reserve in case any of the fighting spilled into Apostle.
“All tunnels, all tunnels, prepare for withdrawal on my mark. Blow the remaining shaped
charges.”
“Confirmed,” Turk called back.
“Hurry,” Nehari yelled, the fight at his position obviously desperate. “Ready!” Nubis said.
“C Platoon,” Nisri said. He paused as a roar of explosives filled the tunnels. “On my mark,
collapse your tunnel and shift around to help cover A Platoon’s retreat!”
After receiving the confirmation reply, Nisri waited for a desperate moment that felt like an
eternity. The fight in his tunnel was going badly. The tyranids had almost reached the skirmish line,
and men were being cut down before his eyes. His men began backing away, the enemy close
enough for them to spit on.
“D Platoon in position!” a voice said.
“Withdraw now. Go, go!”
On cue, the decibel levels in the caverns rose to deafening pitch and the caverns shuddered
under multiple explosions.
“E Platoon, withdraw and provide overwatch!”
Dust and bits of rock rained from Tunnel One’s ceiling, and the soldiers staggered their retreat,
tossing grenades into the swarm to slow them down. The explosions ripped through the front lines,
enabling the gunners and Guardsmen to pull out from their positions. The soldiers were backpedalling,
practically firing down at their feet as runners and dog tyranids raced towards them.
Corporal Demar, Raham’s replacement, was on the last row, when one of the bipeds hit him and
two other Guardsman with toxic rounds. All three men went down, their muscles tightening to the
point of snapping tendons loose from the bones. Nisri, in grim horror, saw Demar’s exposed bicep
curl up into the flesh of his arm. Someone tried grabbing Demar to pull him along, but more muscles
snapped loose from their bone moorings. The Guardsman let go in horror as Demar’s muscles
bulged grotesquely. Within seconds, the advancing enemy covered all three bodies, and E Platoon
was fighting in full retreat.
In Tunnel Three, the scene was much the same, the tyranids at the feet of the firing lines and the
Guardsmen dying by the lashing death throes of their kills. Everyone was still rattled from the
collapse of the neighbouring tunnel, but C Platoon was already providing covering fire for A
Platoon’s retreat.
When the order to withdraw came, Nubis cried: “Go! We’ll hold them back.”
The second gunner nodded and opened up with a full salvo, no longer caring whether or not his
heavy stubber overheated.
“What about you?” Kamala cried. Her hood was off. She bled from the nose and mouth, her eyes
scarlet from internal haemorrhages. Tyrell supported her, while Rezail used his chainsword to keep
the odd tyranid at bay. He opened a runner with a disembowelling slice, but even fighting them one
on one was too difficult, even for Rezail.
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“Commissar,” Nubis pleaded, “you’ll be overrun if we don’t cover your retreat. Go, damn you!
Tell them to collapse the tunnels.”
Rezail nodded and backed out with the remaining men, firing at the tyranids to keep some of the
pressure off Nubis and the second gunner.
Turk nodded to the Guardsmen to withdraw; three of them pulled frag grenades from their belts,
yanked the pins, and simultaneously dropped them down the chimney. Turk withdrew from the
ledge as the explosions rocked the tunnel below and the screams increased to frenzied pitch. The
soldiers darted into the tunnel and continued glancing back the way they had come.
The lieutenant-colonel was among the last group of men to retreat, when a rumble shook the
ground and pitched him against the wall. A flood of tyranids broke through the collapsed passage,
crawled out of the smoking chimney and gave chase down the tunnel after them. Turk and the others
opened fire, trying to stop the sudden onslaught, but the tyranids were on them fast.
“Collapse the tunnels!” Turk yelled into his micro-bead, firing into the snarling face of a bipedal
creature with elongated snout and bone plating that was mere metres from him. Men screamed as
the tyranids cut them down.
“Almost there,” a voice called back.
Turk continued firing his laspistol, watching as the number of men between him and the enemy
dwindled with each second. There were six men between the swarm and him. The tyranids pulled
one man to the ground, his head crushed under cloven hooves. Five men remained. A beast impaled
two men on the same scythe, and then took a moment to shake them loose.
“Blow the tunnels!” Turk screamed.
This time another voice joined his. “I’m being swarmed,” Nubis cried over the micro-bead.
Turk’s heart sank when he realised that his friend was about to die, but he had to focus on his
own survival. Three men remained. One man jerked and screamed as he spun, his face collapsing
from an acid round. Turk shot him to spare him further agony. Two men remained. One convulsed
as a hissing beetle round struck him in the chest and ate its way through his sternum.
One man remained. His body jerked and spasmed as a tyranid lance speared him, filling his body
with carnivorous worms. Turk fired his last rounds into the man and into his attacker, killing them
both.
“Detonate the explosives you Turenag sons of whores. Do it!” Nubis’ voice cried over the
micro-bead. He was obviously in pain.
“Charges are set!” a voice responded.
“Now, now!” Turk screamed.
“Fire-in-the-hole!”
The repeated crack of sharp thunder ran along the spine of the cave, shaking the very heavens.
Turk watched in horror as the roof above his head broke and stone seemed to rush towards him.
Before he could even shield his head from the falling debris, several sets of rough hands pulled him
out of the way.
“That’s it. We’re sealed in,” a voice said over the micro-bead.
Coughing and lying on his back, Turk looked around at the dirty, exhausted faces of the men in
B Platoon. He had never expected paradise to be his tomb.
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Every day of your life is just another overlooked sentence in history.”
—The Accounts of the Tallarn by Remembrancer Tremault
1
Cavern Apostle was filled with quiet bustle for the moment, the soldiers in shock over their ordeal.
Everyone slowly filed out of the debris choked tunnels, covered in dust, viscera stains and the blood
of their comrades. Some dragged their guns behind them, but the ever-sharp glare of Rezail snapped
them back into discipline. Everyone headed to the edge of the jungle, where the loam was thin and
the vehicles waited. The tyranids had proved themselves capable of many tricks, and the Guardsmen
had little doubt that they still had quite a few more to unleash. Until that time, however, the soldiers
needed a moment to catch their breaths, eat and see which of their friends had survived.
Turk dusted himself off as he headed for the command Chimera. He checked on the various
squads resting on the ground. Nobody slept, the infusion of adrenaline and fear a powerful remedy
against sleep. Everyone had lost a friend in the skirmish, but for Turk, the most painful loss was
Nubis. Nubis was a friend, stubborn and arrogant when he wanted to be, which was all the time, but
true to his word. He was an honourable man, and Turk was proud that Nubis had proved to be the
great Guardsman that Turk had always known him to be, saving the lives of the commissar and the
men of his platoon.
That was all the thought Turk wished to indulge at the moment. He walked past the two sentry
Sentinels, which were patrolling near the tunnels, waiting for the tyranids to bore through. Given the
number of creatures they had slaughtered, Turk hoped it might take them a while to regroup. The
tyranids were, literally, single-minded in their determination, but even they had to stop and recover
from their battle wounds, right? Turk decided not to ask Nisri. He didn’t want to know.
Turk arrived at the command Chimera, which sat next to four waiting Sentinels and another
Chimera being used by the medicae to perform triage on the injured. Corporal Adwan Neshadi,
Nubis’ protégé for demolitions, was speaking with Rezail, Tyrell and Nisri. He appeared nervous,
his youth betraying his confidence. Kamala stood nearby, her brow damp with sweat, and her eyes
swimming in and out of focus. She smiled at Turk. He returned her smile, instantly concerned at her
injuries and the blood in her eyes, but unable to show it in front of the others.
“It took longer to affix the drum cradles,” Neshadi said. “We need half an hour to arm the
Sentinels.”
There was a pause. Turk realised that Nisri was starting at the cavern jungles; he almost
appeared in shock that this so-called blessing might be lost to his tribe. Turk understood exactly
what was happening. In his mind, it seemed incomprehensible to be surrendering this paradise, to
believe it the salvation of your people, and then have it torn away. He was staring at the shredding
of his convictions, the exodus of two million kilometres walked, and knowing that another two
million were to come.
Unfortunately, if Nisri was distant, then everyone could see it plainly. Turk forced himself into
the conversation.
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“I’m sure Colonel Dakar would agree that the best course of action would be to send the
Sentinels to their positions, and to equip them with their explosives there. We cannot afford for them
to be caught in the fight when… if the tyranids attack.”
Nisri, who stirred at the mention of his name, nodded in agreement. “Correct, Lieutenant-
Colonel Iban Salid. Send the Sentinels on their way along with members of Sergeant Nubis’
platoon, whoever’s best to arm the birds.”
“Speaking of Sergeant Nubis,” Rezail said, “he was a hero today. He saved our lives.”
“Sergeant Raham also trained his men well,” Nisri said. “They held their ground until the very
end. Raham fought with us today. Every man here is a hero.”
“Most,” Rezail said, “yes, but some men fled from the enemy. I’ll be dispensing discipline
shortly. Unfortunately, the men who fled may have already hidden in these caves.”
Nisri removed his kafiya and ran his fingers through his puffy afro. “Commissar, if you would
offer the men encouragement, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course.” Rezail and Tyrell walked away, making their rounds to various groups of men.
Nisri turned to Corporal Neshadi. “Get these birds out of here and prepare the explosives.”
Neshadi saluted and spun around to organise the work details. There would be no respite for any
of them today, Turk thought wearily.
“Situation report, lieutenant-colonel,” Nisri said, moving into the jungle.
Turk nodded. “F Platoon took the heaviest casualties: twenty-eight men killed. The survivors,
eleven of them, including Captain Nehari, were exposed to toxic fumes. Six of them won’t make it
through the day. The rest can barely stand.”
“Unfortunate,” Nisri said. “And the others?”
“A Platoon and C Platoon lost half their men in the Tunnel Three skirmish. I suggest merging
them into A Platoon and putting Captain Toria in charge.”
“Agreed.”
“B Platoon only lost seven men; they’re still able to fight, as is D Platoon, which didn’t lose any
of its forty men. Sergeant Ballasra’s squad is still on patrol.”
“We’ll fold the survivors from F Platoon in with E Platoon. Even then,” he sighed, “Sergeant
Raham’s squad was almost picked clean. They won’t be at full strength until we receive
reinforcements.”
Turk nodded and waited until the silence seemed almost unbearable. Nisri appeared to be lost in
thought, again, and horribly morose. “Sir?” Turk said, “Shall I oversee preparations for the next
attack?”
Nisri nodded, half-distracted by his surroundings. “Hmm? Oh, of course… yes. See to it, will
you?”
Turk offered a crisp salute, not that he thought Nisri noticed, and was about to leave when their
micro-beads clicked on.
“Colonel Dakar,” said Sergeant Ballasra, “I have found it. Thank the Aba Aba Mushira for his
good humour today.”
“Found it?” Nisri asked. “Found what? A way out?”
“Yes, sir. It’s a bit of a walk, but I found our escape, and it’s free of the tyranids.”
Nisri nodded to Turk. “Get the men ready. We’re withdrawing to the exit point.”
2
It took a couple of hours before Ballasra’s squad returned and briefed the men of their escape route.
The cavern designated Halo of Purity, which Ballasra had named, was a small cave overlooked in
their initial search of the Golden Throne cavern. Ballasra’s men managed to burn a path through the
jungle for easier access, news that brought a pained grimace to Nisri’s face. Ballasra, however,
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promised that when they emerged from this ordeal, he would personally replant those destroyed
trees in atonement. That, at least, drew a half-hearted smile from the colonel.
With the platoons redistributed, Toria was organising his squads to accommodate Sergeant
Nubis’ demolitions experts. Their role was to arm the four Sentinels. He also found additional weak
points that he thought could be destroyed with simple explosives, of which the squads had plenty.
Meanwhile, the vehicles revved their engines, preparing for departure. The four remaining boobytrapped
Sentinels were already on their way to the various weak points, which left the command
Chimera, and the triage Chimera conscripted by the medicae. The latter was to transport the injured
inside and on its rooftops for as far as they could go. Nobody wanted to consider what they’d do if
the jungle grew too thick or too rocky to navigate.
Toria was checking the squads, ensuring they had all the necessary supplies, when one of his
men, Private Lebbos Lassa, tapped him gently on the shoulder. Lassa, a young tribesman with sunbrowned
skin, was staring at a section of jungle, his eyes widened by fear, his hand slowly pulling
his bolt pistol from its holster. “The leaves are moving,” he whispered.
The men in the squad noticed the furtive glances of their compatriots, and slowly unholstered
their weapons, switching off their safeties in the process. Toria followed Lassa’s gaze and saw the
fronds and their glowing yellow bulbs swing gently back in place. He activated his micro-bead,
switching to the command channel.
“Colonel Dakar, can any tyranids become invisible?” he asked, almost whispering.
“Yes, they have chameleons.”
“In that case we have company, and they’re in the jungle.”
“Chimera gunners! Open fire on Captain Toria’s target,” Nisri said over the open channel. “All
