invisibly. The only evidence being flashing lights deep within the macabre leviathans that housed them. Millions of precise calculations, the type of which never boded well for human life were plotted and made.

A disturbance, an itching sensation began to irritate. Awareness, held in check for the agony that it evoked stirred and mourned that which had passed causing it to slumber. Waves, waves of terrible import screeched through it. If it had teeth it would have been as nails on a blackboard. Yet the heralding would be as nothing to what they communicated and forewarned. A simple reach out was all that could be mustered in the groggy silence of awakening.

Lieutenant Gratius' head snapped up. He had the eerie feeling that something was coming, something terrible. His soul screamed with foreboding, but he could not tell from whence the threat came. It felt all around him in the very air itself.

"Regroup! We move NOW! We are out of here."

As the squad formed up around the liberated prisoners Sergeant Curtius approached the spooked Lieutenant.

"What's happening, I haven't seen you like this since we got caught in that foxhole on Rufus?"

"I don't know, that's the problem! Whatever it is, it's coming but I don't know from where or when. All I know is that it's harder for it to get us if we keep moving!"

"Right, we keep moving!"

Weaving through the ruins the squad made good time; it was almost as though the Black Guard had pulled back specifically. The streets were deserted and ghost-like.

"I don't like this. We were hard pressed through here an hour ago, now we can't even hear them. They should be taking pot-shots like crazy, our new recruits have no clue about how to use cover." hissed Sergeant Curtius.

"Something's coming, I just know it. Something bad!" replied Lieutenant Gratius.

The squad approached the alley, which had been their salvation earlier. They knew that a competent commander would have secured the position that had proven so vital to them, if only to stop them utilising it again.

"At least the kids are safe, there's nothing to attack them here." commented Sergeant Curtius

Lieutenant Gratius felt a cold shiver go right the way through his spine as he felt rather that heard the shrill whine. The rest of the squad followed his upward gaze when the high pitched sound finally reached them as well. The volume increased exponentially with each passing moment until all went quiet.

Then the building in which the children, Halberdier Valerius and Vice-Corporal Ovidius had been safely ensconced exploded.

Chapter 16

Laying in the cells of the Imperial Garrison Celeris had been gripped with a deep determination not to succumb to the constant attempts to procure her confession. For she was certain that Sol Invictus had bestowed upon her the holy writ to end the life of the perverted wreck that had been the Governor. The Governor had inevitably lost the battle for life shortly after learning that, despite his wealth and power, the science to recover his genitals did not exist, and that even if it were possible he was nowhere near important enough to warrant such treatment. The lack of blood and sudden onset gangrene had finally finished him off. She had taken grim satisfaction that despite being interrupted she had completed her task. She would not admit that this action was wrong, for if Sol Invictus had not willed it, then he would not have let her succeed, nor would he have spoken to her heart.

A hand had gently laid itself on her shoulder, and expecting more perverted attention, she growled. The hand held steady, however, as a gentle voice pierced the dark from the light that flooded into the cell.

"Perversion may lead to the punishment of the soul, but sometimes a more physical element is required. You may rest assured that Salvius Caninus had been under investigation for some time for his flagrant abuses of Invictine lore. We were about to move, when you took that opportunity from us. The file shows him guilty, now we must decide upon you."

"You were one of his victims weren't you?"

Celeris nodded mutely, for such understanding from a miraculous appearance had rendered her speechless. Surely, this was the work of Sol Invictus himself, for nothing else could explain the shift in her treatment from the Empire. Her heart filled with joy at the prospect of a divine intervention and reward for her faith.

"Very well, the record shall show that the will of Sol Invictus was served by the victim, a satisfactory result indeed. I am left, however with the problem of what to do with you, for having made this determination you are therefore blameless and yet should I leave you in your current servitude you will, no doubt be killed before the day is out. I have reviewed your record and you have a noteworthy ability to weed out the unrighteous. I therefore propose a solution that may yet end in your death, but this is not the certainty that awaits you here. What say you child?"

Again Celerius could only nod, for this was more of a chance to survive and serve that she had hoped to have been given. An identity that was unforeseen and undreamed of was about to be bestowed upon her.

Celeris had been taken from that place to a hall of training, where she had bestowed upon her a new name and all ties to her previous identity erased. In her training Celeris had astounded her tutors with the breadth of her knowledge of the scriptures. She had memorised the more accessible publications, which were the only ones she had been allowed access to, but she quickly mastered the rest which were placed before her. Her physical training had been more problematic, given the injuries inflicted upon her by the guards on her arrest and detention. She had hardly been able to move upon her arrival, but true to their nature the Inquisition gave no quarter, and true to hers Celeris asked for none in return. The problem compounded as she continued not to allow any of the medical staff to tend to her wounds. Eventually her recruiting officer had to be recalled from active duty to assure her that her suffering was at an end and that no further deprivations would befall her. Celeris had stood up and walked straight to the medical centre upon hearing these words, so great was her trust in this dark angel that had procured her new life. Her results improved almost immediately as the wounds cleared their infections and started to close naturally. Several scars were soon the only physical sign of her abuse. One above her right eye remained with her throughout her life and gave her a somewhat striking appearance. The discipline was in the Inquisition, much more stringent that the residence of the governor and her growing attractiveness did not attract any more attention. This she was profoundly grateful for, and she never again did crave the solicitation for intimate contact of any kind, save that intimacy that existed in her mind when terminating the existence of her victims. In such acts she found both the arousal that would normally have accompanied biological contact and the emotional connection via sharing the final moments of a living being. To this end it became her way to prologue the final agony for as long as possible, for in this the connection was prolonged and the intimacy increased.

Her final exam, the elimination of a sub-par student had shocked even the Inquisition for the ordeal had lasted close to seven hours. Normally the Trainers would have intervened but Celeris had found a way of abducting her victim without their knowledge and had returned the following morning oddly placid, spent and covered in blood and assorted fragments of body parts. Rumours, not entirely without foundation, were spread that the corpse had to be identified via DNA profiling for not enough of the face or teeth could be found in one piece to enable an identification based on anything but the microscopic level. Her name was whispered in hushed tones around the academy as a dark legend, and her star had risen as a result.

“Incoming! We’ve got artillery barrage incoming!” yelled Sergeant Curtius.

The squad dived into what shelter they could find, seeking that which was achievable in as short a space of time as possible and in the opposite direction from the blast. Despite their fears and the initial violence of the assault on the building in which the children had been ensconced the air seemed suddenly still. There were no shrill whistles anymore; it was as though the explosion had concussed the world. There was no sound, no movement. Modest stillness permeated the dust-laden air.

Pain, excruciating pain marked the passings. As the crossings occurred in the milliseconds that stretched into eternity the screams wounded with infinite care. Time held no meaning in the face of such agony and sense of betrayal. The dead, dying and living all screamed within as one. Their pain a rude awakening, a deafening mantra within and without. No slumber could survive such intensity.  No Grace could pirouette on such a knife blade. Once again into action a consciousness came, born into pain, knowing worse would come, craving only a return to the oblivion from whence it came, for peace and an end to the pain.

The realisation that no other assault was coming swept over the Squad at roughly the same time and they all crawled from the cover they had so desperately sought earlier. Each man scanned around seeking some hope that there was a survival rate, something that would crawl from the muck and dust, yet nothing came save a small trickle of blood, crimson regret crying its last.

Lieutenant Gratius blinked the tears from his eyes and wiped the dust from his face. He stood to scan the horizon in the direction he had first heard the approach of the shells. There was but one promontory that offered the optimal range to the crater he now surveyed. One place from whence this affront to humanity could have been propagated. The artillery had to have been placed opposite the main command bunker.

“Sergeant Curtius, what would you do now?” asked Lieutenant Gratius strangely calmly.

“Sir?... Oh Shit you’ve got that expression on you again! Whatever you are thinking, it’s insane! I know that look.”

“Just tell me what you would do now if you were in charge Sergeant.”

“I’d seek to punch out through a side, either there or there.” Sergeant Curtius pointed in directions at ninety degrees to where Gratius was staring.

“Good. Because we are not doing that.”

“O…K… So what are we doing Sir?”

“We take that artillery and we turn it on those who gave the order to fire on the children. They did it specifically to make us either seek escape or attack the command bunker directly. This is the one thing they will not expect.”

“We are going to attack directly the most heavily fortified section of the line, which is able to call down artillery strikes on us? That’s fucking crazy sir!”

“Take the prisoners that survived and take them up to lay down suppression fire near the bunker. Make as much noise as you can. Each man takes two guns, if they are available. Make the force look as large as possible. Use explosives, but be ready for the signal. Two sharp whistles down the comms. That’s when the rest of the squad have taken what we need and the strike will start. We each take some heavy weapons specialists, they will retaliate when they realise what we have done. Sort out everyone who has taken infiltration training. We take the headland by stealth.”

Holding fast outside maximum small arms and assault weapon range Sergeant Curtius waited for a change of guards, far from wanting the smallest number of opponents engaged at a time he wanted to take out the maximum by surprise when he initiated his assault. The fewer troops left to dig in to the fortifications meant the fewer casualties his force would sustain. As always the waiting was killing his sense of calm. Once in action the pain and uncertainty would fade as time escaped into a melee of action and reaction, with little time for thought or the doubt that followed.

Lieutenant Gratius also awaited a changing of the guard. However, he was waiting for it to finish so that his infiltrator squad could take out the sentries undiscovered. While the assault on the other side of Rome would mask some of the activities he was planning, and the ostentatious assault he had ordered Sergeant Curtius to mount would draw at least some of the troops away from this position, he still wanted to be at least part way through the process prior to the diversionary attack. The diversionary attack would wake all the troops surrounding Rome with at least some of them being drawn away from their assigned positions to re-enforce the defenders. This would enhance the chances of discovery as more troops moved in patterns not known to his infiltration unit.

After allowing thirty minutes to elapse Lieutenant Gratius ordered the simultaneous strike from both flanks towards the sentries designed to guard from a central attack. Snipers positioned at the centre had the other guards in their sights ready to strike should it look like they would raise the alarm. Dark shadows moved silently, the half-moon allowing enough light for them to see, with the night vision gear purloined from the armoury providing assistance for darker areas. Like a pack of black hunting cats they glided towards their targets. Although Lieutenant Gratius could not see it from his observation post he knew that blackened knives had been drawn from their sheaths ready to silently dispatch the guards. Almost in perfect unison the unsuspecting soldiers of the Empire were enveloped in darkness and a few muffled grunts signalled their passing. Only a few minutes elapsed before silences firearms were used in a deadly crossfire to eliminate the remaining perimeter guards.

Sergeant Curtius noticed that the number of mobile patches of darkness had increased; the time had come for action. He pressed the detonator for the explosives that had been secreted earlier, by the somewhat low-tech method of throwing them while there were no sentries around. Accuracy was irrelevant; the required outcome was distraction, noise and disorientation. A bloom of iridescent roses grew and flowered with concussive force, throwing soldiers from their feet and engulfing them in flame. At the same time the forces under his command opened fire at any and all targets even remotely unaffected by the blasts. Bullets screeched home, but the vast majority missed, but given the disparity of the forces ranged against each other this was nothing unusual, or many people were aiming at the same targets and given the marksmanship of the former prisoners, this was no bad thing. Flashes from stray bullets impacting on metal behind their intended targets illuminated the enemy positions.

Investigator Celeris looked to the vidscreens as she heard the explosions and gunfire.

“They’ve taken the bait. I knew they would retaliate against the command structure for the destruction of the children! Wait a further two minutes to allow them to get overconfident and then order the counterstrike.”

Sheltered in the doorway of a small bunker near the artillery Lieutenant Gratius asked for the fifth time how much longer it would take to open the door to the interior that housed the remnants of the troops assigned to guard the massive war machines he hoped to capture. It was all very well to capture the guns but if there was an assault while part of his force attempted to use them he would not be able to hold and the entire plan would be placed in jeopardy.

“The more you ask the longer it will take,” was the only response that Lieutenant Gratius received from the otherwise silent trooper that was attempting to hack into the security systems that controlled the door and subsequent alarm systems.

Slowly the doors slid back to reveal a dimly lit corridor with a set of clear doors at the end.

“Those are munitions resistant doors. Once we are through them then the fighting starts. Red Element, you take positions behind what cover you can find and provide cover fire. Blue Element, make for the sleeping quarters and eliminate all targets within. We don’t want whoever is awake to get any more support. These complexes are designed to be defensible so they will be problematic enough as it is. Gold Element, make for the mess and common areas. Use grenades to clear the rooms. You won’t be able to take the troops within any other way as you will be outnumbered. Silver Element, take the toilets. There will always be a number of troops answering nature’s call. Same drill, grenade, clear and move on.”

As soon as the secondary doors opened, claxons flared into life, flashing hazard lights providing first shadowy cover then bright illumination. Flashes of muzzle fire erupted as targets were spotted and eliminated in deadly efficiency. Unlike the assault on the Command Bunker this attack had been planned and manned with the best troops for this kind of attack, for it was imperative action was taken accurately and economically. A squad threw themselves behind packing crates, firing as they went while three groups peeled off to either flank disappearing down side corridors in search of their objectives. The remaining troops found themselves pinned down by the return fire that had been co-ordinated, but this was their objective - to divert as much firepower towards the entrance as possible to allow the kill squads to do their deadly business.

Vice-Corporal Pulvillus motioned silently to his left and two soldiers stationed themselves by the door to a dormitory. Another hand signal and another door was covered by the next two Imperial Guardsmen. He knew he did not have enough men to deal with all the doors he had been tasked with, but with grenades in the cramped quarters the concussion blasts would be magnified and the entire room would be easily cleared of targets - his men could be moving to the other quarters even before the grenades went off. The remaining rooms would be cleared by sweeping fire as the sleeping soldiers were roused in confusion by the demise of their compatriots.

Vice-Corporal Dolabella had a similar plan to Vice-Corporal Pulvillus, but tasked with the main common areas he had no shortage of men per door, his problem was that the rooms were much larger. More grenades were to be used, directed to different areas of the chambers and any survivors would be attacked by gunfire as his squad entered and cleared the target areas.

Vice-Corporal Silanus was assigned only four men, two for each toilet, but this would be more than sufficient as any enemy combatants would be caught with their trousers down, almost all in a literal sense. They would provide very little resistance.

Lieutenant Gratius ducked behind cover near the entrance as explosions reverberated first from the left and then from the right.

He smiled grimly, he had diverted enough troops for long enough, “Grenades! Now!”

Small round balls of explosive death were thrown over the cover crates and all his troops ducked down to weather the storm that followed. Although several crates were forced back towards the walls shoving the sheltering soldiers from their crouched positions,  the majority them sheltered the Imperial Guardsmen from the blast entirely. Small arms fire was heard from the flanking corridors, and Lieutenant Gratius motioned for his Element to move forward to clear what little remained of the opposing forces. An occasional crack of a pistol echoed around the foyer of the bunker as a living Black Guardsman was found concussed or injured by the blast. There was no opportunity for mercy; the cold-heartedness of the slaughter in the square of Rome was revisited upon those that had actively participated in that slaughter.

As each Element reported the wholesale success of their mission Lieutenant Gratius glanced around the interior of the bunker and referred to his schematic, “Right, now let’s find the command modules that control those bloody guns. It’s time for some payback!”

Once again the massive barrels moved in their deadly ballet. This time they moved to an azimuth threatening to the Imperial might, their support to be lent to the cause of the rebels. Righteous anger would be communicated through their shells, though they were completely impervious to concepts such as right or wrong, pain or anger.

Brief flashes of light illuminated the interior of the bunker through the viewing slits as the artillery released their payload of destruction. Each flash illuminating an expression of grim satisfaction or a grim grin of approval that such poetic justice would be revisited. Then there were the few minutes of waiting as the shells raced through the air towards their target and the slight tensing of muscles as they hit the Imperial bunker lighting up the distant hill with a red glow. Justice had been served.

Sergeant Curtius sheltered in the ruins of the city as the shells impacted. Thanks to the pre-arranged signal he had had enough time to disengage before the entire area he had been in was immolated. The Black Guard that they had engaged, thinking it was but a temporary reprieve, had not pursued them and had been blown to kingdom come. Curtius could, through field binoculars, see that the Imperial bunker had been seriously damaged; a major breach had opened in the walls facing the rebels. He glanced around assessing his current situation. His troops although winded, were attentive and ready for action. They had achieved their mission and were buoyed up by this success. A desperate plan formed in his mind, although this was contrary to his orders to retreat to Rome proper.

“Form up, we attack again!” He yelled at the men under his command. “Hit them while they are reeling from that pounding!”

The soldiers ran to obey the command while the former prisoners were slower to respond, but still showed willing.

“Sarge, aren’t we supposed to be heading back to Rome?” asked Balbus, who still clung to the surety of orders and command, despite their status as rebels.

“Yes, but when in the field we are supposed to show initiative. There is a major breach in that bunker and it’s facing us. It’s still secure on the other side, which means that it can hold against the Imperials but not us. If we take it we have a tactical advantage.”

“I see Sarge, but what about our orders?”

“Let me worry about that, Halberdier. We have to take advantage of these situations as they present themselves.”

The men ran forward expecting at any moment, from surrounding positions, cover fire to erupt to pin them down on their approach to try and deny them their prize. The steady loping gait, which covered ground quickly while allowing each step to be turned into a dive for cover, caused the thigh muscles to burn but the sacrifice of comfort would be worth it, should their lives depend upon the added agility the pose afforded.

Halberdier Balbus kept track with the rest of the men, not elated by the sudden turn of events as they were, but disappointed by the sudden turn from the plan. He knew somehow that this was the wrong course of action but could not put his finger on why. His eyes scanned where he imagined hidden troops might be stationed looking for any sign that they were about to come under fire.

There it was, a brief flicker of movement. Balbus strained his eyes to see what had caused it, was it some sniper waiting until they moved into a firing line to pick them off one by one? Again the flash of movement occurred, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. Strangely it seemed to disappear over the mounded fortifications behind the bunker.

“Sarge? Sarge!” He yelled desperate to get his commander’s attention.

“What now Balbus?” retorted Sergeant Curtius halting the troops so that he could deal with the irritating objection he felt sure Balbus would raise.

“I saw what looked like two Black Guard disappear over the mounds there, behind the Bunker” reported Balbus.

“What? They should be trying to stop us getting in there. Once we get that we should be able to hold it for ages against almost anything they can throw against us!”

Sergeant Curtius raised his binoculars again and almost immediately saw a black figure with its cloak flowing behind it saunter over the rise, as though nothing was wrong and a major tactical advantage had not been gained by the rebels.

“Back! Back to fucking cover NOW!” yelled Curtius as he recognised the Investigator that had given them this screw-up of a mission.

The men all made for cover, abandoning the semi-crouched pose they had adopted on the approach. This was a mad sprint for safety.

“What was it Sarge?” asked Balbus as they reached a place of concealment.

“That was that fucking Investigator, the one that sent us here! She just walked out as though she didn’t have a fucking care in the world! She’s planned something and I don’t like it, not one bit. That was a good spot Balbus. I know it doesn’t mean much what with us being traitors and everything, but I’m promoting you to Vice-Corporal. You can take charge of the former prisoners, under me.”

“Thanks Sarge, but what do we do now? We can’t just sit here waiting.”

“Don’t rush me, we have to be careful. It’s obvious they expected us to rush the bunker. I need to work out if they also laid a plan to deal with us if we carried on retreating.”

“How could they do that Sarge?”

“I don’t fucking know! That’s the fucking problem!” swore Curtius.

It was at that moment that the windows of the bunker blasted out, followed by the walls themselves.

“Fuck! They stayed in there during an artillery strike with that much explosive primed to go off?” Yelled Sergeant Curtius “They must be FUCKING psycho!”

“Or driven, Sarge. They must believe that the sacrifice is worth the potential gain.”

“In the military? No, we just nod our heads in the direction of the Temple and get on with what they pay us to do.”

“Up until recently, the thought of the heretics and apostates escaping the judgement of Sol Invictus was as anthemic to me as it must be to them. The potential damage those explosives would do to the cause of the Empire is minimal, but to us having taken the bunker it would have been catastrophic. Our fight would have been over. Whoever planted the explosives was a true believer, and more than that, was one step ahead of us.” Vice-Corporal Balbus pointed out.

“That’s as may be, but for now we need to link up with the Lieutenant. Let’s high tail it out of here, and as we go why don’t you think of the things you would do if you were in charge and a “true believer” over there?”

Lieutenant Gratius held position at the rendezvous point and waited for the main force of his men. He had been puzzled by the explosion at first. He had been sure all the artillery rounds had already landed and the fire suppression systems would have dealt quickly with any stray fires near the magazine. On top of all that the explosion was far to uniform to have been triggered by an accident, the entire complex had gone up at the same time. It had not been long before he came to the same conclusion as Vice-Corporal Balbus. He had then started worrying that Sergeant Curtius had managed to storm the bunker. Curtius, while not a great tactical thinker knew an advantage when he saw one and would not have passed up a gift of a bunker, especially as their cover in Rome was woefully inadequate against many of the weapons the Empire had at its command. He ordered his men back into cover and when satisfied crawled over to one of the Heavy Weapon Specialists and held a whispered but unhurried conversation with him. There was a lot of pointing towards the bunker that had just exploded, but after a while this turned into downward hand gestures and counting on fingers. Eventually the Heavy Weapons Specialist, called Halbadier Tuditanus, sighed and crawled out into a clear elevated space and erected a multi-armed and dished structure which emitted a strange whirring sound and was linked to a video comm. unit on his belt. He then pulled a large tube from his back and settled back into cover and waited.

Sergeant Curtius swore under his breath, not wishing to waste the precious oxygen. He ran hard and fast leaping over small walls and tearing through alleyways as fast as he could push himself. There had to be a basement deep enough around there somewhere. He was uncomfortably aware that he was dangerously close to the rendezvous and he had had no wish to draw what was coming to Lieutenant Gratius but the meeting point had been chosen specifically for its density of cover in case things went wrong. Things had definitely gone wrong. A sentry posted with a sniper rifle had picked up the black spot in the air before anyone had guessed its significance. It hadn’t been long before Sergeant Curtius had received the news over the comm. There was a heavy bomber on approach on an intercept with his men. Try as he might Sergeant Curtius had not seen anything that could come close to withstanding an air strike, so he and his men had run, hoping to find something on the way. Nothing had presented itself and he was now on top of where he was to link up with the infiltration squad.

A trail of smoke made its way past Sergeant Curtius as he looked up tracking its progress, as he did so his foot snagged on an almost buried brick in the dirt. Had it been loose he would merely have stumbled, but it seemed to be still attached to a buried wall and he sprawled face first into the dirt. The acrid dust catching in his throat, he choked and spluttered. Strong hands lifted him to his feet and slapped his back until the coughing subsided.

“I wouldn’t have thought that you would be caught lying down on the job at a time like this!” came the almost jovial tones of Lieutenant Gratius.

“Sir! Heavy Bomber, on intercept. Get under cover!” Curtius stammered, not yet recovered from the lungful of dirt.

“Give it a sec,” came the calm unhurried response. Sergeant Curtius was gently turned around by his Commanding Officer top face the direction the Heavy Bomber was due to come from.

A bloom of fire appeared in the sky, and folded in on itself. A black dot trailing grey smoke could be seen detaching itself on a downward trajectory. As it gently pirouetted down toward an impact with a distant hillside the black dot seemed to slowly catch on fire. Upon contact with the green hill red spread itself replacing the lush green and spewing more black smoke.

“Were the maths correct?” Lieutenant Gratius asked Halbadier Tuditanus.

“Yes Sir, direct hit on their new front lines. Their line is completely decimated, unfortunately, as we feared; their secondary line was too far back to be affected.”

“You used their own bomber to bomb their front line?” gasped Sergeant Curtius.

“Certainly, after all who else’s were we supposed to use? I’m afraid I left MY Heavy Bomber in my other uniform.” chuckled Lieutenant Gratius.

Chapter 17

Whilst surveying the macabre spectacle of General Hostilius strapped in place to survey the coming horror Investigator Celeris felt a foreign presence brush across her mind like a chill breeze. She had felt it a couple of times previously but had dismissed it without thought. This time it seemed more insistent, more forceful. Holding station at the edge of her awareness, as though on the periphery of vision, it exuded a sense of disapproval and calm acceptance. Investigator Celeris was perturbed, the voices had never disapproved of her actions before, they had previously served only to spur her further forward to ever more violent and extreme acts. She had previously wondered if these voices had merely been the external hallucinations of her inner desires, but had quickly put this down as a test of her faith, for Sol Invictus would not rest on his laurels having saved her for this higher purpose. He would surely test her more and more as the final hour of triumph approached to make sure that she was worthy to command the weapons of his vengeance and visit the death and punishment upon the ungodly that they so richly deserved.

The light presence hovered around the edge of the battlefield examining that which had been brought to it. There were souls of peace captured in this infernal struggle, but it could not understand why. The back marble of the Investigators mind pulled all around it into darkness. The light reflected upon the concept of a singularity: yes, this was an apt comparison despite the inherent difference between the spirit and matter. Such torment had once again come to visit it; nothing had been further from the plan. Had these creatures ever been receptive to its message? Purity of love and acceptance had been the watchwords, once, long ago. It was so hard to keep track in this plane, for time pulled and wrenched with the gravitational forces and the screaming distracted. The light had come firstly to a place where it had once been and departed, once left in agony for to visit love to those who would hurt and hate it. The sacrifice had, for a time been worth it as conditions locally had improved, if somewhat temporarily. The purity had returned in part and the little that had had calmed the incessant brutality of the species wide birthing cry. Then the other had come; the other reminded the light of the mind of the Investigator, dark and compressed in on itself, with no room for anything else. This had haunted the new influence and warped it into itself and the screaming had started in earnest again. Surprisingly the screaming had not been centred on the birth of the now perverted message, but at the birth of the screams that had preceded it, but so amalgamated was the message in the din that it could no longer be removed and purified. Time had passed and the horrors continued and spread, dragging the light wherever its message had been spoken. Temporal certainty had escaped it in that miasmic whirl of the agony of these creatures, but after a culminating deafening, soul rending double blast of horrific agony there was relative calm. Out of that calm had emerged, soiled and stained the original message, escaped like a pearl from an oyster.

Now the horror had returned and the suffering held the light once again. Darkness abounded and propagated around the light. Yet even here where the noise was so great there were oases of calm created by the souls that contained that tranquillity the light so desired to enable its rest. Mya was one such soul, calming the ripples of pain around her, yet the timeline held little for her. The light mourned for the loss of potential that would surely occur, for there was little to envisage hope here.

The light recoiled, for the other had touched upon its presence, the emanating waves from whence it had been born caused a pain of which there was no compare on the mortal plane. Red, and burning the agony washed and swirled over the light turning it round in its attentions. No longer was Mya a source of tranquillity, but she was obscured from its sight. Had the light been able to hold to her it would have been able to function, having a point of reference on this plane. Yet, even in the centre of the darkness there had been another, sullied and torn, yet with vestiges of that which the light sought to magnify. It had been but the work of a moment to nudge a process already in action in this mind. The mind had been surprisingly pliable, this species was amazingly susceptible to the effects of simple pieces of matter. They lived and died by the movements of these things, some small, some large. It was almost incomprehendable how fragile they really were. The damaged light had died slowly in this one, hope almost extinguished, yet it had given one last spark before the end. This act in and of itself seemed insufficient, guided by a need it did not understand the light moved on.

“Form up. Everyone on this side of the city is moving forward to attack that breach! We have a chance to punch through and get the prisoners out of this hell hole,” yelled Sergeant Curtius elated at the new turn the battle had taken.

“Hold!” countermanded Lieutenant Gratius. “They have suffered a set back, that much is true, but what would the Empire expect a rebel force to do in this situation? Would they not attack regardless of a lack of credible intelligence? No, we should send a scout force to determine their capabilities. There is every probability they have set a trap. They have been a step ahead of us almost every time so far. We have to stop underestimating their tactical ability.”

“Sir. Ranger Groups 5 and 14 front and centre. Move forward slowly, report back, avoid engagement and assess. Do not fire unless fired upon.” Sergeant Curtius took the change in tactics in his stride.

“Lieutenant? I’ve been talking with Jamil, one of the prisoners. He used to be an Engineer before the Empire found out he was an unbeliever. He’s had an idea about these servos and detonators we found in the Armoury. He said we could rig them to the spare weapons we took and fire them remotely. Effectively they would be low tech drone turrets,” said Vice-Corporal Balbus, who, for someone who had started in the Squad as a true believer, had got on remarkably well with the prisoners. Lieutenant Gratius put this down to the care and concern Balbus had shown for the girl, Mya. The interaction had brought out a caring side that had been hidden or concealed before the trek from Egypt. “I thought, maybe they would also expect a scout force. A trap would be hidden, wouldn’t it Sir?”

“Yes, what is your plan Vice-Corporal?”

Balbus visibly puffed out his chest at the mention of his new rank “Well, the scouts could place the make-shift turrets in range of the enemy without being seen. Then we could spring the trap without having anyone in the area. We could see what they have planned, with the added advantage that if it’s a one-shot trick then they’ve used it to no effect.”

“Interesting. See to it. Balbus, this is your plan, so you brief the scout team and tell them your requirements.”

As Balbus ushered the Ranger Groups off to consult with Jamil, Sergeant Curtius leaned closer to Lieutenant Gratius and whispered, “Did you ever suspect he could come up with something like that?”

“No Sergeant, I have to say he certainly surprised me. Let’s hope he surprises the Empire as well.”

After, to Sergeant Curtius’ mind, a morass of technical discussions about rate of fire, wavelength interference and range as well as attenuation rates in which Balbus seemed to hold his own despite a lack of any knowledge on the subject, the ranking soldiers of the groups returned to report on their readiness. With the technical details hammered out the trap was ready to be sprung. Lieutenant Gratius and Sergeant Curtius watched the scouts creep out of their temporarily secure positions.

“I didn’t see anything in Balbus’ file about any technical training.”

“He listens Sir. Remember how he was word perfect on the teachings and was always attending the Temple. Well take that drive and ability and re-direct it. That’s what happened. He found something new to put all those skills to. Did you listen to the discussions he had with the rangers and Jamil?”

“Yes, I could barely make head nor tail of it, Sergeant.”

“Neither could he, at least to start with. Did you notice how he let the discussions happen and didn’t start making contributions until he knew what was going on?”

“Now you mention it, yes.”

“That’s part of my job, Sir. To observe the men, to find out what makes them tick and to use them to the best of their abilities; not just to yell obscenities at them when they don’t pass muster on parade.”

“What do you think of the plan?”

“It’s bat-shit crazy, Sir. But everything that has worked for us so far has been. It’s when we’ve stuck to the rules of engagement for the Imperial Guard that we have had our arses handed to us. You had a point when you departed from those tactics and attacked the artillery. I just don’t know how many insane schemes we have left to throw those bastards off balance. You know that Investigator will catch on eventually and then we’ll be finished as she stops playing whatever game she is playing.”

Lieutenant Gratius sighed. “I am aware of that. Do you not think that despite the end result that it is important that something be attempted? That we at least try? That to just lay down is worse than to fail despite the same end? I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just right to fight this, to maintain the hopeless struggle.”

“Sir, I’m with you. Now and to the end. I can’t say what it is either, but I know I’ll spit death and blood back at them and that’s all that counts now right?”

“Indeed it is Sergeant, indeed it is.”

Small flashes illuminated the light as Jamil hit the red button on the remote controlled detonator. He hadn’t expected the detonator, designed as it was for one firing per item, to be able to stand sustained triggering but it seemed to be working correctly for the time being. He had, in order to preserve the illusion of human triggermen, programmed random delays into the triggering circuits. Even though he only had one trigger, the guns would fire at different intervals each time so that a pattern could not be discerned. Judging from the distant shouts and commands it would appear that the illusion was being perceived exactly as planned. Surprisingly, even though the fire arcs were fixed, an occasional scream punctuated the darkness indicating a casualty on the Imperial lines. In the darkness a scout team was, using pre-defined routes to avoid the automated fire, reloading the guns as they emptied their clips. The return fire centred on the gun placements making the reloading the most hazardous part of the mission. The guns could not be easily moved so the restocking of ammunition had to take place in situ as the enemy sought to strike the person operating the machinery. The saving grace was that by the time the scout got to the weapon the clip was empty so the location of the gun was not as broadcast as when it was firing. The real danger came immediately after reloading when the gun once again opened fire, the light of the discharge once again giving the Imperial forces a bead on the location.

The lack of any meaningful resistance except small arms fire and rifle shots meant that it was starting to look as though there was no trap and the entire operation was a complete waste of time when several trails of fire lanced into the sky.

“BACK! Retreat!” yelled Sergeant Curtius into the comm-link.

As the silhouettes of the scouts could be seen hurdling the degraded walls on their way to return to the rebel lines, the blazing curves in the sky began their downward trajectory after seeming to hang motionless for a brief second. Several of the scouts, who had been attending to the furthest emplacements, were hurled from their feet as the missiles hit; the shockwave impacting their bodies even as they ran from it. The epicentre of the blasts had, as planned, been centred on an area near the emplacements and so the scouts, suffering from numerous bruises, made their way back to the positions. The last of the bedraggled scouts made their way past the lines. Scorch marks and dust marked their faces and uniforms. The fires raging as a result of the impacts flickered orange and yellow light over their faces. Grim faces stared back at Sergeant Curtius and Lieutenant Gratius as each man returned. Each man was counted back in, even though Gratiius and Curtius could see that there were no casualties. Old habits were hard to break, even without the threat of punishment for departure from procedure.

“Is it just me or was that explosion badly placed?” asked Lieutenant Gratius.

“I’m just glad we got our boys back, sir. Who cares if they missed?” Sergeant Curtius shrugged.

“I do. The Empire has enough technology not to miss. Look at what they did to the building with the children in. If they wanted to hit the lines then they would have. This was intentional. I am familiar with the rocketry designs available and we were out of direct range of anything I’m aware of. It seemed as thought they were trying to use their forces to pin us down so the splash damage would weaken our positions and eliminate some of our men. The Empire has a manpower advantage; it doesn’t care if it looses a few men. Sometimes I got the feeling they only surround and contain rebellions until they starve so that they conserve ammunition.”

The fires blazed as the light in the sky dimmed, it consumed vast chunks of the battlefield, the Imperial Soldiery with it. Occasionally the odd burning figure could be seen stumbling back away from the rebel forces towards its own rear lines, only to stumble and fall as the inferno fuelled by its own body consumed it. A cloud of stench, burning flesh rolled out towards the rebel fallback positions causing many of the former prisoners to start retching violently where they stood.

“Get everyone back out of this stink,” yelled Sergeant Curtius “That’s it for tonight. They’ll want to see what damage they’ve done before they try anything else.”

“Set watches,” added Leuitenant Gratius “They may be regrouping, but I don’t want to be caught unawares”.

Chapter 18

Another light had been extinguished; the other had been at work. The light was sure of it, in as much as this confusing vista could allow it certainty. Perhaps the answer lay not in resisting the inexorable tide, but in allowing the irresistible force to move toward a goal that was hidden to it. The pain would be immense, but what was time here but a collection of waves from the permeable matter that so pervaded this region. Time would pass and so would the pain, but the light would be diminished by this sacrifice. Still, all would be nothing in entropic inevitability and all would start once again, changed yet similar. Would that such measures were not necessary and that intrusion into this plane would not again be necessary, but the goal justified the inconvenience to the light. Sacrifice for a greater goal was all part and parcel of a greater ability and presence.

Preparations had to be made, for the effective planning would be the key to the eventual success. The light flew to whence it came and began to mould that which would hold it and those parts of those with light for so long. This would in part be a prison, yet a sanctuary. Acceptance of the message would be the key to transferring the key components across the barriers erected to halt the progress of such an enterprise. To contain and mould would take almost all of that which would be left to the light after the inevitable conquest of the dark other. To hide and re-emerge, to reseed the message, hopeful that although the dark would be free to wreak havoc the regrouping of essence would be an effective counter to this. Rebirth, an overlooked power by the dark other, was a stock in trade for the light, forming a temporary loss in the struggle could lead to greater reward over time.

The construction took shape, heralding to a shape previously held, and had yielded much success to the light in the previous iteration. The weakness had been its limited experience and in this the light hoped the shared positive attributes of those it hoped to transfer past the veil would assist in the ineffable plan which it had moulded. Each part in itself was not something that could hope to turn the tide, yet combined it could grow to be something greater than the sum of its parts. The energy expenditure would be colossal and the light would only be able to ease the suffering of those that remained but a part. The sacrifice had to be made.

The sun rose over a pock-marked battlefield; shadows only marginally shortening in the craters blackened with the ashes of those that had stood there previously. With it rose more vapour trails and shining lights in the skies.

“What the fuck?” yelled Sergeant Curtius. “Are they going to eliminate more of their own side?”

“They have to know that we pulled back. They would never reach us. The same tactic would be pointless.”

The rockets impacted in the now demilitarised zone that had been the left flank of the previous engagement. Somehow the explosions seemed muted, less destructive and of little threat compared to the blasts that had rocked the battlefield last night. Sergeant Curtius gave a glance to Lieutenant Gratius and raised his eyebrow. It was a look that the two men both knew meant that Sergeant Curtius was puzzled by events but didn’t want to worry the men by expressing his confusion.

“We both saw where those rockets hit; a fully primed rocket should have blasted a crater the same size as the ones from last night. The new craters are at least half the size, if that. It’s as though there was just the propellant and a small charge exploding.” Lieutenant Gratius explained.

“Well, what would be the point of that? Isn’t the whole idea behind a rocket attack to blow the hell out of whatever is underneath it when it hits?”

“Normally yes, but I have read in some of the more obscure pre-imperial texts of rockets being used to deliver other payloads to the battlefield.”

“And you think that’s what happened?”

“That’s just what I’m afraid of; I have no idea what the Empire is up to. We have obviously forced them into using unconventional tactics as well.”

“Well at least it means we have them worried, Sir.”

“Sergeant, a desperate enemy is a dangerous enemy. It will use every resource at its disposal to save itself, even those that should never be used. Think back to what you learned of the pre-Imperial history in school. The deprivations visited on our fellow man were extreme and borne from fear. We were always taught that the Empire protected us from that evil ever returning. They could now be unleashing exactly those horrors upon us.”

Both men stared towards the enemy lines with growing trepidation. Tactically a slower moving threat was the greatest concern for it would be all the more devastating to make up for its lack of speed. The cries of the Imperial forces first alerted the men to the presence of an alien force on the battlefield. Blood-curdling cries pierced the dark.

“Has whatever they used backfired?” asked Sergeant Curtius.

“Possibly, or whatever they did use affected such a wide area they could not target us alone and they decided that they would sacrifice their own troops to hold us in position while the weapon was deployed.”

“So why hasn’t it affected us?”

“We are too far back. They took the bait and the automated guns made them think we were actively engaged with their forces.”

“So what did they do?”

Lieutenant Gratius stared into the distance in the direction of the enemy lines in silence, not knowing what to answer though he dreaded that which would follow. He had not the heart to impart the fate that may result and only he suspected. As he gazed into the distance with only the haunting cries of the enemy forces carrying over the gap in deployment he saw a brief trace of colour. A noxious green tinge reflected from the distant lights of the Imperial buildings. Lieutenant Gratius peered into the gloom trying to see what could cause such an effect, dreading the outcome of such investigation yet unable to stop himself. As the green mass crept slowly across from the enemy positions Lieutenant Gratius noticed imperfections in the edge, swirling tendrils as the accumulation moved. A green fog enveloped the emplacements that had earlier merely been the subject of a tint of jade.

“Gas! Get everyone back now!” yelled Lieutenant Gratius.

“GAS!! Retreat!” echoed Sergeant Curtius.

One of the scouts, exhausted from the previous night was struggling to keep up with the rebel forces; he had obviously been injured by the explosion as his limp kept threatening to upend him on the uneven ground. Even small rocks and pieces of debris caused his feet to skid and slide making small avalanches of dust career down the slopes of the battlefield. Suddenly, a large rock shifted in the dark at the base of one of the slopes and the scout tumbled to the ground rolling as he impacted. A sick crunch carried on the breeze as a shard of white appeared from within his uniform piercing the grey camouflage. The white patches quickly stained red as the blood flowed from the wound that was obscured by the livery. As he struggled to regain his feet the green gas cloud moved ever closer, accelerated by the wind as it shifted towards the rebel lines.

Several soldiers moved to assist the stricken scout but were halted by a call from Sergeant Curtius. They had been too far ahead to assist and the cloud would reach the scout well before the well-meaning Samaritans could reach him. One soldier, further back than the rest, still ran towards his fallen comrade either oblivious or uncaring of the hopelessness of the situation. The gas enveloped the staggering soldier he was rushing to assist but still he continued on. Even as the screaming and coughing started he ran towards the emerald nebula, he did not even pause when blood erupted from the man’s mouth in a crimson spray. As the scout fell to his knees the soldier who had run to his aid caught him in an embrace and gently lowered him to the ground even as his own coughing started. With an ethereal gentleness and grace he sat next to his comrade in arms and rocked him gently as the gas robbed them of their breath and even their very lives.

Despite the horror of what they had witnessed, and the danger that encroached upon them with every passing second. each and every member of the rebel soldiers stopped upon that moment and slowly saluted facing the cloud and their companions. Time seemed to hold still in that moment and a quiet enveloped all that witnessed this moment. Then as one the former prisoners turned and mimicked the gesture, not mockingly but with a solemn and compassionate solidarity with those that had brought them to this place but now fought with them and led them in this hopeless defence.

“Back.” A single syllable from Lieutenant Gratius, at almost whisper level, brought the madness of the flight from the gas back to the rebels.

Each man ran until their lungs burned, not from the gas but from the exertion of the flight from certain and agonising death. They did not pause even to glance backward at the advancing cloud until they could run no more. When they did they saw that the green wall of death had finally dissipated.

“Wind changed a few miles back,” gasped Sergeant Curtius.

“Didn’t think to tell me?” retorted Lieutenant Gratius.

“It’d take a while to dissipate the gas. Besides, in every horror film I’ve seen the girl looks back and she trips. That shit ain’t gunna happen to me!”

“This place is indefensible! We’ve got to get back to where we were. Form up.”

“What? Are you crazy? We’ll be back in range of the gas again.”

“We outran it once. They won’t try that again. They lost more of their men than we did.”

Returning to their positions the troops remained noticeably agitated. Guns were no longer held steady, but shook visibly as the men glanced around their surroundings, fearful of what new horror would emerge from cover or fall from the sky. Each small noise drew a sudden turn as each soldier turned to assess the threat level associated with it. Vice-Corporal Balbus, nevertheless, seemed relatively calm, glancing around more to assess the terrain and the tactical advantages and disadvantages each feature offered. To the Senior Officers it seemed as though Balbus had been affected in an otherworldly fashion. Instead of the combat unsettling him, as they would have expected in a newer recruit, he was starting to look born to the role. The prisoners seemed more settled than even the more experienced soldiers under his leadership, as they looked to him for strength. Perhaps this was because they had no expectations of what a battle would involve and how far removed the rules of engagement the Empire were currently using was from those the soldiers expected. They had expected horror and had thus been more prepared for that which had ensued than troops used to the rules of engagement.

Lieutenant Gratius took the decision to allow Balbus’ troops the first watch. They were less visibly shaken and the remainder of the soldiers would benefit from immediate rest. Normally he would have taken the first and last half hour of each watch to act as a bolster to the men, but he was so shaken by the new Imperial tactics that he realised that he needed a substantive rest in order to think clearly when the next attack came. He hated being on the reactive side once again. He was always at his best when he had control of the situation or could predict with at least some degree of accuracy the next move of his enemy. Now he was at a disadvantage. He tried to think back to the tactics of the pre-Imperial powers, to gain some measure of inspiration as to what may follow. The Imperial machine had, unfortunately, removed most of the references to such tactics and the true state of life before the Empire. All that remained were vague references to almost biblical plagues of war, disease and famine. Vast wars of attrition that decimated entire generations and periods of fear generated both from without and within. A time when governments could not tell friend from foe as their own subjects turned against them. As sleep claimed him his mind wandered through the green gas seeing tortured faces of all that had died under his command, questioning eyes all asking him the same question, “Why?” He had no answer to give them, save that he thought he was doing the right thing, even though the loss of life would not achieve anything. The old cliché of being able to sleep soundly at night sounding both shallow and ironic given the setting and content of the nightmare. Vast shadows of men long past rushed across the dreamscape re-enacting battles long lost yards of ground proclaimed as victories despite the thousands of lives lost to gain them. Again and again the men fell each in a myriad of different ways as they attempted to act in a way that would let them reach their unobtainable objectives.

Vice-Corporal Balbus glanced back at the prone Lieutenant shifting restlessly in his sleep and idly wondered what nightmares could be tormenting the noble spirit that resided within him. Balbus had his own daemons, yet he could live with them for he had affected a simple premise. He would expunge the sins of his intolerance by washing the blood away with toil and atonement. His life had become an irrelevance that could be gladly given for the greater good, to apologise for his support of the Empire, which had so failed to live up to that which he had imagined it was. He had never been under the impression that it was perfect, but the imperfections had at least been based, in his mind, on the greater perfection of Sol Invictus. Now if there was a supreme being then it was evident that it was either evil or had nothing to do with the Empire. To Balbus the existence, indifference or evilness of Sol Invictus was immaterial for whatever the outcome he was damned in the eyes of that deity. He could, at least do what he could to salve his conscience. This detachment had lead to his ability to navigate the corridors of war in calm serenity for he cared not what became of him. It was a freedom, a freedom he had never experienced before, akin to that he had expected upon reaching citizenship. Citizenship, he realised, was a dream; an image that would not have lived to his expectations for it would be but a gilded cage made of his won fear of being outcast from the Empire as his ancestors had been.

Sergeant Curtius wandered around the camp unable to sleep; not tormented by his dreams as Gratius was, nor serene as he had noticed Balbus to be. He randomly swore under his breath, unable to comprehend how his loyalty to his commander had brought him here. He had never overly cared much for the concepts of right and wrong. What had possessed him to take them so much to himself now? Sure, the sight of the old being slaughtered for no apparent reason had sickened him and the deaths of the children had felt like the worst suckerpunch to the gut he had ever experienced but he felt he had been on the path to this long before those incidents. Were the priests right about the concept of a soul? Did everyone have some good in them that would rise at the appropriate moment if they let it? For the length of this mission he had been aware of some niggling voice in his head that he could not quite hear, yet pushing and urging quietly and persuasively along certain routes of action. For such questions and any answers that may ensue Curtius was singularly ill-equipped to answer or receive the answers he sought; so he swore and stomped around camp like a bear with a sore head.

“Sir!” yelled a sentry. “Sir! Contact, we have movement ahead of the lines.”

“How many men are we talking about, Halbadier?”

“Doesn’t look like any man I’ve ever seen Sir. They look kind of box-like and they are moving very slowly.”

“Box-like?” Lieutenant Gratius turned to Sergeant Curtius, “The only thing I can think of is a bomb disposal drone. Why would they use a bomb disposal drone here?”

“They don’t deal with mines sir. That’s the only thing we would deploy that was explosive. IED’s are primitive and liable to blow up when the firing starts.”

“That means they must be weapons of some sort. Perhaps they fitted them with something like that gas. Get snipers up top; tell them to aim for any circuitry or mechanics that aren’t shielded by armour!”

Halbadier Laterensis clambered to the top of the nearest surviving building and drew his high velocity rifle. Halbadier Camillus, his spotter, squatted next to him.

“Have we got a good arch on the approach?”

“We sure do, I’m not so happy about the wind angle and speed, I’d say about 3 clicks left and 4 high?”

“Affirmative, perhaps 3.5 clicks left, it’s starting to pick up a bit.”

“I’ll alter if we’re off. Let me know if it picks up any more and I’ll compensate then.”

“Roger that.”

Halbadier Laterensis peered down the scope after shifting his position to allow ease of shallow breathing. The crosshairs revealed a squat metallic object on rubber tracks slowly picking its way through the detritus of the battlefield.

“Well, hitting it isn’t a problem. It’s just so damn slow.”

“True, but remember we have to stop it. Can you see anything that might be a point of weakness?”

“I can see the tracks, but our angle is all wrong. We’d have to be on top of it to sever those.”

“What about that dish on top?”

“Nah, most drones are self-guiding, fire and forget. We take that out and then it just completes the last mission it was given and stops. We can’t retreat any further, no cover.”

“Shit! What about that box, to the left of the dish, it doesn’t look too well armoured?”

“Put a pin in that one, anything not well armoured is either non-essential or movement based. That looks like it has circuits in. I.e. non-essential. If we get desperate we can give it a go.”

“OK, what about that gear behind the left track? I can just make it out. If we take that out maybe it’ll just go in circles and then we can stop it when the other side comes into view.”

“Worth a try.”

Halbadier Laterensis hunkered down to draw sight on the tiny target. He slowed his breathing to eliminate body movement as he lines the crosshairs to the gear. If he hit, then the high velocity round should shred the offending mechanics to pieces destroying the means to distribute power to that side of the drones drive assembly.

“Wind’s up.”

“0.5 click added”

Halbadier Laterensis exhaled and at the sweet point just after the point of exhalation gently caressed the trigger sending the round speeding on its way to the target. The drone rocked on its tracks when the bullet hit, and shuddered to a halt as a track lodged behind a rock.

“Fuck! We nailed it!”

“Wait, it could work its way free.”

The drone sprayed a small cloud of pebbles as it gained purchase enough to climb the rock that had impeded its progress. Although it was driving in a circle the circumference meant that it could reach the rebel lines if it was impeded in the right way by another obstacle.

“One more shot could damage it enough to strand it in the middle there…”

“Wait, there’s two more of the bloody things coming over the ridge!”

The sniper abandoned to luck the progress of the first drone. He just had to hope that its current course would stop it coming close enough to the lines to do what it had been sent there to do. He shifted his position so he could draw sight on the first of the additional drones.

“Got sight?” asked the spotter.

“Yup, same place as before.”

“Wind’s picked up, adjust that extra half-click.”

“Done, taking the shot.”

“Hit.”

“Moving to next target.”

“No changes.”

“Taking shot.”

“Hit.”

“Are the new ones moving?”

“Negative, targets clear.”

“What about that first one?”

“It’s moved past us, no line of sight.”

“Fuck! How fast was it moving?”

“Walking pace, no faster.”

“Fuck that then! I’ll be buggered if it slips past us!”

The sniper gathered up his rifle and with an ease borne of repeated training and practice stripped it down and stowed it in his backpack. Then, standing up, he sprinted to the rappelling ropes they had secured for a swift retreat. With a hiss he was over the parapet before his spotter could react. The spotter ran to the edge to see his partner reach the ground and sprint off after the crippled drone.

Lieutenant Gratius held his place on watch, staring at the drone making its way slowly towards the lines. Ammunition was short and he knew that it would do no good with the armoured face of the drone towards the rebel lines. To the rear of the drone he spied the sniper running towards it waving desperately. The direction of the waves indicated a general retreat.

“Form up, we’re moving back again.” Gratius ordered.

As the men grouped together for a march back into the ruins of Rome a general lethargy seemed to overwhelm them for they knew that the dilapidated buildings behind them were ultimately indefensible. The prospect of street-to-street combat with a superior force meant only doom and death.

The sniper reached the drone and halted in front of it yelling and gesticulating wildly at his own lines but he was too far away to be heard. Turning away from his friends and comrades he focussed instead on the drone, searching for a weakness that would enable him to halt its mission. His earlier shot had hit its target but only after passing through a piece of casing that meant the cog he had only slightly damaged was now completely inaccessible. With that slight hope now diminished he moved back to the front of the drone and placing his feet firmly in front of two protruding pieces of rubble that he hoped would anchor him he grasped the edges of the front facing and pushed, hoping it would give the rebels enough time to fall back. The pressure built as the drone reacted to this new obstacle with greater force created by shifting to a gear that would create greater torque. The sniper could feel his muscles slowly tear as he resisted the new onslaught of force.

“He’s holding back the drone!” yelled Balbus as the rebels began to march back into the city.

The sniper was oblivious to the increased speed in the rebels movements his desperate act had caused. He was only concerned with the new development that had raised new difficulties for him. A fine mist had begun to spray from the top of the drone and as some of the liquid drifted down it collected on the side of the drone making it difficult to hold fast. The liquid also irritated his throat as he could do nothing to stop himself breathing it in. He seemed to be producing more saliva than normal and he started coughing. Each spasm in his diaphragm caused his entire body to judder and he was slowly forced back by the drone. By now the jet of aerosol liquid could be clearly seen even from the rebel lines. A red mist descended upon the vision of the sniper as his bowels evacuated causing his stance to slip even further. The drone crushed his torso even as the vomiting began.

In the ruins of Rome the rain began to fall covering all within, for the ceilings were either non-existent or so full of leaks and cracks that they may well have been. As night fell the coughing started.

Scraps of paper were handed round the ruins to those who were still capable of rational thought. Many lay convulsing in the final throws of a disease that had started to work its way around the rebels. There was no doubt as to the cause, the drones had been tasked with unleashing the horrors of the pre-Imperial Age. Biological terror, unstoppable, implacable and deadly. The medics had been among the first to be afflicted after an initial few cases. With no effective care-givers the death toll had mounted inexorably. Those affected had developed flu-like symptoms to start but then when the diarrhoea had started blood began to seep from orifices and the convulsions began. Eventually the afflicted expunged their own intestines from their anuses with the sound of ripping wet cotton. Death followed soon after, mercifully ending the delirious suffering.

As the paper passed a simple choice faced the surviving rebels. Depleted as they were they could not hope to hold out much longer but they had little choice for if they surrendered they would be vaporised to halt the spread of the disease. Yet even this seemed like mercy as the screams of their comrades ripped into the peace of the night. Lieutenant Gratius had made a brief speech pointing out that the choice would be made by majority and the outcome of surrender and continued resistance. The surprise had come from Balbus, who had entered into the debate:

“Our suffering here will end swiftly should we surrender. We will be vaporised. Thus will end that which we endure, as will what we strove to achieve. We are dead already, our fate is sealed. What remains is what we can hope to achieve through our deaths. If we surrender then the Empire broke us. It won, as it always does. We will be forgotten, just another rebellion that was crushed. The horror of what the Empire hoped to achieve will be brushed away by our treachery and defeat. There is but one choice, to fight; to show those who would join against this type of horror and tyranny that the Empire can be defeated. We will lose the battle but the Empire will loose the war. They want us to surrender, why else would they use such weapons, risk infecting the Planet of Sol Invictus itself? Why else but to subjugate the spirit of freedom and justice, to make us give up so they can use us as examples of the futility of resisting them. The only way for us to effect a victory is to fight on, to persevere, and to steal their victory from them. We must give hope from where there is none; energise those who would be righteous.”

The cheers sparked a shower of confetti as the ballots were thrown into the air. There was no need to count for the rebels had made their choice.

“Fight, Fight, Fight!” The chant made it past the lines, even to the Imperial command post.

Chapter 19

The myriad of stars turn around the galactic central point like a swirl of iridescent diamonds giving definition to the darkness. In turn the darkness defines the shape of the light, a three armed disc constantly turning dragging its inhabitants through time and space. Through much of one arm a new darkness has established itself, though this is not the darkness of space itself which is really an absence of any visible light, this is an existential darkness of the very soul. A darkness where life is cheap and men are bought and sold like cattle and are rendered equally docile. The expansion of this darkness is rapid like the spread of a virus through a stricken body. The lights of its passing are in stark contrast to its underlying evil. The light of civilisation is carried forth at an astonishing pace, faster than any democracy in human history. Carried forth on the wings of fire, a fire fuelled with the very bodies of any deemed to be dissenting voices in the Holy Empires multitude.

The centre of this empire is in the Sol system, the birthplace of man. The third planet out, a small island in the Northern Hemisphere, just off the North Coast of a major land mass. To its left is an ocean to its right a small sea before a vast connection of two continental plates. Its climate is temperate fed by a current from the other side of the ocean near the equator to its verdant shores. This tiny island used to be the hub of the planets economy and invention and now is again. It is now also the centre of a vast ecclesiastical network which is centred on a major temple in the centre of a sprawling metropolis in the South East of that Island. The temple in the past was the centre of another religion of this planet, the Temple was once known as St Paul’s but is now simply known as The Temple. Its location used to be in the centre of a large Sea to the South East of its current position in a City called Rome, which now no longer exists. Rome is now a vast network of ruins populated only by the dregs and outcasts of the vast theocracy that controls not only this planet but the entire Empire. They scavenge and steal from the ruins and from each other in a struggle to survive. This is the breeding ground of all dissent and disease that has ever plagued the Empire. Soon this threat, or minor irritation as it could be more accurately classified as, will be removed as will its inhabitants. Not for the Empire the mass invasion of a dissenting area, the costly occupation and the cost in lives to its military forces of a protracted occupation. Not even the mass invasion and slaughter or enslavement of the populous to regain control.

A bright flash of light sears the eyes and the air is ripped from the lungs as the inward shockwave hits. Soon the flesh rips from the bodies, burned from the bone in an instant, the ash torn away by the howling gale as the unvoiced screams of agony die in infancy. This is the first few milliseconds of Imperial Cleansing. The Ruins are now decimated, ripped apart by the outward bound shockwave shattered into dust and the dust blown ever outward by the force of the explosion. The noise only just begins to manifest itself a deep rumble growing ever louder. Akin to thunder but growing, ever increasing until the ear cannot take the pressure and ruptures to a blissful silence with only the pain of the ruptured drum to occupy the aural area. As the eyes re-adjust from the burst of light at the start of this process, the horror of the vista assaults the senses, not only the lack of any sign of life but the awful silence and the impression that although even the land is dead there are remnants in the dust. These remnants evidence the fact that once life existed here and was rudely extinguished. A fragment of girder here, a piece of wall that somehow survived the holocaust there and on that broken wall the mind shocking outline that screams into the mind for an eternity. As the eye travels round the ruined city the other hints become easier and easier to see, more and more faint outlines on the surviving masonry and as we take our leave of this ravished landscape the screaming of the mind continues until it too wishes for the blessed peace that those poor souls now endure, for anything is preferable to remembering what happened in this place, in our names.

The pain was indescribable as the blast wave of fear and pain washed even past the defences of the construct. The construct raised its head and screamed in agony, even in its partially completed status the consciousness was forming, strengthened by the influx of memories and experiences of those washed away in the tide of heat and pain. Whilst the anguish was overwhelming, a peace was discovered as acceptance and forgiveness was discovered. The light was astounded as this discovery had not been initiated by itself. Within the mass of conflicted emotions there was another, a like light slowly asserting itself, whilst it would not be able to guide the construct as the light itself could, it could make subtle changes. The light had an ally, gained from the destruction that had so wounded it.

Mya could not comprehend the light that encompassed her; it swirled and eased her pain as she felt the love that had been felt for her from the members of Calidius Squad. Their sorrow that she would be hurt, although saddening, brought her peace, for she knew that she was loved and cared for. She accepted this emotion as part of her as it floated by. Even those who had not been influential in her existence, now past, shared this compassion and warm toward the memory of what she had been. This too she accepted and eased the suffering of guilt these shades held that they had been complicit in her pain. She felt something else too, another presence, bewildered yet warm and comforting, a sense of observation that was not in the least threatening. It was not a feeling she could place from her earthly experiences but it was akin to that of a parent caring for a small child, who could not understand the experience. As the consciousness lost its inhibitions and drew all the threads she could sense together it became her and she became it, in this she was reborn. From the fire and ashes of the nuclear blast that had ripped her from life she found a new existence, one of joy and love, though surrounded by pain. The rebirth, allowed her to understand the nature of the shadow that surrounded the construct, seeking a way in to destroy it, to destroy her, to destroy them. She called upon a light within her to keep the shadow at bay, for she felt it grow stronger with each passing unit of time. It pervaded this new perception of space, time and alternate planes, yet it could be held in check by remembering and reliving the experiences she had shared with those who had cared and protected her. Cocooned in this safety, howsoever fragile she slept and relaxed into her new form, their new form, rising from the radioactive ashes to achieve a new form, similar to one that had come before, though she knew not when.

Investigator Celeris strode through the corridors of the Capital Sol Invictus, her head alive with the fire of the deaths she had witnessed. She would have been more satisfied if, instead of pushing a mere button, she had been able to swing the nuclear flaming sword herself, carving the lives from those who so offended her. She was, however, rankled by her strict orders to return to the capital and not divulge the details of the rebellion to anyone. She had been paraded through the streets to acclaim, she was offended by such accolades for she was a mere servant of Sol Invictus and it was to him the honours should be attributed, for had he not shown her the way? Then blinding pain, but for a brief second as the madness drew back its veil and she saw what she had done. Then the darkness claimed her and she knew in whose service she had been for all this time. The betrayal seared more than the bullet that had passed through her brain.

As her eyes dimmed the vidfeeds changed. Images of Balbus, Curtius and Lieutenant Gratius were shown in wreaths of victory, hailed as heroes. Credited with holding back the tides of the unholy with their lives they were more than just men. The Empire had usurped even their memory, sullied that one act which had been holy and righteous.

In a Spartan room, the like of which could only be obtained with wealth and power, two men sat watching two vidscreens. One showed the crisp clear and polished propaganda that was even now being etched into the minds of the populous as part mythology and part truth. The other showed the grainer image of a female form clad in the black of the Investigator branch slowly bleeding out into the street, crosshairs centred on the wound in her chest.

“It is regrettable, she was a great asset. Skilled, compliant to our objectives and utterly loyal.” Muttered the dark haired man on the left.

“True, but she was also completely unstable. Look at what she managed to spark in Rome. It should have been a quiet, methodical operation, not a wholesale slaughter followed by what can only be described as an almost apocalyptic event.”

“The slaughter was on our orders.”

“Yes, but the psychology of the situation should have been taken into account. The Black Guard were supremely suited to the task, but to involve the Imperial regulars? That was the mistake. They should have been kept at distance. They had not been conditioned for such tasks. The Empire could not have survived a rebellion of her own. We learned the lessons of the past to avoid such issues. Did not Rome tear itself apart with her own troops towards the end before the inevitable collapse?”

“True, so we steal from the Romans again. Shall we too fiddle as the Empire burns?”

“That is what the Seven Thousand legend will halt. The unity with the Empire even unto death will serve to unite and control like nothing before it. This is why the Investigator needed to be removed. Her madness lay in her belief that she was chosen by Sol Invictus himself. Do you really think she would have stood idly by whilst we hailed the rebellion she fought against in his name as the saviours of the Empire and the chosen of Sol Invictus? No, and the revelation of the truth would have caused havoc, coming from an Investigator, speaking against the Empire it would have spawned a rebellion on every world. The Empire would have torn itself apart.”

“So what of Celeris?”

“We can still make use of her, we shall hail her too, in a way. She shall be the darkness that we can bring. ‘Unite with the Empire and you shall be heroes, like the Five Thousand. Defy us and we shall rain death and destruction upon thee, like Celeris incarnate. Thus she shall serve, as she could not do in life.”

The Darkness laughed at the cocoon which shielded the scraps of the Five Thousand from such revelations sparing them the pain of their defeat. For they could do nothing so confined. He turned and his attention focussed on amassing more power so that even this sanctuary of the light would be burned from all existence.

The light enveloped all with one whispered message for all they had endured, this last crumb of each of them.

“Not in vain. It was not in vain.”

Addendum

For such an act of atrocity one would imagine the birth of the Empire in Death, Fire and War. Not so, it was a peaceful following of modern principles of Peace mixed with the old imagery of one of the Christian Church’s precursors Sol Invictus. The movement was born out of distaste for the many religious disputes used primarily as an excuse for money, power or simply the age-old human pleasure of killing another human because of something his great-great-great etc. Grandfather did to your great-great etc Grandfather and vice versa. The Leaders of this world in the Twenty-First Century, political and religious, had come to the realisation rightly or wrongly, that humans have always killed other humans: human still kill other humans and that humans will continue killing other humans and there was sweet FA that they could do about that. They then proceeded to continue along their normal policies with giving a crap about which country was invading which, unless they were directly involved. The followers of Sol Invictus somehow played upon this much as a master pianist tickles the ivories for his favourite performance piece. Their message of non-violent resistance and unrelenting forgiveness somehow broke through. Perhaps it was their willingness to include other faiths and listen to their point of view that helped set them aside. Given that much of the historical records of Sol Invictine religious rights had been destroyed by the Early Christian Church, which was scared of competition, this gave the new worshipers the freedom to make much of the faith up as they went along. They had no ultimate religious book that they had to use to justify their beliefs. They believed what they wanted and added pieces here and there as they saw fit. It stole some of the wind from an evangelical preacher’s sermon trying to draw attention to the evils of this new movement when all they did in response to his cogent points was to adopt them into their own religion. Soon the world had converted, apart from the few that clung to the old religions out of a sense of tradition, fear or real belief in the tenants of their religions. Soon all war had stopped, there was no point we were all one. In 2067 a minutes silence was held all over the world to mourn the dead of all the wars ever held and a mere 3 months later the world leaders all signed a firm declaration of realistic disarmament. This was not just a salve to be broken, nor did it by virtue of its subject matter only apply to the nuclear powers. This was a declaration of total world disarmament. The security forces were to remain armed but only to act as a last resort and to be completely independent of the Countries of the world. Gradually all laws came into sync and the stage was set for one world as a state. It was a glorious time for mankind. All the hope expressed over the years in our poetry and philosophy had come to fruition in this one seemingly perfect society. The Empire had been born not of a bloodbath or cataclysmic natural disaster but a bloodless coup, the gentle opening of a flower that may have been in the ultimate dreams of Ghandi.

As the reforms of the Empire continued to improve the lot of the common man, the conditions on the earth grew more cramped and the raw materials for this life grew scarcer. It was at this point that colonisation of the rest of the solar system was mooted. Earth now almost drained of all its natural resources would be wholly given over to the expansion effort and thereafter used as a residential zone and solar energy plant (in the more inhospitable areas). Plans were immediately drawn up to save the various animal and plant species that had survived the laissez-faire period of government that had predated the Empire. They were assigned areas to be treated as planetary parks while the rest of the planet was given over to its new purpose.

With the Empire thriving, the Archdeacon, who ruled the theocracy, gave a short pointed speech, which set the stage for all that was to come. It focussed on the blissful age of enlightenment that had come into being as a result of the religious beliefs of the Sol Invictines. How everything that we now came to treasure, peace, ecological security and joy in scientific discovery, was based on the Faith. The capital letter was justified. In one move all other religions became frowned upon, they had been the route cause of all evil Every atrocity ever committed could be traced back to some religious justification or act or perceived act. It was, the Archdeacon said, imperative that all now embrace to share the Faith as this would eradicate the possibility of war or violence, which could not and would not be tolerated. All who had not converted were misguided, a poor lost few, and should be “encouraged” to join the fold. Overnight the non-believers were relegated to a second-class life and were deemed to be emotionally irresponsible and could be trusted with only the simplest jobs. From there it was a small step to creating a ghetto so they could attain happiness amongst their own kind. Mankind has been through this path before, many, many times. This time was different for one simple reason. The justifications were not based on fear or envy or greed or any combination of them. The justification was that they could not function in the new world order and thus we must allow them some confines so that they could pursue their flawed ways as they saw fit. Of course once they were behind walls the Temple could do as it wished.

So the new Century started with the Theocracy in charge of all things; everything was run by doctrine and belief. Enforcing this was the Investigators, a crack force chosen as children to make up the security forces elite. They were trained in all forms of personal and in many cases impersonal violence. They had the power to kill on suspicion, for if it was not right for the Inquisitors to do so then Sol Invictus would not have placed the suspicion there in the fist place. Trials were held frequently so that “Justice” could be seen to be done.

About the Author

Martin Allen graduated from the University of Northumbria at Newcastle in 2003 with a Law LL.B (Hons) Exempting L.P.C. Degree. He has worked in many different areas of the Legal Sector and built up a wealth of experience.

Martin enjoys reading and writing Science Fiction but has taken the time to wrote a few Legal pieces, one of which is available in E-Book format through Amazon (The Prosecutor's Fallacy: The Reliability of DNA and Fingerprint Evidence).

The Phoenix Series is a Science Fiction series set in a world where a Theocracy has come to power. "Phoenix: Penitence" is a short story set in this world. The first Novel "Phoenix: Rising" charts the rise of a new interpretation of the theological teachings of this Empire and the lengths this Empire will go to protect itself from it. The story is told from the point of view of an Imperial Investigator caught in the middle of the Empire's manoeuvrings. The Prequel, Phoenix: Ashes tells the story of the Seven Thousand, part of the mythology of the Empire in Phoenix: Rising and tells their story.

Photograph courtesy of www.jagjohal.co.uk

Other titles by the Same Author

Factual:

The Prosecutors Fallacy: The Reliability of DNA and Fingerprint Evidence

****

“The author has delivered a thought provoking, well researched and eminently readable overview of the perils of regarding DNA/ fingerprint evidence as 100% definitive proof of innocence or guilt. Rather it makes the reader aware that scientific evidence is conducted by humans and is therefore is fallible. Ideally forensic evidence evaluation is a tool to relate a likelihood ratio of a combination of diverse factors towards the guilt of a suspect. It enlightens the reader to the hazards of over reliance on science in an adversarial courtroom setting without stifling the reader with jargon or requiring advanced knowledge of Bayesian statistics and it would benefit legal & forensic students to purchase a copy as an introductory text ( plus its cheap). Since publication the Forensic Science Service has closed and forensic analysis is contracted out to labs, therefore evaluation of the conviction rate in relation to the prosecutors fallacy and the evidential value of DNA or fingerprints bears close scrutiny to prevent any miscarriages of justice.” – Scott Walker (Amazon.co.uk)

Science Fiction:

Phoenix: Penitence

“It was good reading, different to the ones I read. Love the details what you put into it :-) love to see more and keep me posted :-)” – Claire McCluskey (Wattpad)

Phoenix: Rising

**** - “Very Interesting Future Depicted”

“This book takes place in the distant future. Earth has had a tragic event and is now dominated by a single Empire. In fact, this Empire has been spread to outer colonies (other planets), and draws it's strength and authority from the teachings of one specific religion. As with previous empires on Earth, searching for those that would bring it down is left to a trusted few - and it is one of those trusted few that tells this story.” – J. Heyman (Amazon.com)

**** - “A Fun Read no matter who you are”

“I cannot tell you how much I loved this book. It is a science fiction book, but it doesn’t feel like one. Usually, in my experience, when it comes to a science fiction story, you are either following a space crew as they explore the deep reaches of the unknown but this novel took the original approach on focusing on religion. If there were not any references to colony planets or plasma weapons, I wouldn’t have guessed this fact at all but I think that is something that really works for this story.

The plot of this story is heavily influenced by the New Testament. You can probably guess what story specifically by the plot synopsis. If not, then you will recognize the story the second you read the first reference. Despite all that, the ending is not as predictable as you think it would be. It felt like the first time I have ever heard the story, which is great.

Also, should make a comment on something. This book is not very dialogue heavy, but you get a big picture on what goes on in the protagonist’s head. That, to me, is a more important aspect in books because this is the only form of media where you can get to know your main character inside and out completely.

I highly recommend this book to all those who want a different approach to the science fiction genre, those who are interested in learning a bit more about religion without digging into the bible, or those who want a refreshing take on an old story.” – Scott (Amazon.com and Book Junkies)

***** - “Brilliant”

“This is well written, structured will and well worth reading. Faultless. Both myself and a friend have read this and we both agree this is a good read.” – Laura Hartless (Amazon.co.uk)

**** There's really not much I can say about this book without giving too much away, but I found it quite enjoyable. To me it was like Frank Herbert and L. Ron Hubbard got together and wrote a book on the religious aspects on a human space colony.

My only complaint on the novel is the lack of dialogue between characters. The "show-don't-tell" mantra of writers and editors has been ingrained in me over the years, otherwise, I'd have given Phoenix: Rising a 5 star review. – Randy Eberle [Author of “Gemini” – soon to be a motion picture] (Goodreads)