Chapter 16: Cloud-Piercing Arrow
0361 stared at Dos for a moment, then went off to brief the Guardsmen.
...
"Colonel, if you're too timid, don't stop us from pursuing our glorious objective." A young nobleman shoved the blocking Colonel aside.
The PDF Colonel dared only to glare; none would offend the White family's eldest son or the Carolines' young mistress, and those he didn't recognize were even more frightening. Helpless, he waved them through.
Dos marched the noble 'sons-and-daughters of the regiment' in the center. The middle, he claimed, was the core of any force, able to reinforce vanguard or rear in an instant.
Mongot White sighed in admiration. "You truly are experienced, Commissar Dos."
The compliment nearly choked Dos on his own saliva; he couldn't hold it in. Were it not for the boy's trusting gaze, Dos would have sworn Mongot had heard of his 'illustrious record'.
"Ah… I suppose." A pang of guilt struck him. Why cheat the kid when he was already simple? Dos reflected silently.
Seconds later, he felt refreshed and unburdened. Truly, without morals you can't be shackled by them. Now freed from any moral dilemma, Dos hardened his resolve.
Soon, they reached a plaza in the Underhive. Engineers immediately started their work; they shoveled rubble into sandbags and stacked them into barricades while the young lords and ladies stood watch.
Between watches, they jokingly compared kill counts. With so few enemies on the perimeter, contested kills had to be settled by social rank. The loudest braggart claimed three corpses simply by announcing, "My father is Edison," his noble pedigree trumping any actual marksmanship.
Once the Grenadiers set up the deathstrike missile launcher, the makeshift line was set while the Engineers strung coils of razor-wire mines.
When all was ready and reported, Dos drew a flare from an inner coat pocket and fired it into the sky.
"SHOOOOIN"
It screamed, hung forever, and climbed sky-high, with such a greeting, half the Underhive would come running, he reckoned.
....
"You're telling me Commissar Dos had marched THREE HUNDRED noble brats inside?" Blackmoor's eyes bulged.
"Looks like it, sir. I know Young Master Odell of Hive Four, there is no mistake," the Astra Militarum runner swore.
Blackmoor hissed in a chair, shifting as a rat sat on fire; he was in deep, DEEP trouble, yet he dared not move.
"NO, wait, we can get them out before the sign-"
Sss-BOOM!...just then, an ugly whistle cut through the air.
The scarlet flare burned overhead, visible for kilometers. Blackmoor squinted and muttered, "When danger calls, one Cloud-Piercing Arrow brings a thousand riders? Huh… wait -danger! Shit! DOS, you SON OF A WHORE BASTARD!"
Blackmoor barked into the vox: "All units converge on that flare! NOW, NOW!"
Blackmoor was sweating heavily. He would die here today, and it's all because of that damn DOS, what had his innocent soul done to deserve this lunatic? If a single pampered sprat got scratched, his rank, and probably his neck, would be on the execution ground.
Frantic, Blackmoor cornered 0361. "Comrade Colonel, I'm suddenly brimming with zeal. Let's charge the heretics this instant! Let's Go!"
0361 did not reply, just stared silently at him. When 0361 stayed still, Blackmoor nearly dropped to his knees.
"Commissar Dos called it, Blackmoor; the time has come for you to earn your glory," 0361 said flatly.
Blackmoor blinked, dropping to his knees. The whole thing was a set-up. Against me?!
———————————————
Back in Hive City, a total uproar has occurred; every single prominent noble's house was buzzing with shouts, hurried steps, and rapidly departing ships.
Alas, the truth had come out: their noble sons and daughters had been swayed by some trickster and led into the grinder of the battlefield.
....
Lady White fainted the moment she heard the news, sending servants into a flurry.
Lord White's eyes became dizzy, stars dancing before his eyes, and he barely stayed upright. Trembling, he let the Letter to Compatriots his son left slip to the floor.
He put a hand on his chest and supported himself on the wall, and shouted, "Bring that wretch of a son back!"
Many nobles kept such a Letter; some tucked in extras, Admonitions to My Son, Letters to My Wife…
Outsiders would call them wills.
Rich in content, clearly drafted by a master hand, each proclaimed that great scholars would one day argue their case.
Some dispatched private troops, others woke dust-covered knight mechs, and a few diverted the Hive City PDF. It was as festive as the New Year, only Dos's side hit a tiny snag: a life-and-death crisis.
———————————
"TAKE COVER!" Dos roared at the noble youths.
To handle the Astartes, he'd summoned Grenadiers whose Hellguns packed enough punch. Melta grenades were plentiful, but who'd hauled in those Chimeras? And more than one!
"Did the PDF trade their brains for genestealer chow?" a young aristocrat cursed. "How did they let those things into the hive?"
"Commissar, any counter-measures?" another noble called, lofting a Melta and ducking behind the berm.
"No idea, Comrade," Dos hacked down a knife-wielding fanatic. "We'll have to adapt. Fall back. Shrink the line. Form the perimeter, NOW!!"
The plaza was now an island of slaughter; their retreat had been cut, and the soldiers fought desperately and bravely, while the creeping Chimeras gnawed their place.
He caught the growl of engines, beasts snarling in low voices. From his coat, he drew an ornate censer: a brass skull carved with symbols of loyalty, a perforated orb dangling by a chain. Dos loaded the incense and set it alight, then raised his bolter.
Wispy white smoke bled from the holes, cascading over the weapon like a waterfall of cloud. Oddly, the smoke vanished on contact. The incense, begged from a Priest and rare even for lone Astartes, was worth more than he cared to think about, but this was no time to pinch credits.
Watching the gun drink the smoke and warm in his grip, Dos knew it had worked. The Priest had called it "the machine spirit is exultant."
So... the gun's high as a kite?
Shaking off the thought, he stuck the weapon over the barricade and snapped off wild shots. Several bolter shells ricocheted off an armored hull, then scythed through the surrounding heretics.
The nobles gaped, their eyes sparkling with amazement. Doss had to admit, the noble brats were faring much better than some of Astra Millitarum soldiers, of course, not in the fight, but the sheer tenacity they had to see this hell on earth and still joke laughingly.
"Commissar, teach us that!" one shouted.
Dos ignored him; the sniper's gaze still prickled. He swapped mags. "Come on, little brother, show 'em a pistol can outdo a rifle."
When the gun grew hot, he fired five more times; the sniper's stare vanished, the bootlicking had worked.
Taking a rare moment of breather, he glanced at the Engineers, and he sighed twice. Several faces had vanished into the rubble; how many more would die, he didn't know. Soon, anti-tank grenades thundered, and finally, one Chimera was down.
Without infantry and snipers, tanks and APCs are just rolling iron coffins.
[End of Chapter]