let the stubbers draw a bead on you. When you’re in position, I want you to unleash hell on the
station. You don’t need to hit anything specific. I just need you to draw the rebel guards away from
this side. They need to believe a concentrated attack is coming from the east. It shouldn’t be too
difficult. The rebels defending the base are militia, I’m sure of it. Feel free to engage them once they
move to your side of the building. Are we clear?”
“A feint, sir,” said Ulyan.
“Count me in, sir,” grinned Gorgolev.
“Good,” said Sebastev. “What are you waiting for? Go.”
The two troopers moved off to begin their circle to the other side of the relay station. Sebastev
faced the others and said, The rest of you know what we’ve got to do. It’ll be a dangerous sprint
over open ground. Spread out. Find cover along this side and be ready to run like the warp. The
signal to move will be a single shot from my bolt pistol. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the men.
“Go,” said Sebastev. He watched his men scatter.
May the Emperor smile on us, he thought. With numbers like these, there was no such thing as
acceptable losses.
Karif moved through the streets with Squad Breshek, his boots crunching on the snow between tall
tenement-habs of blue-grey stone. His eyes flashed to every shadow and cranny as he pressed
forward.
Almost every building they passed showed some degree of damage from the conflict of the
previous day. Stone pillars had spilled halfway across the road from a colonnade that had collapsed,
blasted by stray cannon-fire. Hab walls on either side of the street had been ripped open by artillery.
Dark, gaping wounds with ragged brick edges testified to the power of each impact.
The roads themselves were littered with twisted, black wrecks. A small number of machines still
blazed, pouring black smoke into the air above. These machines were casualties from Captain
Sebastev’s sabotage operation. Karif couldn’t help but be grateful for the thoroughness of the
captain’s men. Thus far, not a single enemy vehicle had rolled out to challenge them. But rebels kept
appearing among the rubble to fire their lasguns at the advancing Vostroyans.
Colonel Kabanov organised Squad Breshek into two fire-teams in order to flank enemy
positions. This way, Squad Breshek managed to gain ground quickly.
In the lee of two barely recognisable Leman Russ battle-tanks, the men took a moment to reload.
Danikkin rebels continued to pour fire at them from further up the street.
Karif looked down at the young man crouching on his right. “How are you doing, Stavin?”
“Fine, thank you, sir,” replied Stavin. Steamy breath rose from the adjutant’s scarf where it
covered his mouth. “But I can’t really see well enough in this mist to fire effectively, sir.”
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“Just do as the colonel suggested,” said Karif. “Trace our enemies, fire back to them. Exercise
your judgement. Don’t waste ammunition if you’ve no shot. The air is definitely clearing. Now that
we’re pushing deeper and the streets are getting narrower, the pace of the battle is sure to change.
Things will get close and bloody. How many charge packs have you got?”
“Two in my pockets, sir,” said Stavin. “One up the spout with the counter reading half.”
“That’s plenty for now,” said Karif. Beneath the warm fabric of his muffler, he grinned.
I don’t mind admitting, he thought, that this lad’s aptitude for war has genuinely surprised me.
His diffidence and youthful appearance belie a fighter’s constitution. I should have expected as
much. The Vostroyans, by the very nature of their curious conscription system, must prepare their
children for war from a very young age.
Karif felt a hand grip his upper arm. He turned and saw Colonel Kabanov beside him, breathing
hard. “I’d say it’s about time, commissar, that you started your oration. Our men are right in the
thick of things. Give them some words to fight by, as you said you would.”
“Yes,” barked an impatient Father Olov from the corner of the burnt-out tank. “Get to it,
commissar. I would’ve started by now. Let’s see what the Schola Excubitos taught you about
oration.”
The wild old priest had been in a foul mood since they’d left the Chimera. There was a bloodthirsty
quality in his eye that Karif found unusual for a Ministorum man. Zeal was one thing, but
animal savagery? Olov had, as yet, been unable to make use of his massive chainsword. This was
still a fire fight for the moment. His patience was clearly being tested.
“You’re right, of course,” said Karif. “It’s time I began.”
Karif raised a finger to his vox-bead, keyed an open channel, and said, “Hear me, Firstborn sons
of Vostroya. This is your commissar, Daridh Ahl Karif. I fight beside you in the name of the
Emperor, and for the Imperium of Man. Our lives for the Emperor! Let these words from the Treatis
Elatii of Saint Nadalya inspire you to victory over our wretched and unworthy foe.”
Even as Karif said the words, fresh waves of lasfire slashed out from the rebel held hab-stacks,
hissing and sending up steam where they laced the snows. The volley was answered a second later
by Vostroyan retaliatory fire. Karif dedicated part of his awareness to his memory of the text. “Have
faith in the Emperor, said the Grey Lady, and you may abandon fear. Abandon fear, she said, and
you may do your duty unhindered. By this alone will you earn your place at the Emperor’s side.”
Screams sounded from rebel positions in the street to the south as Squads Severin and Vassilo
moved up to flank entrenched enemy infantry.
“The Grey Lady did not stay long on Vostroya,” continued Karif, “but she set foot in each of the
seven states, and their capitals swelled to bursting with those that wished to gaze on her.”
Colonel Kabanov addressed Squad Breshek as Karif gave his reading. “Move up. I want two
pairs of sweepers clearing each building as we go. Leave nothing alive to fire on our backs.”
“There are civilians in some of the habs, sir,” replied Sergeant Breshek as his squad moved out
from behind the shelter of the ruined tanks.
“I said leave nothing alive, sergeant,” barked the colonel. “The rebels will have already killed
those who joined our brother Firstborn in defending this place. Those still alive are either traitors, or
bystanders that did nothing to prove their loyalty. Apathy and cowardice are as bad as treachery in
my book. The Emperor will judge their souls. We send those souls before him.”
Over the vox, Karif continued. “On the day of her leaving, the lady blessed the Techtriarchy
with a gift. Into the air, she released a great two-headed eagle, symbol of the Imperium, and told
them that the Emperor would watch Vostroya through the eagle’s eyes. Toil hard in the factotums,
she said, for where would the Imperium be without its machines? Fight hard on the battleground,
she said, for where would the Imperium be without the endless sacrifice of its sons?”
Heavy bolters and stubbers added to the las-fire. The rebels had built a hasty barricade on the
road ahead and were bringing out their heavy weapons. Sandbags and razorwire stretched across the
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street, from one corner to the other, and the colonel’s men were forced into the shelter of the side
alleys.
In the middle of his reading, Karif heard a Danikkin sergeant shouting orders from nearby.
Three rebels rounded the corner of a building on his right, clearly intending to flank the Vostroyans
while their fellows provided suppressing fire. Before Karif had time to mentally process what he
was seeing, his hand rose of its own accord and fired off a lethal hail of laspistol shots.
The first of the Danikkin flankers was knocked from his feet, his face a smoking black oval.
Trooper Stavin slew another with two solid hits to the chest in rapid succession. He hit the last
man in the shoulder, enough to spin him and cause him to scream out, but not sufficient to kill him.
Karif remedied that by rushing forward with his chainsword raised high. He swept the man’s head
from his neck.
Lasguns cracked all around as Squad Breshek returned fire on the roadblock ahead, but it did
little good. From the other streets, screams and shouts filled the freezing air. Karif returned to his
oration.
“The lady left Vostroya with one hundred regiments of Firstborn in her charge. Many said she
favoured her Vostroyan fighting men above all others, for they were grim and hardy, and they sold
their lives dear for the honour of their world and for the Imperium they had sworn to serve.”
While Kabanov and his squad were pinned down, more rebels moved up, eager to make the most
of the Vostroyan loss of momentum. High above the street, the Danikkin announced themselves by
shattering ice encrusted panes of glass. They began firing down on the Vostroyans from tenement
windows. Stavin loosed a trio of shots into the shadows of a high window on his right. Seconds
later, a lifeless rebel body tumbled from the empty sill. It hit the street below with a crunch of
breaking bone.
Members of Squad Breshek turned the muzzles of their lasguns upwards and pushed the rebels
back into cover, but it was becoming too dangerous to hold their position. Colonel Kabanov opened
the command priority channel on his vox. It meant his words would cut across Karif’s reading, but it
was necessary. No man who offered battlefield oratory expected to do so free of interruption.
Kabanov’s voice sounded in the ears of every man in Fifth Company. “Use your grenades on
occupied buildings. We mustn’t lose momentum, and someone flank that damned roadblock up
ahead.”
It was easier said than done. A squad of Danikkin rebels, ten heads by Karif s count, charged
round the left-hand corner, firing wildly at the Vostroyans as they ran. Karif dived for cover as lasbolts
slashed the air around him. A derelict hab on his left offered the most immediate respite.
“Stavin,” shouted Karif as he threw himself through the door, “to me, boy. To me!”
Stavin didn’t wait around. He darted through the gaping doorway just as another searing volley
strafed the walls. Someone screamed outside: one of Breshek’s men, cut into burning chunks by
enemy las-fire.
The hab interior was absolutely black with shadow. Karif’s feet kicked broken furniture as he
moved to peer from a broken window. He could see Colonel Kabanov, Lieutenant Kuritsin and the
others. They were completely pinned down in the shelter of a broken wall that wasn’t going to offer
cover for much longer. The enemy heavy bolters began rattling, chewing the wall apart.
“We’re out-flanked, warp-damn it!” roared Colonel Kabanov. Even from across the street, the
colonel’s rage was palpable. Karif saw Father Olov stand up, eviscerator in hand, as if readying to
rush the rebel positions single-handed. But the powerful form of Sergeant Breshek wrestled the
crazy old priest back into cover.
“Damn it, Stavin,” spat Karif. “Those rebel flankers are getting ready to move up. Squad
Breshek has nowhere to go. They’ll be massacred.”
Stavin scrabbled to his feet in the dark. “Maybe there’s a back door, sir. I’ll check.”
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Karif had been looking outside where the snow was bright. When he turned to face Stavin, he
couldn’t see a thing, but he could hear frantic movement in the back of the derelict hab. “Damn this
all to hell and the warp,” he growled. “Stavin, are you all right? What have you found back there?”
There was a crash and cold daylight spilled in from the rear. “I found it, sir,” chirped Stavin.
“There’s a narrow alley running all the way along.”
“By Terra!” exclaimed Karif. “A chance to make a difference. Good work, trooper. We move.”
Karif joined Stavin at the back door and poked his head out to scan for activity. “You weren’t
joking about it being narrow,” he said. “We’ll have to move sideways. Follow me.”
They moved out from the doorway, heading south, lifting their feet high to clear the deep, hard
snow. Stavin tried desperately to keep his armour from scraping the walls, but it couldn’t be helped.
The sounds of battle were softer between the high walls of the old tenements. By contrast, every
noise they made sounded unusually loud to the commissar’s ears.
They soon reached the corner where the narrow alley opened onto the street. Karif peered
around the corner and raised a hand for Stavin to halt. About twenty metres up the street, leaning out
from their positions of cover to loose barrages of las-fire, Karif could see the rebels that had moved
up to flank Squad Breshek and the colonel’s men.
“Two against ten,” he told his adjutant in hushed tones. “It won’t do to engage directly. Hand me
one of your grenades.”
“Yes, sir,” nodded Stavin. He plucked a frag grenade from the fixings on his belt.
Karif took the grenade with a grin. “This is the Emperor’s work, by Throne! How’s your
throwing arm, Stavin?”
“I’m sure it’s not as good as the commissar’s, sir.”
“Patronising, but well said. Let’s find out. I’d say two of these ought to clear those fools right
out. Think you can put one right in amongst them?”
“You point, I throw, sir.”
“Right then,” said Karif. “Pull that pin and get ready. Throw on three.”
Stavin nodded. Both men pulled the pins from their grenades. “One…”
Side by side, they stepped out of the alley and into the street. “Two…”
Karif leaned back, careful not to tense, but to keep his muscles loose. “Three! Damn all traitors
to the warp!”
Whipping their arms forward, Karif and his adjutant hurled their grenades towards the unwary
enemy squad. Some of the rebel soldiers spotted the motion, but it was too late. Both grenades
landed within metres of each other, close to the enemies’ feet.
“Good throw,” said Karif as he shoved the young trooper back into cover. The grenades
detonated with a sharp boom, sending a shower of snow and icicles down on them from the rooftops
above.
Loud screaming filled the air. Those few rebels who hadn’t been killed outright by hot shrapnel
fell to the snow with gushing wounds. “Move up,” said Karif, and he broke from cover to sprint
towards the wounded men.
“No mercy, boy,” he called over his shoulder. “The graveyards are full of merciful men.”
Stavin pounded up the street after the commissar, skidding to a stop when they reached the
wounded rebels on the ground.
Together, the commissar and his adjutant fired lasbolts into the writhing bodies at their feet.
Each shot silenced another howling man.
