Ashes Page 8

  “You did not defer to me for direction on how that incident was to be handled.” Buteo screamed at Gratius, who was lying on the floor from the impact his face had just received unable to move from the punctuating blows that were Buteo’s kicks. More kicks followed the initial onslaught until Gratius could barely remain conscious.

  As suddenly, as they had started the blows stopped and Lieutenant Gratius saw Guardsman Buteo stalk off to the Crab to maintain his comfortable command, Gratius could hardly lift his head from the sand and made several moves to stand but at each time flopped back unable to complete the manoeuvre. His stomach felt like it was on fire and compressed under a load of stone at the same time. Unbidden and unwanted tears washed out of his eyes as his breath retuned to him. He had been beaten so severely that he would have been unable to hear the shot if one of the many soldiers observing the incident had loosed a round.

  Hands lifted him up to his feet, but allowing his hunched pose as the constricted muscles of his torso continued their tenacious grip on contraction. They moved him forward at a pace his feet could just about manage. He knew that walking was the fastest method of recovery for the injuries he had received but he just wanted to fall into the sand and bury himself in a pit of his own misery. Not just from the bruises and the damage to his standing with his men. He could still see in his minds eye the little girl, pigtails flapping in her own slipstream. He could see the tears racing from her eyes and the expression of anguish on her face as she did so. Heedless to the weapons and eyes of the surrounding soldiers she had been running to the fallen prisoner he had ordered shot. She could not have been more than ten, most probably eight or nine. She was still wearing an old school dress that had seen much better days. She must have been detained at her school, dragged out in front of her former classmates to join her parents in an interim detention camp. In his mind, Lieutenant Gratius could see her dead eyes staring up at him from the sandy and gritty ground, blood slowly seeping around her pigtails, staining the check of the uniform she had been wearing. All because he was not quick enough, all because of him, because he had not managed to salve the ego of the Black Guard Liaison enough to allow him to give the order not to fire and see it through without provoking anger to defying authority from a petty, small minded psychopath. Buteo’s words before he had returned to the Crab haunted Gratius:

  “My order would have been the Plasma Cannon, discourage the degenerates from running in the first place.”

  Gratius could never have taken the horror of a small child being hit by a ball of super-heated plasma, especially if that shot had been taken by a member of his squad. He would not have been able to live with the nightmare image of charred, unrecognisable flesh with small bones poking through it emphasising the childlike nature of the cadaver that had been so cruelly mutilated.

  Gratius was forced along, still at the maximum pace that he could manage, sobbing in what air he could manage to gasp as his sorrow and pain tore away at him both physically and psychologically.

  A ray of sunlight pierced the veil of his anger, shame, pain and pity when the voice of Sergeant Curtius whispered in his ear just before he lost consciousness:

  “We got her Sir, Tazered before anyone got a shot off. We got her, we got her.”

  Chapter 6

  “Investigator, there are no weapons on this planet that have the range and firepower to make a decisive impact on this current conflict., We must call for additional off-world assistance.”

  “Ah, General. As ever your unimaginativeness never ceases to astound me. We do have one further weapon that can be exploited, if only you had the intelligence to see it.” The Investigator turned to the command consol and entered a code that allowed the screen to glow with a blue luminosity. General Hostilius had only ever heard rumours of Blue clearance; he had dismissed them as hokum and believed his own level of Red was as high as was achievable. “All forces with orders to assault now hold positions until further instructions.” Although the Investigator had spoken into the microphone and Corvus had heard her as normal, the voice that had been transmitted through the speakers was his own.

  “That’s suicide! They cannot withstand the rebel counterattack in their current formation. It’s geared for offence, not defence. At least order them to dig in and find whatever cover they can. They are in no shape to repulse an assault. For Invictus’ sake there are wounded men that need evacuating down there!”

  “General, General, General. I do so hope that you are not challenging my authority. After all I am an Investigator and, even normally, my authority exceeds your own, but I have been given this assignment directly by the Patriarch. I would hate to think that you would even go so far as to challenge his authority.” The Investigator turned back to the command consol and adjusted a view, nodding quietly. “That… should… just… about… do… it… There. Now, General I must ask you to sit and wait patiently until the rebels force their advantage, It wouldn’t do for you to suddenly countermand your own orders now would it?”

  “How? How did you issue orders in my voice?” croaked General Hostilius not believing what he had seen and heard.

  “The advantage of Blue clearance is the ability, via software programming inherent in all Imperial systems for voice capture and replication, to issue orders as if from the mouth of the normal issuer of said orders. It is sometimes expedient to have someone issue orders after they have been terminated. Death is so… final, don’t you find?” The Investigator asked. “For example if I had issued the order your men would be panicked and may break and run, despite the punishment for cowardice and loss of faith. Such is the reputation of the Trado of Doctrina that they would assume I had killed you and were sending them to their deaths. If only it would be that simple to contain this uprising. Nothing can be gained from simply ordering these men to their deaths, and so I must maintain their hope and trust in your command. You are alive, not because of any sense of mercy within me, but simply because the technology has not yet been developed to stage personal interactions with your men. As I said before Death is so inconveniently final.”

  General Hostilius found himself thinking of the brave men that were being ordered to hold a position that was completely untenable, and would shortly be massacred because they did not know enough to flee; their faith in him binding them to their posts at which they would be cut down.

  The wait seemed to last for an eternity, the commander of the rebels showing himself to be a careful man. Despite the fact that there was almost no way to foresee the success of his attack on the bomber and the effect on the Imperial forces it had devastated, the rebels forces still appeared to be consolidating their positions rather than rushing in to what could be a trap. General Hostilius knew he had put no measures in place for a counterattack at that position and so he wondered what the Investigator had planned. There were provisions at the rest of the perimeter, but in order to use them they would have to be moved, but the Investigator merely sat in the command console’s chair like a cat who had obtained the cream, feet up on the console, just waiting. He was sure the Investigator had placed no contingency in place. He had committed all of his reserves to this assault, and now they were all injured demoralised and their defences were breached.

  The comm. crackled into life “General, we have hostile contact. They are attacking Sir. We have no cover, we have wounded, and we are outnumbered. We are awaiting instructions to fall back to the tertiary line Sir.”

  “That is a negative, you are to hold position to the last man, countermeasures are being deployed. Repeat, negative, hold to the last man, countermeasures being deployed.” The Investigator ordered over the comm. in General Hostilius’ own voice.

  “I didn’t order any countermeasures Investigator,” Corvus hissed after the comm. channel closed, the staccato beats of gunfire just becoming audible from the battlefield. “You are ordering those men to hold for no reason; you can still save some of them if you order a retreat now.”

  “Oh General, you continue t
o disappoint.” The Investigator looked at Corvius with a slight tilt of the head “You did order countermeasures, you just didn’t realise it at the time.”

  The Investigator hit a command on the console and a wash of white light entered the bunker through the toughened plastic that covered the slits that served for observation. The light faded to yellow, but Corvus could see that the white was receding to the battle lines and a roar washed over him. There was only one explanation, the rocket batteries; the Investigator had triggered the rocket batteries. He had ordered them back from the front when it was clear that the artillery placements so outranged them as to render them useless. The Investigator had not moved them, so where were they targeted? There were no rebel positions in range of the rockets.

  “Countermeasures deployed, Invictus be with you.” Corvus heard the Investigator utter over the comm. channel and immediately break contact.

  It was then that Corvus knew immediately a number of inescapable facts. One, the rocket batteries had definitely not been moved and two, there were not rebel positions within the range of said batteries. The target was not the rebel positions, but the Imperial ones. The very positions, which, until recently, had bustled with the forces he had earmarked for the offensive. The troops his voice had ordered to hold to the last man, promising countermeasures to repel the rebel counter attack. Corvus realised that the countermeasures were the rockets, and that no one would survive their arrival: not the rebels and not his own men. His own men were being sacrificed to eliminate the threat of a rebel offensive. What though was the point? The end result would merely be a bloody stale-mate that benefited no one.

  “General, I note the look of puzzlement on your face. Have you not yet realised that the Trado of Doctrina remains a number of moves ahead of your meagre understanding? Your men, whilst making a sacrifice, are safeguarding the future of the Empire for generations to come.” The Investigator had grabbed the front of Corvus’ body armour and used it as a grip to lift him off his chair and subsequently his feet. He dangled in the air in front of the Investigator, who held him in one fist, the effort showing not in the face, nor in any visible effort from the muscles under the matte black body armour.

  “A rebellion on Invictus itself has the opportunity of undermining the entire Empire. Letting it continue as you have undermines the authority of Sol Invictus himself. The only way to end this is to put down the rebellion with such devastation and brutality that none could countenance such an act again. Sacrifices had to be made, yet more will be called for.” The Investigator stated directly into Corvus’ eyes and Corvus was certain the sacrifice would be his. The blonde hair of the Investigator brushed against his forehead, but, despite the irritation this caused, Corvus could not bring any of his muscles under control in order to brush it away. He knew that the reputation enjoyed by the Investigators was not just well earned, it was an underestimation. They would resort to anything to complete what they saw their mission to be, even if it meant sacrificing an entire battalion. The steel in the blue eyes of the Investigator showed no give and the fine scar on the left side of her face served only to make her seem colder and more unforgiving.

  Lieutenant Gratius woke up in the relative cool of the Crab. Thankfully not the one that was being used as a Command by Guardsman Buteo. He noticed a cold compress being held to his forehead, tenderly, much too tenderly, to be one of his Squad. The level of care he would expect from his Squad was being demonstrated to his torso as compressing bandages were applied in the area beaten by Buteo earlier. Halberdier Amatius was in charge of this part of the procedure, and despite being somewhat heavy handed, was showing some real skill in first aid.

  “I was bullied a lot a school for being a fourthie,” Balbus said to the slightly surprised questioning look on Aquilinius’ face. “I used to take care of my own injuries so my parents wouldn’t worry.”

  “Forthies” was the nickname given to the offspring of those of fourth generation alternative religion parents. The ones who would, upon reaching adulthood, be able to volunteer to the Imperial Guard and earn the right to be citizens. There was a great deal of hostility from those established Invictine families to the re-inclusion of those seen to be of tainted stock. Only those of adult age from tainted stock who had demonstrated their non-adherence to the religious teachings of their predecessors were accepted as a first generation towards the goal of re-inclusion into the citizenry. “Forthies” were subjected to humiliation, such as any degrading treatment with toilets and excrement to brutal beatings, which were sometimes fatal.

  “Your other helper is called Mya, she doesn’t say much but she does follow instructions quite well I’ve found. We had to bring her on board the Crab after I Tazered her She passed out, poor thing. Sorry about the smell. We haven’t had a chance to clean up after her; she did pee herself, with the voltage and everything. She seems to have forgiven me for that though. Sergeant Curtius did some asking around. It would seem that she doesn’t have anyone. No-one seems to know where she was from or who she was with. We only know her name because she scratched it into the sand when asked who she was. It’s a bit of a mystery, Sir.”

  Lieutenant Gratius groaned as he realised that there was only one person who would have been able to answer the questions about Mya, other than Mya herself. That person was lying face down in the desert by the Pyramid of Giza; a man he had ordered shot, a man who was dead because of him. A pair of deep brown eyes gazed deeply into his own as a concerned girl looked down at him. Realization dawned; and Lieutenant Gratius suddenly did not feel so bad about ordering the man’s death, for if he could run to save his own miserable existence and leave a child behind to face whatever fate he had brought upon her, then he deserved far worse than the mercy of a sniper’s bullet; especially if that child was of his own flesh and blood. Mya was holding the cold compress to Lieutenant Gratius’ forehead, helping keep down the blinding headache he could feel creeping up on him.

  The child, Mya, was obviously of an Asian/Middle Eastern descent, but the free movement of peoples in these two areas had made it difficult for the Empire to racially profile the difference between these two groupings. Islam had proven as popular in the East as Christianity had in the West and had reached as far to the East as the Indian sub-continent, where it had clashed with the Hindi originated peoples. The Genetic sources were therefore hard to positively identify but the Empire didn’t need to - both religions were contrary to its own and had resisted conversion vigorously. Therefore skin tone to either genetic grouping was seen as guilt of being a member of another religion unless, of course, one could prove otherwise. She had slightly curly hair and a little button nose that wrinkled so expressively that she could almost communicate exclusively via this appendage.

  “We can keep you here for a little while longer, Sir, but soon you will have to see Colonel Marius Galeo, the… incident reached as far up as that, Sir. He said to see him as soon as you were up and about. I wouldn’t get up just yet; you will need to be straight in the head for that I fear.”

  Lieutenant Gratius levered himself up onto his elbows to test the reaction his body made, this met with a fierce scowl from Mya, who clearly disapproved of him forcing himself too early. For someone he had ordered Tazered she seemed extremely protective. Lieutenant Gratius smirked inwardly; the irony was that Mya was not acting as a prisoner towards him. In fact quite the reverse. The feeling of mirth quickly passed when Lieutenant Gratius remembered to what fate he was transporting Mya and the other prisoners. The Inquisition would be highly unlikely to show mercy to even a child. Mercy was considered a human quality, for if one could sin and then be shown mercy then the concept of Justice was inherently flawed. The sin was that of the father but Mya was young enough to have been indoctrinated in his heathen ways and thus she would be judged guilty - as a preventative measure to protect the empire from her eventual betrayal in the future.

  “Orders are orders Halberdier. How could I expect you to follow my orders if I ignore those that are giv
en to me?” Lieutenant Gratius levered himself up pointedly ignoring the scowl of Mya when he did so. “Give me a hand getting to Colonel Marius.”

  Fighting back the wave of nausea from his abused torso, Lieutenant Gratius leaned heavily on Halberdier Amatius for the short walk to the crab occupied by Colonel Marius. It was obvious one of his Squad had communicated his condition to the Colonel for normally the Colonel would have been in position to the fore of the formation. As he stumbled and tripped his way to the Command Crab Lieutenant Gratius took the time to scan the formation and the terrain through which it was travelling. Although the landscape was rocky, there was little in the way of mountains at this point in the journey. The Pyramids, large as they were, had disappeared from view - lost in the heat haze generated by the afternoon sun. Low hills of rock were all that were visible on all sides, giving a deserted feel to the panorama - if one discounted the hundreds of thousands of prisoners and troops marching in a loose column. Lieutenant Gratius was glad that his orders concerning the movement of his squad had not yet been countermanded. Despite the amount of time he had been unconscious the Sectios still maintained their chaotic dance of cover and counter-cover at a much greater distance from the column than most of the other Squads. As he glanced back to the rear of the column he noticed that a few other Squads had copied his approach, at least there was a positive to be taken from the incident. His adherence to the side of caution had showed the value of a wider formation to other Squads, and further incidents were less likely to occur.