The Quest for Knowledge - A Warhammer 40k Fanfiction

“They’re in my sights, chief.”

Gana’s voice, once high-pitched, had been turned into a guttural low roar by the constant exposure to toxic gases on battlefields. Ratlings were especially sensitive to pollution sometimes. Nevertheless, he was easily the best sniper in the regiment. Sand could almost imagine him tucked away in some dark corner, high up in the walls of the derelict, looking through his needler’s scope at the shuffling hordes of greenskins under him.

“How many?” he whispered into the vox. No telling how high the volume could be. Forgetting to turn comms down had gotten scouts killed before.

“Quite a crowd. I see some of the big boys in there. Want me to pop a few?”

“And get yourself killed? How far are you from the perimeter?”

“Judging by how they’re moving, they should hit the lines in eight to ten minutes by my estimation.”

“Accounting for your stubby little legs?”

“Very funny, chief.”

“No need to be a hero, Gana. Get back to the position. Use the maintenance walkways.”

“I know how to do my job. Be there in a few. Out.”

This was a bad situation, no doubt. If the entire regiment was here, it would be no problem. But he had only managed to land his command platoon as of now. The rest of the company, let alone the entire regiment, was still trying to navigate its way through the Mechanicus’ opaque traffic schedules. They were optimized for their own machine-aided efficiency, not normal humans. No sane man would otherwise insist that they concurrently land two transports with a maximum of two inches of space between them. It was a miracle no crashes had occurred yet. Or, at least, Zeta had not informed him of any.

Still, the men he had right now were experienced soldiers: battle-hardened to a man. There were six infantry squads, one anti-tank squad, one fire support squad, and one sniper squad led by Gana, besides himself, his bodyguards, and Gramps. He had to count for something too. He also had the ten ogryns, the sisters, and the Skitarii. That made twelve Chimeras, one of them a command variant. Not bad. But, if the Mechanicus estimates were to be believed, not good either.

They had turned the hallway into a mini-killzone, making a v-shaped barricade out of whatever rockcrete barriers and sandbags they had managed to scrounge up, braced by steel beams hastily welded to the floor. A narrow opening in the centre left only enough space for two guardsmen to pass through: a chokepoint. The fire support had been ordered to the top of the walls, each soldier carrying a heavy boltgun with their mechanical strength. The remaining infantry were crouched behind the second line of barriers, lasguns at the ready. If only the halls were wide enough for the Chimeras to truly help out: only two could fit abreast. The engineers had set up some hasty raised platforms for two more vehicles to fire over the first line, but they did not exactly have the resources to build a stairway to heaven. The Mechanicus forces had mostly left him to his own devices; they were making their own, separate plans. But he had no doubt it would still mesh seamlessly with his own. Prognostication became a lot easier with computers inside your skull.

Palatine Veridara jogged up to him. She had her helmet back on. Shame. Maybe her blinding white hair would have confused the xenos’ eyes.

“What’s the plan, colonel?”

He gestured at the formation in front of him. “We’ll draw them into the killzone, lay into them with the heavy weapons. Anything that gets through will be dealt with by the second LoD.”

“Simple.”

“We’re fighting simpletons. The horde is huge, but compared to serious ones, it’s a joke. The greenskins are bound to be dumb, especially with no warboss. They have a few nobs, though. Have to watch out for those.”

“Understood. Where are my sisters needed?”

“Uh… Do what you do best, I suppose?”

He could almost feel her cock an eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean, guardsman?”

“Exactly what you think. You have the flamers and the bolters and the chainswords. You’re our shock troops. You’ll hold them on the other side of the barricade so the heavy bolters can pick them off.”

“In other words, crash directly into the Ork lines.”

He nodded. “You’re the only ones who can. My men are strong enough, but that’s not how the guard fights. And the Skitarii would never agree.”

“Don’t they see the tactical necessity?”

“They do, but their strongest weapons are best used from a distance. They’ll come to the same conclusion as me: that you’re best suited for this.”

She sighed. “The Emperor’s blessings shall be armour enough then, Sand. Karina, you heard him.”

The older woman behind her bowed slightly and turned to her troops, her helmet vox hiding the orders from his ears.

“Ever fought Orks before, Veridara?”

“Plenty. From a distance though.”

“You? From a distance?”

She disengaged the vacuum seals from her helmet and pulled it off, revealing a very irate pair of brown eyes. “Yes, colonel. Believe it or not, not all battle-sisters are of the opinion that the Emperor is best served in glorious melee combat. Some of us like to hang around the backlines and actually use the optimum range specs on our guns.”

“Wow, you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“The Unbroken Thread was raised specifically to fight alongside other forces. That makes you a very lucky man, colonel. Any other palatine would have had you and your men shot a thousand times over for your irreverence.”

“But you are the reasonable kind.”

“The Emperor’s compassion is as sublime as His wrath.”

His vox-bead chimed, releasing the heavy breathing of a soldier directly into his ears.

“HW1 reporting. Auspexes picking up hostiles. Please advise. Over.”

He affirmed the connection. “Verify and make ready to engage. Sand out. Palatine, we have to move. Sensors are picking up movement.”

She nodded and jammed the helmet back on. “May the Emperor’s benediction guide us. Move out!”

The guardsmen made way for the sisters to jump over the barricades, muttering prayers to their guns as they slotted power packs in and adjusted dials. Behind them, Enginseers bent in prayer, beseeching the machine spirits to strike hard and aim true. Skitarii wordlessly clambered onto the Chimeras, kneeling with guns braced. His bionic eye swam with minute interference as tight-beam casts passed between them. For a moment, as the last prayers faded away, there was silence. Then, even as the darkness did not reveal a patch of green skin, bolters roared to life. Bionic targeting systems were tagging targets still beyond visual range. The steady punch of ammunition was followed by crunching flesh and enraged roars.

“Light it up!” NCOs roared. The second line fired flare guns over the barricade, illuminating targets for the unaugmented. A seething horde of Orks, charging with reckless abandon even as their frontlines exploded into gore. As they closed, the sisters opened fire, adding their own shells to the steadily gathering pile at the base of the barricades. Yet they kept coming, ignoring gaping holes in their torsos as they smashed into the small knot of women guarding the chokepoint. The gunners immediately shifted their attention to farther targets; firing into the melee was impossibly risky. Gouts of burning promethium began to paint the wall with entangled shadows: flamers illuminating crude choppers clashing with roaring chainswords.

Just a few more moments. The trailing edge of the horde was almost visible, bunching up against the walls. They needed to be here. All of them. Packed so tightly they could not even swing their arms, let alone dodge.

The broken corpse of a sister slammed against the wall beside him, her armour sundered and pitted by brutal blows. The helmet had cracked like an egg, revealing a pulped mess instead of a face. But she was still alive, her chest moving up and down in ragged breaths.

“Gramps.”

The commissar beside him drew his bolt pistol. “As the Emperor wills.”

A loud shot put her out of her misery.

He activated his vox-bead. “Now! Veridara, retreat! Let them in!”

With long blasts from their flamers, the sisters found a moment of respite from the melee, rapidly falling back through the chokepoint. The way was open now, but the seething mass of greenskins tried to advance at once. The frontlines were pressed against the barricades, steel beams straining as they began to buckle under the weight.

“If they break…”

He pointed at the second line. “I need two squads, one on each side. Brace those beams! We need them funnelling through the gap, and the gap only!”

The sergeants immediately repeated the order in short barks, punctuating it with a few shoves. The men threw themselves against the metal, skin flowing as artificial muscle stretched like steel cables under it. It was not stopping.

“Harder! Push harder!”

One of the beams almost wrenched free of its welding, sliding back with an unpleasant screeching sound as guardsmen screamed curses and pushed against the sagging wall.

“Only a second! A second more!”

“HW1, clear that jam! The reception is ready!”

“Happy to comply, sir!”

The heavy weapons team drew small, silver bottles from their belts, unscrewing the caps before throwing them down into the masses below. Some of the smarter xenos bellowed in their guttural tongue: probably something about getting away. They never got the chance. Miniature suns bloomed among their numbers, instantly incinerating cramped swathes as the plasma grenades breached containment. The guardsmen took the opportunity to fall back, slinging their boltguns over their shoulders with practised ease as they joined the sisters in jumping over the second LoD.

“Good work!” Sand clapped one of the soldiers on the back as they rushed past him. “Quickly now! Get those weapons changed! We don’t have much time!”

The broken bodies of at least five sisters littered the site of the melee, but Veridara’s troops had definitely reaped a fair tally in return. She had lost her helmet in the fighting, freeing her hair to tumble down in frizzy disarray. It was adorned with a few spatters of blood to boot. She threw her near-ruined chainsword to a very irritated Enginseer.

“What now, Sand?”

“They like to send their best warriors in first. We’ve decimated those frontlines, and they’re in disarray, but only temporarily. We need to shore up the LoD now.”

She pursed her lips, almost as if she wanted to say something, but evidently thought better of it. “Where do you need me?”

“Congrats, palatine. It’s your favourite job. You’ll be right here, with me.”

“Oh, joy.”

“Yeah, yeah, save it. I need you running fire support with the Skitarii.”

“What, on the Chimeras? What if they need to move?”

“You’ll keep your footing, don’t worry. It’s easier than it looks.”

“And if we don’t?”

“Then you’ll fall in the opposite direction, and not get crushed by the treads. Inertia’s a lifesaver.”

“You’re trying to get us killed at this point.”

“I’d never.” He clutched his chest in mock outrage. It was a tense situation, but he was always in a humorous mood when he was fighting. There was something the adrenalin did to him.

He must have had a more crazed expression than he had hoped, because the palatine arched a wary eyebrow. “I think we’ll just stay down here, thank you, colonel.”

“Alright, suit yourself, but don’t shoot my men. Here they come!”

The first Orks began to squeeze through the gap. With a safety valve now open, the pressure on the barricades was gone, and the bracing soldiers had returned to the lines. However, they were not the first to open fire.

Flashes of blue jumped across the metal walls. His auspex readings for heat spiked. Milliseconds later, bolts of plasma slammed into the first few mobs, blasting them into ashes. And then the air burned. The silent orchestra grew into a crescendo of blue as the Skitarii brought their plasma calivers to a blistering rate of fire. Blinding volleys burned afterimages into his eyes as they singlehandedly held back the horde pouring through. Even the sturdy constitution of the greenskins offered no resistance, scores melting away before they could take even a single step. For a few precious moments, they were untouchable.

Then the machine spirits screamed for release. Quicker than the eye could follow, the Skitarii hit emergency venting controls on weapons, preventing explosions even as ballistic mechandendrites flared out, replacing plasma with las and bolts. But now it was no longer enough. The Orks pressed on through the hail, pouring into the relatively open killzone. The Chimeras roared to life, discharging multi-laser and heavy bolter barrages. Sisters flicked their bolters to auto and let loose, bracing against the weighty hulls of the vehicles to bear the recoil. The heavy weapons squad matched them with thundering autocannons. Sonic pads in Sand’s ears expanded automatically, reacting to the noise. Though he could no longer hear his own voice, he activated the vox and ordered the lines to open fire. A medley of hellgun-strength las bolts joined the blinding hellscape of combat. Some of the Orks managed to live long enough to bring their own crude guns to bear, gouging chunks out of the rockcrete. But it was working. Through that small opening, the horde could not bring its entire firepower to bear, even if they shot through their own troops, as some of them were trying now. Facing ten or twenty or even thirty at a time, their defensive positions had a disproportionate advantage.

Pings. Bullets hitting metal and rock instead of flesh.

“Hold fire! Repeat, hold fire!”

The storm of lights and sounds abruptly cut off. The orks had stopped coming. The strip of floor visible through the gap was completely empty, save for the piles of half-burned bodies and gore. The only sound was that of slick blood slowly crawling across the floor: faint rasps and scratches only audible to sensitive auditory implants.

Someone tugged on his sleeve. He turned to see Veridara staring into his eyes with a half-resolute, half-stressed glare.

“What’s wrong?”

She tapped her ear and made a thumbs-down gesture.

Can’t hear.

Of course. She had been standing right next to the heavy weapons with no helmet. A small trickle of blood was even now crawling out of her ear. He rubbed some off and showed her the stain, and made a cross with his arms.

Medic. Now.

She shook her head and lifted her gun. He sighed.

Fight stopped. Go now.

Stopped?

No sound.

All dead?

He shook his head.

Too many. Did not kill enough.

Then what?

He was about to shrug when an unholy sound of cracking rockcrete and crumpling steel tore one of the barricades free from its supports. The weighty mass could not stand before this brutal blow, and toppled over to reveal the sea of greenskins still left, hiding with uncharacteristic cunning behind the slanted walls. The chokepoint was gone. And at the head of the horde stood a hulking monster, at least twice the size of his peers and clad in what looked like looted tank armour, strapped haphazardly to his chest and arms. He raised a massive hunk of a blade, chain-teeth whirring along its edge with guttural puffs from a crude promethium engine.

For a moment, all was quiet. Then a guardsman screamed, “Nob!”

The Nob threw its head back and roared, loud enough to trigger hearing protection. The seething mass behind him matched his war cry, surging forward like the unstoppable tide.

“Don’t just stand there!” Sand screamed, shoving one of his officers towards the troops. “Fire! Keep them back! If they hit the lines, we’ll be meeting the Omnissiah a lot sooner than planned!”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Without the barricade, they were doomed. There had to be a way. They needed to put up a new barrier. But there was no time to make it as it was. It had to be something they could set up quickly. Sturdy and simple. But what?

His bionic eye rolled away of its own accord, as if the machine spirit was responding to his thoughts. Its gaze stopped on one of the ornate pillars lining the walls of the hallway. Purely decorative. The diagnostics indicated that the ceiling had its own support braces. But it was solid metal and ceramite. If only it could be detached.

The Chimeras opened fire again, targeting the Nob, but the seething mass of his troops shielded him, the few shots that made it through scattering uselessly against his armour. There were too many to hold back now; they advanced without pause, climbing over their own comrades or shattered limbs without pause.

“AT! I need AT! Where’s the—”

There could be a way after all. The anti-tank squad clambered over the vehicles, gingerly squeezing between the firing Skitarii to reach him. Their sergeant hefted the lascannon in his arms. “We’ll get the Nob. Don’t worry, chief.”

“No, that’s not why you’re here. We’ll handle the big guy. Blow up the base of that pillar.”

“That thick one? Why?”

“We need a new barricade.”

“Got it. We’ll bring it down, chief, but I don’t think we can carry it. Maybe hook it up with one of the Chimeras?”

“Not enough time.” Sand cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted, “Hurk!”

The ogryn Bonehead lumbered over with two of his men.

“Kernel?”

“That pillar’s gonna drop soon. Can your men carry it for us?”

“For the Emprah!” Hurk turned to his men and screamed something in their crude language, and the two giants dutifully lumbered over to where the guardsmen were setting up melta demolition charges.

“Look out, sir!”

Hurk’s warning made him turn, only to find the Nob’s chopper arcing down on him in an unexpectedly fast blur. Somehow, the hulking brute had made it over the lines and gotten straight to him. Just before it could connect, the blade was caught by an industrial servo-claw. Zeta-21 wrenched the weapon away from him, simultaneously swelling in size as a chem-signal activated genetic triggers for muscle build-up. He grabbed the Ork around the waist and tossed him bodily back over the lines, flattening a few of the smaller greenskins. A small gun swivelled out of a mounting on one of his six arms, deleting an entire swathe of troops with a coruscating burst of radiation.

“Your plan is to use the decorative pillar as an ad-hoc barricade.”

He did not even question how he knew. “Yeah.”

“Understood.” His shoulder-mounted multi-laser spun and whirred, its cognis-spirit tracking targets by itself.

With a deep, imploding sound, the melta charges exploded, freeing the pillar from its base. Immediately, the top broke under its own weight, and the entire structure tipped over and fell like an ancient tree in an Arborium. Directly onto the backs of his men. The squad screamed as the weight fell onto their shoulders, dropping to one knee. Load-bearing augmetics were stretched to their utmost limits.

“Can you help?”

“That will not be necessary.”

The ogryns added their strength to his men’s, swinging the pillar back and forth. By the Omnissiah, they were going to throw it.

“Can’t you clear them a path, at least?”

“That will not be necessary.”

“Did you go blind, Zeta? Look at that horde!”

The Orks had, despite, best efforts, reached the lines. Guardsmen were fighting back, gene-bulk and molecular blades against xeno flesh and blunt cleavers, but they were outnumbered. Slowly but surely, they were falling back. Heavy weapons spun down, no longer able to target in melee. The Skitarii slung their rifles over their backs, leaping into the fray with whirling mechadendrites, mauls, and blades as the Chimeras reversed to stay out of range.

“I am aware of the orkoid infestation. On my mark, your men will immediately locomote to a prone position.”

“What?”

They threw the pillar. It careened over the crowds, twisting in the air to miraculously land at exactly the right angle. But the bulk of the enemy was already on this side.

“Ready…”

“Wait—”

“Mark!”

“Drop! Everybody drop!”

There must have been something off in his tone, because no one even questioned his order. As one, the Skitarii also collapsed to the ground, like servitors hit by a haywire pulse.

Veridara. He turned his head to look at her. She was still standing, with a confused expression on her face. She had not heard the order. The greenskins froze temporarily, as if unable to believe their luck, and then raised their weapons to strike. It was going to happen now. Whatever the Skitarii were so sure about. Time seemed to freeze as he somehow dove at her from the ground, tackling her around the waist. An instant later, something whipped past, a few inches above his head. He felt it more than heard it, the slightest rush of air passing over his scalp even through the cap. Like a delicate knife. They crashed to the ground together. A tuft of white hair floated down and deposited itself in front of his eyes, on her chestplate.

Shit. It had hit her. Whatever it was. Just hair, or more? Slowly, very slowly, he turned to look at the Orks. They had all fallen silent, weapons stopped mid-swing, as if unable to comprehend what just happened. From the darkness of the ceiling, a soft creaking sound emerged, twice or thrice. Then the xenos fell apart, bisected neatly in two: some at the waist, some at the chest, some at the neck. The Skitarii quietly got to their feet as sprays of gore covered their robes and armour, finishing the few left alive with quick stabs from infestus mechadendrites.

Oh, no. Veridara. Slowly, without looking, he let his hand move up, past her armoured collar, expecting to touch a wet stump. Instead, his fingers closed around a slender and muscled neck, followed closely by a gauntleted hand that slapped his away. He sighed. Alive.

“Is there any ulterior motive to your current mutual predicament? Because if the answer is in the negative, I am pleased to inform you that it is safe to extend to your full height now.” The Skitarius Alpha extended two of his arms to them.

With a jolt, he realized their position: him, lying on top of her. Her legs unwittingly wrapped around him. His face roughly at waist level.

“My fingers wrapped around her neck.”

Omnissiah preserve him. He desperately jumped to be the first to take Zeta’s hand.

Veridara seemed to have regained some of her hearing, because she grabbed his other arm. The Skitarius hauled them both to their feet.

She surveyed the scene before her. “What the fuck just happened?”

“The maintenance gantries have high-tension pulley systems.” The red-robed figure noiselessly dropped down from the darkness above. Vakor. The assassin Techpriest. “They are also compatible with monomolecular wire.” He held up a bloodied length of thread, almost invisibly thin.

Brutal. Effective. He was not sure whether to feel sick or jealous. “Thank you.”

“The Omnissiah’s will speaks in my kills, soldier. I did not do it for you.”

“Regardless. Is that the last of them?”

“Of this contingent, yes. But you have another problem approaching. You will be made aware of it… now.”

His vox-bead crackled. The frequency, he would recognize anywhere.

“Gana?”

“I’m overlooking you, chief, but… we got a problem.”

“What?”

“Look behind you.”

He turned, right on cue to see Orks in fake tactical gear drop onto the reserve Chimeras. The Krak grenades in their hands, however, were decidedly not fake.

“Commandoes!” A sentry screamed.