Chapter 1

The ready room was quiet. Or at least it was as quiet as it could become. A rowdy game of cards was being played at a table. The financial stakes were high.

Strictly speaking, gambling was illegal during working hours. Being caught inevitably led to harsh punishment. Normally the type you did not come back from.

Torm let it pass.

In front of Torm, lay the unfinished report of his last patrol. It was a standing joke amongst patrol commanders. The only time he would ever file a report on time, it was said, would be if he was killed on patrol and someone else had to fill it out instead. He sighed, laid down the pen and looked around the room.

Kyron - troop gopher- was sitting with Nial -second section heavy support- and some members of another squad. They were busily engaged in pulling nose hairs out with the aid of a pair of pliers. Then noisily measuring the length of each other’s hairs to raucous laughter.

Kerry- his radio op- was fiddling with parts of a radio in a corner. Bits were strewn all over the tabletop.

Jodas- his second in command- was busy supplementing his income at the card game.

Lebo- heavy weapons support- was helping to supplement Jodas’s income.

Irene- the medic- was using what suspiciously looked like part of the medical kit as collateral. Torm made a mental note to have a word with her about that later on.

Breen- the other radio op- was sitting at the card game with a serious, I’m in control look. Which meant he was loosing and had just been dealt a bad hand.

Torm looked down at the paperwork and was seriously considering shuffling it all into a pile. Wandering across to the card game and asking to be dealt a hand.

Suddenly the klaxon went off, it was ignored by all at first. Torm sighed again, gathered the paperwork into a pile and stuffed the lot into a pocket.

“Come on children, you know the drill.” Torm’s command was so half hearted it was hardly a command.

“Aw, do we have to dad?” There were sniggers from around the room.

‘Ah yes, the drill’ he mused silently to himself. This was the third time this week the panic alarm had gone off. He decided he would have to have a word with the station commander about that.

The station commander was a desktop commander. Never seen action, proper action that is. Action, where your partners entrails are splattered all over you. Action, where you don’t expect to be alive in an hour’s time.

All of Torm’s command were ex Imperial guard, as was he. All having served in countless conflicts throughout the galaxy, sometimes going back for seconds. After a while, battle became a part of you. It was hard to retire and run a shop. Inevitably, those to old for frontline duties and knew it but wanted to live bit longer, gave their notice for time served. Then joined the Arbites. The same buzz but a fraction of the danger. Normally.

Torm was all for practise drills. The trouble was, if used to many times, there was a risk that people would act slovenly during a real crisis, because they thought it was just another drill.

Pausing at the door, Torm looked back into the room.

“Well come on then!”

Grumbling and mumbling, the ready room occupants lay down what they were doing and followed Torm out the room.

Heading for the command elevator, Torm fished his I.D out of a pocket. His squad headed for the equipment rooms.

Swiping his card through the reader, Torm waited while it chirped and beeped. “Yeh, yeh, keep your wires on.” He entered the elevator and selected command room, preparing himself for the inevitable boring lecture on duty to the Imperium.

He hummed to himself as he descended.

The door opened and he entered the command room foyer. The two Arbites that normally stood formally to either side of the door were missing. Torm raised an eyebrow. Someone was going to be in trouble. The base commander was a stickler for protocol.

The tension inside was palatable. Torm felt his hackles rise, years of conflict and strife told him all was not well.

The chapter house commander and his aides were huddled over the planning table, the screen of which changed rapidly. Torm ignored them and looked to the various computer screens on the walls.

As you progress through the years and ranks in the Imperial Guard, you can’t but help pick up the rudiments of other trades in the business of war, never enough to do the job, but enough to gain an edge. An edge was normally the difference between life and death.

Torm couldn’t quite understand the readouts on the screens, but he’d seen similar before. It hadn’t been good then either. He stepped into a corner out of the way and turned on his small section com. Not all patrols used them, however Torm made a point of doing so. The range was not great; the advantage of the system was that it was not tied into the larger main com network. It could still be listened into by the base radio ops, though they rarely bothered. Base radio ops were not interested in interesting cloud formations and other pointless trivia that Torms section normally ended up discussing.

Torm activated the sender. “Jodas? You’d better be bloody switched on. Jodas?” Silence. “Emperor dam it!” he cursed, waited a second and tried again. “Jodas?”

His earpiece crackled noisily. He winced in pain.

“Yo! Don’t tell me. False alarm, we can all go back to sleep, right?” Jodas sounded too chirpy for Torms liking.

The other advantage of a personal net, was that you did not have to worry about voice procedure.

“Wrong,” Torm curtly replied “I want the squad battle ready at the doors in ten minutes. Full armour, full weapon load out. Oh, and pack rations for an extended deployment.”

There was a pause at the other end “Hostiles?”

“I’ll brief you on route, oh and Jodas?”

“Yes boss?”

“Get someone to collect my armour and weapons as well. Out.”

Torm turned his attention back to the job at hand. It was at times like this, that the hassle of finding spares for the non-standard radio units and the hassle of keeping them working paid off. When the inevitable farce that would be the briefing was over, his squad would be ready and waiting. The other patrol commanders would have to find their squads then get them prepped ready for deployment. He smiled at the mental image of the chaos that would descend upon the armoury as the other patrols fought to get their weapons out the small armoury.

The tactical briefing did not fail to disappoint. Torm left the command room unsure who was more dangerous. Those in command or the invaders no one knew anything about. Only management could take twenty minutes to say, “We don’t know anything”

Torm met his squad at the vehicle bay. Jodas had a big grin across his face.

“What’s so funny Jodas?”

“Take a trip to the armoury boss.”

Lebo handed Torm his armour. Irene helped him to buckle it on. As he fastened on his armour, Torm did a quick check of his squad. All were armed armoured and carrying extended operations packs.

“We’ll take our rhino,”

“Still not repaired sir.” Jodas interjected.

“WHAT! They’ve had it long enough.”

Jodas just shrugged.

“Sod it, I’m not walking. We’ll take one of the others, first come first served and all that.”

All the hairs on the back of Torms neck stood up and his ears popped with the change of air pressure that was accompanied by a low deep rumbling. Shoulders all round slumped in resignation.

“All right, grab your kit. It looks like were walking.”

That was the trouble with void shields. They were great at stopping things getting in, as well as getting out.

They clattered down the twisting narrow stairs to the lower levels of the chapter house. Torm stopped halfway down, letting the others squeeze past till Kerry drew close.

“Let me help you with that.” Torm helped Kerry divest herself of the heavy main radio pack. Kerry stretched her shoulders in relief, then continued on down. Torm adjusted the added weight to sit securely.

Sounds started to filter down from the top of the stairwell. Torm was willing to bet a day’s wage that it was Peters squad. His was one of the few squads that Torm could rely on in a serious firefight. To be where he said he would be, on time. Dependable, like death. Torm followed down after his squad.

At the bottom of the stairwell, the passageway branched off in different directions, each leading to a different hidden entrance/exit in the city.

Working as per his scant orders, Torm pointed out a passageway to his waiting squad.

No sooner had they stepped into the passageway, than the walls floor and ceiling vibrated. Dust fell from the roof.

“Well,” Commented Jodas with his usual cheerfulness, “That rules out a riot”

“Or at least a small one.” Muttered Irene.

“Naahhh, that’s Ebor,” The heavy support trooper from Leanes squad “Farting!” Called out Lebo.

Nial -Torms second section heavy support- Looked towards Torm. “That’s space launched isn’t it sir?”

Torm nodded his helmeted head in assent.

Jodas adjusted his pack straps and looked round. “So it’s hit the fan then?”

Torm nodded again. “When I left the briefing room, drop ships were on their way. Lots of them”

“Emperors Vengeance?” The orbiting Astares ship.

Torm shook his head “Didn’t stand a chance. Blown to pieces, including it’s escape pods.”

“So it’s up to us to save the day then. As usual.”

The conversation sunk into silence as they made their way along the trembling tunnel.

The tunnel eventually opened into an atrium. Wall mounted turrets- heavy bolters and flamers- pointed at an innocuous door at the other end.

They walked across the room accompanied by the sound of multiple turrets rotating to follow their progress.

Jodas looked at a turret as he passed it. “ I hope their friend/foe recognition is up to date. Cos this could be our shortest patrol ever!”

The innocuous little door opened into another shorter corridor. The door at the end, led into the city’s sewer system.

Torm opened the door into darkness, allowing a putrid smell to enter.

“Hmm, lovely. Smells a bit like your room Lebo” Quipped Jodas.

“Hilarious, don’t give up the day job though.” Grumbled Lebo.

“Visors down!” Snapped Torm.

There were multiple clicks as visors slid into place. Torm waited patiently for his H.U.D. to come online. Diagnostics ran across his faceplate as his re-breather hummed into life. The sewer beyond took on an eerie green glow under the visors night vision capability.

They sloshed through the turgid detritus of humanity till Torm thought they were far enough away from the chapter house. He waved Kyron forward and pointed up to the man hole cover.

Kyron handed his shotgun to Jodas, and then nimbly scrambled up the rungs. They waited while he grunted and strained. The noises twisted by the acoustics of the tunnel and helmet pick-ups.

He slid back down the rungs.

“Not budging sir”

“Well, don’t just stand there, try the next one!”

Kyron headed for the next manhole cover. Failed to open it, tried the next one- to no avail, then the one after that.

Torm looked up at the soles of Kyrons retreating feet. “ If you can’t open this one, I’m sending up Irene to try.”

There were the now usual grunting noises, and then suddenly, a scraping sound and a chink of light shot down the access vent. Kyron reached into a pocket and retrieved a short, homemade periscope. He looked carefully around before opening the cover all the way back.

“We’re not sightseeing down here you know. Get a bloody move on” Torms patience was starting to wear thin. Standing up to his knees in human waste tended to have that effect on him.

“Found out what was blocking the other covers sir” answered Kyron.

“What?”

“The street” was Kyrons enigmatic reply. The light coming down the shaft intensified as he pulled himself clear. “OK, looks clear. Come on up.”

In the distance, the sound of gunfire could be heard. Torm headed his squad in the rough direction. Bodies’ lay scattered everywhere. Not all of them killed in the bombardment. Two tattered males, age indeterminate under a thick layer of dust, were dragging a screaming young girl into a darkened corner. The few shell-shocked survivors on the street were purposefully looking away. To scared to bring the attention and possible wrath of the rapists upon themselves.

Torm suffered from no such fear. The girls clothing was torn from her, one of the men freeing himself as he moved between her legs. Torm swung his shotgun round and pulled the trigger. As the rapist impaled the girl, Torms executioner round burrowed into the back of his head. The rapists face exploded out in a sticky visceral spray, showering his victim in brain and skull fragments. The other rapist looked up in time to catch Torms second executioner round.

Torm moved on, leaving the screaming girl trapped under the dripping corpse. He turned back to his squad.

“Rapists and looters, shoot on sight. The laws of the Emperor are still in force.”

At the mention of the Emperor, the squad made the sign of the Aquila.

Chaos ruled the street. After a while Torm ordered his squad to stop shooting looters. They were using up too much of their precious ammunition. Torm was worried, unsure when, or even if, they would be able to re-supply.

He stopped them at an intersection to take stock of the situation. Torm motioned Kerry over. “Anything?”

Kerry crouched next to him, fiddling with the radio set as she did so. She raised her black visor. “Apart from lots of static and ‘We’re all going to die’ coming over on a regular basis? No, not really.”

Torm removed his helmet, running a hand through his thinning hair and smiled. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed the buzz of combat. He leant back, stretching his back muscles. Donning his helmet, he pulled out its data jack and plugged it directly into Kerry’s radio pack.

“Other squads?” He asked as he perused the information scrolling across his visor screen.

Kerry shrugged, an action mostly lost under her armour. “Mixed bag, none of it good. Armour gets taken out almost as soon as it appears. Ground troops generally left alone till they start being a nuisance, and then they get taken out with the same vindictiveness as armour. Reports occasionally come in, of large concentrations of enemy forces. Mostly at financial centres, high tech centres and manufactories. No take and hold behaviour. Well disciplined, highly mobile and VERY reactive. Sir.”

“This from HQ?”

“No. Intel is from other squads’ sir. Mark one eyeball.”

“Okay,” Torm paused for thought. “How stable is coms between units?”

“Patchy. Low level enemy jamming is in progress, so we’re getting by with an ad-hoc relay system.”

“HQ tied in?”

Kerry laughed.

“Fair enough. Okay, here’s the plan.” Torm updated his info packet and sent it via data link to Kerry and, Torm hoped, to the other commanders. “It’s time we started being active not reactive. We can’t get involved in pitched battles, so we’ll go for the soft targets. Make the transport shuttles priority. Let’s see if we can stop them shipping supplies off planet. If that proves unfeasible, we’ll go for their targets.”

Kerry looked round sharply.

“This is a re-supply raid.” Explained Torm “Look at the targets; food, fuel and manufacturing equipment. We can’t allow them to re-supply or they’ll just get stronger and more of a problem. So if we can’t stop them taking it off planet, we destroy it. Destroy what they want; we destroy their reason for being here.”

“Let’s hope they don’t bomb us to death in retaliation.”

“I’m praying to the Emperor, that with no means to re-supply, they won’t waste their- hopefully- sparse munitions on us.”

“That’s going to need a lot of praying sir.”

“Not a problem, I have a lot of experience in that department.”
“Echo, Golf and Oscar acknowledge” Kerry paused, listening to her earpiece, then she smiled “Peters says ‘Sounds like a plan!’. What’s left of Alpha have already started; they’re on their third fuel dump. Sounds like their having a blast.”

“Bloody pyromaniacs!” Torm got out his map to check for the nearest target of opportunity. “What’s closest?” His question was rhetorical; Kerry was already busy relaying messages. A food distribution\ warehouse centre was the closest and most viable.

Torm switched over to the squad net. Just in time to cut off the punch line, to a joke involving a commissar, a tub of grease and a howitzer barrel. Snapping his visor down, he gave the order to move out.

Torms earpiece crackled, “Sir?” he checked the originator icon on his HUD.

“Go ahead Kerry.”

“Foxtrot Mike is reporting an enemy foot unit, on an intercept bearing to our location.”

“Intentional or accidental?”

There was a pause as she asked Foxtrot Mike for clarification. “Accidental sir”

Tom studied the surroundings, a good site for a snap ambush. They had the time. Just.

“Snap ambush!” Torm commanded. “I want charges in what’s left of that building there. I want the blast to sweep across the road at that point.” He ran likely scenarios in his mind, working out blast radius and arcs of fire. The explosion would force them into that dead ground there, which would be perfect killing ground for... “Nial, Leebo, I want you there and over there. That should give you overlapping fields of fire. Kerry, I want you back in that building there. You will have restricted field of fire, but you will be best sited to give us covering fire, if it all goes pear-shaped and we need to bail out. Breen, when Kyron comes back after setting the charges with Niall, I want both of you behind that rubble pile. You should both be able to support both heavies from there. Watch out though, in case they try a fight through.” His squad moved quickly and efficiently to the spots he had pointed out.

Torm put himself in the position of the ambushed. Trying to work out what choices the ambushed would have and how he could counter and neutralize those choices. Would they break right through the explosion? Would that even be a viable option after the explosives had detonated? Would they attempt a fight through? The ground on their left would be too open; they’d see it for what it was. A bounded retreat with oscillating fire support would be a good option, but would take precious seconds to organise, plus that only worked with highly disciplined and trained troops. Were they that capable?

Torm raised his visor and rubbed his nose with a gloved finger. A fight through on the other hand would put them between his two heavies, who in turn would then be in each other’s line of fire. If they were as good as all the reports were saying, they could well try a fight through. A strange feeling of nervousness shot through him. It had been too long since he had opposition that was not drunken louts throwing beer bottles. He felt as though his thoughts were struggling through a miasma of cobwebs. He worried that maybe they were.

Ambushes relied on overwhelming firepower, so he committed himself and the rest of the squad to block the gaps between the two heavies. Torm slid his visor back down. As the edges sealed with a barely audible ‘snick’, the re-breather started up.

Icons changed and flickered as Kerry continued to send information down his command channel, his battle comp updating with the new and revised information automatically. Her professionalism shamed him from his thoughts of old age and slipping abilities. Reminded of his own duties, he brought up the pysch stats of his squad. All was to be expected, increased heart rates, high adrenaline levels. CPU cycles were reading high on both Kerry’s and Jodas’s battle comps. Torm activated his section commander’s over-ride and snooped in to see what they were doing. Kerry was still in contact with the other squads and was collating and sharing information. Jodas was accessing the troops weapon CPUs, checking ammunition levels. As Torm watched, Jodas came over the net.

“Breen, check your shotgun, it’s only reading half a mag.”

“Uh? Oh! OK” Breen started loading executioner shells into the magazine.

In the frantic pace of a firefight, it was easy to forget to keep ammunition levels in magazines topped up. ‘Dead mans click’ existed as a saying for good reason.

Part of Jodas’s heads up display was taken up by Torms own pysch stats. Torm couldn’t help but smile. Who checks the checkers? As if he was aware that he was being snooped upon, Jodas turned to Torm, even though his computer lacked the command functions to tell him he was being watched. Looking at Jodas’s dark visor, Torm nodded his head. Jodas nodded back, the readings on Jodas’s CPU surged again, as he went back to checking the squad.

If they got through this, he was going to have to recommend Kerry for Ops room and Jodas for command of his own squad. He would be sorry to loose them both, but he would be remiss in his own duty if he held them back. Plus, he added with a rye smile, there was going to be vacant positions in both after this little fracas.

There was furtive movement in the distance.

Torm opened his com squad wide. “Fingers on the buzzers, but remember this is an ambush, not a welcoming committee. So I don’t want anyone becoming premature. Kyron.”

There were sniggers all round.

Kyron was not amused. “Look, I hadn’t had it off for a while okay. She’s got no right going round telling everyone. That’s personal stuff. It was her fault anyway.”

“Male chauvinist pig alert at 3 o’clock” chimed in Irene.

“Oh I don’t know, I can see more than one from where I’m sat!” Added Kerry.

“That’s enough,” Admonished Torm “On my mark, 3, 2, 1.” Torm pulled his trigger as one side of the street ceased to be.

The blast caught the lead troops and threw them the like leaves in the wind. The ones that escaped the blast were knocked off their feet by executioner rounds.

Torm felt no emotion as he pulled the trigger, worked the slide chambering another cartridge then firing again. The invaders quickly recovered, quicker than Torm wished, firing surprisingly accurate shots as they dove into cover. Once in cover they continued to lay down heavy return fire.

Tendrils of wispy fear moved through Torm, anchoring and solidifying in his stomach. Torm realised the situation was starting to go pear shaped big style. If they failed to win this in the next few minutes, they would soon all be residing in the chapter house in the sky.

Knowing that even as he started to worry, his opposite number on the other side of the fire fight would be calling in reinforcements. A luxury that Torm himself could not enjoy.

A shot ricochet off a boulder to his right, then ricochet off his helmet, the force of the glancing blow jarring his neck. Torm cursed and fought against the desire to duck down and avoid the incoming fire. They needed to keep up the rate of fire and force the invaders to take cover. As soon as they took cover, the rate of their fire would decrease, allowing Torm and his squad to advance and finish the job.

Only that was not happening. A stalemate quickly settled into place with neither side backing down.

Torms radio beeped in his ear, warning of an incoming transmission.

“Now is the time you reveal the existence of ‘Plan B’” Jodas’s tone was of its usual dry humour.

Torm seriously thought about lying, but Jodas was too sharp for that. Besides a ‘Plan B’ would be very welcome at this moment. Torm flinched as another round landed perilously close to his helmet.

“Sod this for a game of Arbites” Torm muttered under his breath. He activated the private channel to Jodas. “No plan B, but I’m really receptive to suggestions at this moment.”

Jodas laughed in reply “I’m out. Maybe Lebo has one.”

“If we have to ask Lebo for advice, we’re definitely screwed.” Torm flinched again as another round came perilously close. It was only a matter of time before one hit the mark. “Jodas, this is no good, were bailing out and it’s going to be messy.”

A black object sailing through the air caught Torms eye and attention.

“Oh no, GRENADE!”

The grenade landed at the feet of Breen and detonated. Breen was thrown out from behind the ruined wall he was sheltering behind, by the concussive blast. He started to climb back onto his hands and knees, when a fusillade of fire by the invaders blasted into him, permanently knocking him back down.

Torm watched helplessly as Breen was gunned down. “Gack it”, he opened his com channel squad wide. “Jodas, on my mark we start a firing retreat. Kerry, I want maximum firepower over our heads.” Torm prepped himself mentally and physically for the frantic chaos that was about to descend upon them.

Just then a dusty figure appeared amongst the invaders. The ghostly figure suddenly attacked them with what looked like to Torm, to be a length of re-bar. So intent was their attention on Torms squad that the invaders failed to notice the attacker in their midst.

Torm watched in amazement as the dusty figure tore through the opposition like a rabid dog tearing out a throat.

“Belay my last order Jodas. Plan B.” Torm was up and over the ruined wall he had been using as a firing position.

The invaders attention was now fully upon the instigator of their second ambush. Firing as he ran, Torm targeted an invader who was drawing a bead on the dusty terror that was thrashing on the ground with another invader. As the enemy trooper was about to fire, Torms round exploded into his neck, almost decapitating him.

The rest of the Arbite squad were hard on Torms heels and quickly finished of the remaining enemy troopers. Torm cautiously approached the two figures rolling about on the ground.

The screaming dusty terror had gained the upper hand and was smashing the re-bar repeatedly into the face of the enemy trooper below him. As Torm drew closer, the troopers face caved in under the sustained barrage. Reaching out, Torm grabbed the bar at the apex of its journey, stopping its motion.

A dusty, blood smeared face with lips drawn back in feral rage turned to look at him. Torm was shocked at the youthfulness beneath the countenance of rage.

Struggling against the rage trying to tear the bar out of his grasp, Torm let his shotgun fall onto it’s strap and used the now free hand to raise his visor. “Let it go.”

The boy stared at him uncomprehendingly. Torm tried again “Let it go.” Still no response.

There was a pointed cough emanating from behind Torm. He turned slightly to see that the originator was Irene. She was slowly circling a forefinger around a spot on her helmet where her ear was. Torm looked back at the boy and looked closely at his ears. Thin brown trails that he had originally mistaken as mud led down from both the boys’ ears. Blown eardrums, he had obviously been to close to a large impact or explosion.

The force the boy was exerting against the bar gradually slackened till he let the bar slip from his grasp. Torm threw the bar onto a pile of rubble.

“Irene, check for injuries. Kerry update our position and status, the rest of you, secure the area. Jodas once we sort ourselves out, we need to mag to grid ourselves from this area as soon as possible. This didn’t go as well as I hoped and a world of pain is undoubtedly heading our way.” Jodas nodded and started issuing orders.

Kerry, who had been cannibalizing Breams radio set, motioned Torm over. As he crouched next to her to plug in his data jack, she destroyed the code chips on the surplus equipment. Torm updated his map to the new information available to him.

Once his map was updated Torm headed over to one of the las-rifles dropped by the invaders. It appeared to be all right, so he test fired against a pile of rubble. Satisfied it was functional, he showed it to the youth, miming its actions till he was sure the boy understood.

Jodas sauntered over, “Next time, can you put your plan B into action a bit sooner. Is that a good idea by the way?” He pointed to the youth who was handling the las-rifle.

“Probably not, but then again, he could easily be ‘Plan B’ for some other stupid old idiot that should know better.”

Jodas laughed.

“You’re not supposed to laugh,” Pointed out Torm “you’re supposed to say ‘you’re not old or stupid’”

“Would you believe me?”

“No”

“There you go then.”

Torms radio beeped “Sound of tracks heading this way, sir”

Torm sighed, “Don’t these guys give up and go home. Okay, let’s get the gack out of here, Lebo blow those munitions, time to go before I make an even bigger fool of myself.”

The squad grabbed kit, Lebo hit the timer for the munitions and they set off at a steady jog.

“Jodas?”

“Go ahead Torm”

“In the future, if we take them head on, we’ll need to do so with at least another squad. We’ll stick to softer targets otherwise.”

A fire crew was fighting a fire in the distance. They looked around fearfully as the Arbites approached. When they spotted the Arbites insignia, they turned their attention back to the blaze.