Ramides Cluster Crusade, Part 6
Rifleman Cobren crouched behind a jagged splinter of rock, remnant of some large rockfall previously, with his rifle butt tucked under his shoulder, panning around slowly for a target. By his estimation they were only about four miles into the jagged Gerhanna mountain range, but it had taken them the best part of four hours to get here. The terrain was harsh, all sudden drops, jagged rocks, and steep inclines. Cobren’s hands and knees were sore, and he was sure he’d been bleeding from his right leg for a while, in spite of the gloves and heavy fatigues he wore. It was the same with everyone else in the patrol. The hard granite more often than not ended in sharp edges and even sharper points that made a mockery of their gloves and fatigue trousers.
The patrol – thirty troopers all told – was currently resting on a plateau about half a mile above the plains, surrounded on three sides by the imposing bulk of surrounding peaks, and on one side by the top of the lower foothills they’d crossed to reach here. Half of the plateau was bare stone, and the other was littered with boulders and debris, like the shard that Kenrick crouched behind now. His fireteam had been posted to keep watch while the rest of the patrol patched up bleeding hands and rested aching legs.
“Hey, Cob” the call came from Rifleman Targes who was sitting propped against an outcropping of stone to Cobren’s left, covering the area to his right “What do make of that?” he asked, nodding to the cliff face that filled much of that side of the plateau.
Looking in the direction Targes indicated, at first he saw nothing beyond the rough, grey wall of a mountain flank, dappled by harsh shadows in the early morning light. He was about to tell Targes he was loosing it if he saw anything other than a mountain when he saw what the other Guardsman was talking about. One of the shadows about waist-high up the stone face looked deeper than the others. Like a gap hacked in the stone by some monstrous axe.
“Looks like something we should tell the sergeant about” he called back to Targes. The other man nodded, and called back to the rest of the troops “Sarge! Think we found something”
The sound of cursing presaged the sergeants arrival “What is it Targes? Better be some nucking good, or I’ll use your hide to make me a pair of fragging shin pads”. Sergeant Bren Mayes wasn’t a big man. A fact which seemed to cause him no end of annoyance. Annoyance that seemed to find it’s escape through the almost constant stream of obscenities that he uttered.
Targes was unfazed by the threat – everyone in 1st platoon was used to Mayes’ rough tongue. “Looks like there’s a opening in the cliff face over there, sir” he replied, pointing it out with a gloved hand.
Mayes glared at the shadows on the granite as if they’d caused him some personal affront, but in moments he grunted “Well nuck me, I think you’re right Targes. You and Cob go check it out, make sure there’s nothing bloody lurking in there”
Corben suppressed a sigh – his legs were aching, and even being on lookout, it was a nice break – and got to his feet. Targes joined him as he approached the shadow concealing the opening in the stone, their rifles raised. They flicked on their stablights that hung from webbing over their chest armour, but the beams failed to penetrate the darkness within. They came to a halt a few metres from the opening “After you” said Targes “I’ll cover you”
“You damn well won’t!” answered Cobren “You found it, you can go first. I’ll cover you!”. Targes cursed, hefted his rifle, and took a step forward. Then his head exploded with a sharp crack, spraying Cobren with blood.
“Oh Throne!” Cried Rifleman. They were his last words as a second shot caught him full in the face. His knees buckled and he fell backwards.
Mayes turned at the sound of the first shot, was in cover by the time Cobren took the second, and squeezed the trigger as the dead Rifleman hit the ground. A spray of scarlet bolts peppered the opening from his las-pistol sidearm “Hostile contact!” he cried, holstering the pistol and un-slinging his shotgun. There were curses and footsteps behind him as the resting Guardsmen leapt to their feet to find cover, and a few over-eager shots chipped stone around the hole.
Then there was stillness. The Guardsmen covered the opening, and nothing seemed to be coming out. Even the wind seemed to have stopped, as if the mountains themselves held their breath. But the silence couldn’t and didn’t last.
Shrills calls and clicks cut the air as the Kroot sprang their ambush, leaping from a concealed overhang overlooking the plateau. They fell on the Guardsmen from behind, bladed rifles and savage beaks ripping into the grey-clad Humans.
Mayes spun, leaning against the same stone splinter the late Cobren had used for cover, and opened fire with his shotgun. The first blast caught one of the lanky attackers on it’s long arm, and as the thing turned from disembowelling a trooper, Mayes’ second shot ripped into it’s ribs, dropping it. The short sergeant rose and stepped forward into the melee, firing one-handed as he drew his pistol again. One of the alien Kroot rushed at him, it’s beak and hands soaked in red, and Mayes knocked aside it’s long, bladed rifle with his shotgun before riddling it with shots from his pistol.
“For the Emperor! For the nucking Emperor, you toerags!” he cried, snapping off another shot “Vox! Vox dammit! Santrey, where are you?” Mayes’ knew the odds of 8th squad surviving this were slim, but if he could Vox to command, then maybe their deaths wouldn’t be in vain. But nothing but desperate battle cries, the squawks of the aliens and the screams of dying men answered him.
Something barrelled into him, slamming him to the ground. He rolled over and brought his pistol up into the face of his attacker. Or to be more precise, into the blood-streaked face of Ishmal Santrey, his squads Vox officer.
“Sir, Vox reporting. I have a channel open to command” Getting to his knees beside Mayes, he fumbled the mic from it’s cradle – his left arm didn’t seem to be working, and his fatigue sleeve was soaked in blood. Mayes blasted a Kroot that looked like it was taking an interest in them, and took the mic. Other grey-clad figures seemed to be making their way towards the sergeant and his Vox man.
“Command, this is 8/1, location shows as 84.1, 65.6. Reporting engagement. Hostiles identified as Kroot. They laid a damn ambush-” He cut off as Santrey raised his own pistol and fired over Mayes’ shoulder. The discharge was so close that Mayes felt his skin blister from the heat. He nodded his thanks to the wounded Vox man. “-an ambush, on a plateau on Mount Tocra”
There was a hiss of static before any reply, then “Received 8/1. Support has been despatched. Hold them. Command out”. Then the line went quiet. Mayes quickly assayed the handful of men that had gathered around him and rose to his feet, adding his fire to theirs. Aliens dropped squealing, but they were too quick, and there were too many. The trooper to his left fell to a well placed throat shot, gurgling desperately through a ruined voicebox, and the Kroot charged again. Mayes took a moment to admire at the enemies agility, and their astounding jump distances. Then he opened fire with both weapons, a stream of curse flowing from his lips.
