The Subsector Project

Caomer Subsector – Placid – 790.M41

  Behind us, a thousand-kilometer swathe of plains and cities burned. Lances from the naval bombardment were crushing it into dust, atomizing those we had been charged by the Emperor to save. It was enough to make my hands shake and tremble, mercifully concealed from my compatriots in the back of the bouncing Hippogriff.

Millions of the Emperor’s faithful were frying, and all I could think of was how lucky I’d been to escape before the situation became untenable. I was sickened by my own cowardice, staring at the lifeblood of millions staining my hands by virtue of the red light flickering through the cabin. My command vehicle was mostly empty: myself, seated behind a gunner and driver, sullenly pushing ahead over the potholed, muddy roadways rising into the blufflands.

“Major?” A pompous voice cracked through my comm bead from a vehicle in the center of what remained of the column trundling behind us, safely ensconced in an armored Chimera. I tapped it to sharpen the signal- painfully aware of my absent vox operator.

“Lord-General, how might I assist?” My tone was one of forced calm, maintaining a facade of professionalism despite my internal turmoil.

“A bloody accounting for your regiment- I’ll see to it that your brevet is made permanent upon our regroup at Tormantu.” His voice was almost conversational. I felt my teeth grind together, a hand wandering to the butt of my laspistol of its own accord.

“If we have enough of a regiment left to rejoin, sir.” I tried to keep a hard edge from creeping into my voice.

The Hemlock 443rd had been badly mauled, ambushed by traitor forces far behind what we’d considered to be the front lines of the Placid “campaign”. A tide of grim pestilence had consumed us, rotting flesh from bone, decaying those too slow to make it inside the gas seals of an airtight vehicle. Those, that is, who didn’t immediately turn traitor themselves, scratching and gnawing at the metal in an animalistic frenzy as their blood boiled from every orifice as they sprouted horns of bone. A fate far worse than death: forgoing the light of the Emperor to forestall their inevitable fate.

The scent of decay and morbidity still clung to our vehicles, even after we’d knocked off the obvious hangers-on and beat our hasty retreat. The servants of the archenemy had been too busy gorging themselves on the butchered crews of Rogal Dorn and Leman Russ battle tanks to begin an immediate pursuit.

Yet I had no doubt, pursue they would.

“I’m sure there will be plenty more from Hemlock eager to replace your losses.” The Lord-General spoke carelessly, heedless of the fate of those who had volunteered to die for him. My fingers wrapped tightly around the grip, picturing his throat instead.

“Hemlock volunteers to serve, sir.” I was saved from hearing his response to my non-answer by the slowing of the Hippogriff and a muffled alert from my driver.

“Friendlies on the road ahead, structure spotted!” Mayhew’s priority vox cut into my channel. Formality was unknown in his usual cadence, clearly he was still jumpy after almost being liquified like most of our regimental command structure. I forestalled my superior’s question before he’d even asked.

“Stand-by, checking it out.” I voxed as I slipped up the rungs to the top hatch, pushing it ajar with a hiss of releasing seals. Gunner Haldo grunted something that might’ve been a warning, or may have simply been an expletive as my boot dug against his back as I levered myself out the hatch of the cramped fighting vehicle.

The landscape around us was barren, a windswept moor of long grass and sharp, rocky outcroppings. We’d just summited a ridgeline, the steep cliff face dropping into a vale behind us, and were a few hundred meters away from the first structure we’d seen in hours. Most of the column was still making its way up the treacherous road behind us, but the going was relatively flat towards the emaciated appearance of the building.

It was an oddity in the sparsely-habited region, perhaps an isolated scholam or wayward shrine to the Emperor? Standing alone on the high plateau, free of the foliage which had clogged the lowlands, it cut a distinct silhouette from the light of the twin moons shining down from the sky above. The reason for our reduction in speed was evident, a pair of dark-clad figures stood obstinately on the road ahead.

To the left, a tall, dark man- his head glittering with augmentics. I felt a thrill of despair when I recognized his commissariat greatcoat, signalling my imminent execution for failing to fall with the rest of my regiment.

To the right, a man with a foppish coif of blond hair stood out like the light of the celestial bodies above us, a contrast to the dark bodyglove he sported. We rolled to a stop before them, the Hippogriff’s engine growling, low and uncouth, the machine spirit evidently displeased.

“Trooper, dismount!” The commissar’s voice was commanding, the crack of a whip which cut through my soul. I hauled myself over the side of the armored fighting vehicle, obediently resigned to my fate, and made the sign of the aquila before the commissar and his companion. A pair of Chimeras stacked up behind my command vehicle, and I grimaced as I recognized the one the Lord-General occupied sliding to a halt.

“Lieutenan- Major Fairbord, four-hundred and forty-third Hemlock Voluntarius, reporting!” I awaited my summary execution, but it failed to arrive for several moments.

“C-c-c-company strength?” The voice was still authoritative, but up-close, suffered from a stammer which rather took the wind out of the commissar’s sails. No doubt another refugee from one of the regiments involved in our disastrous push, forced up into the hills ahead of the unchecked enemy and the rain of orbital fire, just like us.

“Two Hippogriffs, three chimeras, a score or so of capable and walking wounded at your disposal, commissar.” My eyes flicked to the stranger, unsure of his rank. “And Lord-General Camzoul.” I added, deciding it wasn’t worth risking the omission. Commissars, after all, were outside the chain of command, and their judgement could not be suspended by the Lord-General’s own authority.

“Ahh, Camzoul, the walking ponce himself!” The blond-haired man exclaimed in something passing for delight. The commissar looked annoyed with his fellow. “How did you catch up with him? I’d have expected him to be leading the retreat from the front!”

I examined the man again, his words were disquietingly casual. His looks were boyish, his eyes bright and shining with mirth. His voice was almost jovial, and reminded me of the kind of spoon-fed ingrate I’d hated before my volunteer chit had been read. Nevertheless, without a rank insignia, I was loath to correct his unscrupulous attitude.

“The Lord-General’s transport was disabled by the archenemy shortly outside of the field of battle, we were able to recover him, but were cut off from the bulk of the task force’s withdrawal.” I eyed the stiffening of their shoulders, they hadn’t known the specifics of our defeat, evidently not another group of escapees. “We’re to regroup at the strongpoint of Tormantu, some kilometers hence.” I gestured off in the direction I hoped Tormantu lay, quite unsure of whether it was the correct direction.

“B-b-b-y order of the E-e-emperor’s holy In-in-” The commissar attempted, but was interrupted by the churning of tracks, heralding the arrival of my erstwhile commanding officer, peeking out the top hatch of his Chimera as he bullied the driver off-road around the lead two vehicles.

“Major, pray tell what is detaining the convoy on this most critical of missions?” The Lord-General addressed me, bony and greying, staring down his nose at the two men I’d joined. With a grunt he pushed himself out of the hatch, his field uniform hanging from his body unhealthily, and swaggered to my side with an air of petulant rage. “A commissar stripped of his sash, and a rogue trader’s pet?” I glanced down at the commissar’s waist, finding it free of the normal blood-red sash of office.

I cursed internally, my hand dropping immediately to my laspistol. Rare was a commissar stripped of their sash, and rarer still were those able to evade the commissariat’s more creative and final punishments, yet I’d just revealed critical operational details to him! I eyed the other man, rogue traders were nothing to be trifled with either, and this one was positively buzzing with incongruous energy, practically bouncing on his heels.

“Not quite, Lord-General, I’m afraid you’ve been deceived.” The trader quipped, as the not-commissar held out his hand, a small puck of tech suddenly blooming with light. A hololithic projection of a blood-red inquisitorial rosette, stark and demanding. Instead of attempting to overcome his stutter, he motioned for his companion to continue, which he did with evident glee. “By order of the Emperor’s holy Inquisition, we’re commandeering this command.” The blond man paused for a moment, clearly relishing the look of terror registered on Camzoul’s face. “That means all of these vehicles, and the associated soldiers of the-” He glanced at me. “Where did you say you were from again, Major?”

“Hemlock, four-four-three Voluntarius.” I fought my own grin away at the sight of the Lord-General quailing before the rosette. It didn’t help my own feeling of sudden, all-consuming doom to be confronted with an inquisitor’s seal, but it was good to see the man put in his place after hours of near-constant quips. The inquisitor-trader didn’t even bother trying to hide his delight, openly relishing the man’s discomfort as much as one could without gleefully turning cartwheels in the road.

“A fine regiment, we won’t delay you long, but the Emperor requires your service.” He stared at the general, his blue eyes icy despite his grinning visage. “I trust that won’t be a problem for you, Lord-General?” I half expected Camzoul to object, to bluster and earn himself a lasbolt through the forehead, or worse, but I was sadly disappointed.

“No problem whatsoever Inquisitor-” Camzoul began, but with temerity, the foppish man scoffed at his assertion, cutting across Camzoul’s words.

“Interrogator Godrik, Lord-General. Along with my compatriot, Interrogator Belmon.” The stammering commissar nodded, mostly in my direction, perhaps not trusting himself to speak based on his previous attempts. “The Inquisitor is otherwise engaged, but has entrusted us with the defense of this facility.” He jerked his head towards the structure. “We shall break the waves of the archenemy’s assault, and allow His holy mission to continue unabated.” Despite his dilettante appearance, the interrogator still spoke with iron in his tone.

“Ah, a most worthwhile mission, Interrogator.” Camzoul’s tone was sibilant, and he drew himself up, squaring his shoulders to make his play. “The Emperor has, alas, called me to the rendezvous grounds at Tormantu. I shall reserve a vehicle and driver, but will leave the remainder of the column to your disposal.” An utter absurdity, but I suppose he had to make the attempt.

The blond Interrogator actually chortled. Unsurprisingly, this naked disrespect finally set Camzoul off. I could see the veins bulging on his neck, as if in slow motion, the thin skin of his aged face drawn back over his teeth in a rictus of rage. Perhaps he assumed the Interrogators were simply going to join us on our retreat, or his status would buoy him away from their mission. Whatever he’d assumed, the laughter of the younger man sent him into a fit of apoplectic rage.

A sense of calm began to creep over me as I watched the dam of anger give way. An odd reaction, to be certain, but to my mind, my fate was most-assuredly sealed. The Inquisition rarely left survivors, and the ludicrous prospect of defending any structure short of a star fortress against the hordes of putrifaction upon our heels made my death an absolute certainty.

I thumbed the grip of my laspistol, idly considering placing it against my temple, boiling my brain myself, rather than waiting for the archenemy to find me. Camzoul was expressing his consternation in a less-than-constructive manner, but his screams almost faded into the background, a low hum against the siren’s song of the power cell at my hip. Wind, harsh and strong, gusted against my back, staying my hand for a moment.

“I t-take it your rank is newly-acquired, Major?” Interrogator Belmon stood close to me. I’d barely noticed his approach, but now looked up into his face, dumbly. The greatcoat-clad man loomed over me. At first blush I’d assumed him to be merely a head taller, but in that instant, he seemed a mile above me.

His head was a mass of cybernetic components following a line from the left side of his neck to the right side of his head, indicating a horrific injury at some point in the nebulous past. His left eye was a red lens, but his right remained human (at least outwardly). I focused upon it as he continued to speak, his voice surprisingly soft and steady when speaking close to his audience.

“I once found myself in a very similar situation- command was foisted upon me long before I was prepared for it.” My fingers slowly uncurled from the grip of my laspistol as he continued to speak. “Such is our lot, those of us who are called by the Emperor to defend. To uphold His Imperium against its otherworldly enemies we must s-sometimes do the hard thing, even if we do not feel ready.” His mouth twisted, only partially-present, but I could tell it was an attempt to smile. I felt a dim sense of recognition spark somewhere in my brain, as though I’d seen the commissar before…

I was only dimly aware of a sudden flash of movement as Camzoul lunged towards the foppish Interrogator before him. In an instant of speed an violence, Godrik lashed out, stopping the Lord-General dead in his tracks. Belmon continued to speak, reclaiming my attention as his fellow bent to the side of the older man.

“Yet we each get to ch-choose our response. To answer the call of the God-Emperor, or walk the grim path of apostasy.” I thought I could see sadness in his human eye, and felt more genuine emotion in his words than I could have ever imagined a servant of the Inquisition expressing. “I am sorry you are here. I cannot promise you and your men will survive, and in fact, the opposite is far more likely. Yet I must still call you to your service.”

Godrik knelt over the Lord-General’s prone form, his hands a flurry of motion. I noticed a blur of metal, and a gush of crimson, but suddenly, Belmon’s left hand landed on my shoulder, drawing my dazed attention back to him. I could feel iron in his grip, genuine metal this time, not just strength of spirit. I found myself wondering how much of him was man, and how much had been replaced by machine.

“Godrik and I are promised to the Emperor’s service, from now until the end of our days. If that is t-today, so be it, we shall not begrudge our fates. Our answer is the same.” I felt his cold fingers gripping me, and was quite certain he could crush my bones to dust in an instant, despite the kindness of his words. “Men like Camzoul give their answer as well- they choose to throw away regiments like yours while claiming piety. They are apostates, whether they know it, or delude themselves into thinking they are not.” The wind began to blow around us in earnest, cold, and bearing the howls from valleys we’d passed through hours before. I shivered, hearing the certainty of pursuit that I’d almost forgotten after hours of calm. “Tell me, Major, will you stand with us against this foe? Will you command your men to the purifying crucible of combat, and do your duty when the time comes to lay down your lives?” For a moment, I felt the breeze calm, as if the world were anticipating my response.

Beside us, Camzoul sat up, blood dripping from his neckline. He jerkily clambered to his feet, assisted by Godrik, seemingly dazed. The two men exchanged no words, and simply stood, side-by-side as they too awaited my answer. I glanced over, and wished I hadn’t. The whites of the Lord-General’s eyes were deeply colored with burst blood vessels, one shoulder hanging limply as if his clavicle were shattered beyond repair. His was the face of death, and despite myself, I felt a pang of sadness. The man did not deserve my sympathy, but I still felt it, as befitted his rank.

“Hemlock volunteers.” The words sprang unbidden to my lips, but for the first time, I felt them in my bones. “And so do I.”

Belmon closed his good eye, nodding slowly, and seemed to age a decade before he allowed his arm to fall back to his side. For a moment, the sky was calm, the noise of our pursuers fading into the distance, leaving only the low hum of vehicles to break the peace of the blufflands.

“Thank you, Major.” As his eye reopened, I was transported. His face stared at me from a poster in the scholam in which I taught before my volunteer chit. Yet it was full, his eyes paired, his bravery evident as he stood atop a ruined crenelation. In one hand, he hoisted a power sword, in the other, a bolt pistol. Once, he had been a man, full of life and vigor, not the cybernetic construct which stood before me. In that moment I recognized the depth of his service, of his devotion to the cause, and felt it reflect into me, and upon my own. “See to your deployments, and let us throw back the enemies of the master of mankind.”

The Interrogators turned, Camzoul with them, and began to walk towards the structure, the diminutive building which would serve as our tomb. I considered calling out to the Lord-General, or otherwise questioning his status, but then thought better of it.

We were both servants of the Imperium in body, but only I served the God-Emperor in soul.

I turned back towards my column. It was a paltry force to constrain the foe which followed fast upon our heels. Even if the archenemy had had to spread their forces thin to chase the retreating armor, their blighted might would be more than enough to lay us low.

“Orders, Major?” An uncertain driver peered down from a Chimera’s hatch. I didn’t recognize him, a result of our jumbled withdrawal from the field of combat, but he still wore the colors of Hemlock, and that was enough.

“Disembark at the structure ahead.” I waved the column forward as I hoisted myself onto the side ladder of my command Hippogriff, and tapped my commbead to broadcast to the remainder of my charges. “We will use this defilade to admonish those who would seek to challenge our certitude!” I felt the flame of fierceness burning in my breast as we rolled out, the machine spirit of the Hippogriff purring with dedication, as if it anticipated the war to come. The machine was eager to serve, eager to give an accounting of itself on the field of battle.

I offered a brief prayer to the Emperor, and hoped against hope that we would all be able to duplicate its zeal.