Achilleas Markos
Excess
Halcyon was supposed to be a Shrineworld. Located within the Avarani Sector of the Imperium Nihilus, it had been counted amongst the Imperium's million worlds since time immemorial. A place of great beauty and worship, its mononlithic hives were matched only by the size and scale of its cathedrals, so large they blotted out the sun. It was a holy place, Achilleas had been told. A world worth fighting for.
Why else would the Third Army Group be deployed to the sector, if not to fight?
'Colonel! Movement! Twelve o'clock high!' Small-arms fire interrupted the flow of his thoughts. Solid rounds. The kind that reminded Achilleas of insects, all buzz and sting. 'Problem with the cannon?' The colonel asked calmly. He could hear the driver's heavy breathing through his vox-bead. Nervous.
'No, Sir!'
'And the auspex?'
'Still operational. Sir.'
'Then, why are you talking to me?'
The eleven other guardsmen riding in the Chimera with him hid their smirks behind polarised visors as understanding dawned on the driver. 'Ack-acknowledged!' He stuttered. 'Firing!' The Chimera shook as the hull-mounted autocannons thundered to life. Thump-thump-thump! Thump-thump-thump! A pause. 'Reporting negative contacts, Sir. Leiutenant DeVeer's platoon is moving in now.' Outstanding, thought Achilleas, stretching languidly, before rising to his feet, the rest of his command squad following suit.
'Let's lend 'em a hand, shall we?'
With a nod, the trooper at the rear of the vehicle turned to hit the hatch release. 'Any word from B company yet?' Achilleas asked as the squad piled out into the pouring rain, weapons at the ready, lamp packs driving back the darkness pooling in the recesses of a city that had seen better days.
'Negative, sir. The vox is thick with interference. Atmospherics, mostly.' The colonel grunted. The buildings didn't help none.
'What I wouldn't give for one fire mission...' Raindrops dappled his black combat fatigues as he fanned out alongside his troopers. White flak vests and helmets ruined whatever attempt at stealth they might have made. DeVeer joined him as the rest of her platoon hurried on ahead, the Chimera advancing in their wake. Lasfire rang out. The autocannon roared as a halftrack slewed sideways to block the street up ahead.
'Stubborn fekkers.' DeVeer growled as they hustled into cover behind the Chimera's armoured bulk. Gunfire echoed. Shadows took the shapes of men, not all of them friendly. 'God-Emperor curse them! Filthy fekking Pilgrims!' Achilleas smiled.
Pilgrims. Slang for Enemy. They had taken Halcyon by surprise. Infiltrated. Overwhelmed.
The Agarthans had taken to calling them pilgrims because that's what they were, albeit they worshipped the wrong god. A false god whose mark they painted upon walls, and carved into their flesh when the mood took them.
Why else would the Third Army Group be deployed to the sector, if not to fight?
'Colonel! Movement! Twelve o'clock high!' Small-arms fire interrupted the flow of his thoughts. Solid rounds. The kind that reminded Achilleas of insects, all buzz and sting. 'Problem with the cannon?' The colonel asked calmly. He could hear the driver's heavy breathing through his vox-bead. Nervous.
'No, Sir!'
'And the auspex?'
'Still operational. Sir.'
'Then, why are you talking to me?'
The eleven other guardsmen riding in the Chimera with him hid their smirks behind polarised visors as understanding dawned on the driver. 'Ack-acknowledged!' He stuttered. 'Firing!' The Chimera shook as the hull-mounted autocannons thundered to life. Thump-thump-thump! Thump-thump-thump! A pause. 'Reporting negative contacts, Sir. Leiutenant DeVeer's platoon is moving in now.' Outstanding, thought Achilleas, stretching languidly, before rising to his feet, the rest of his command squad following suit.
'Let's lend 'em a hand, shall we?'
With a nod, the trooper at the rear of the vehicle turned to hit the hatch release. 'Any word from B company yet?' Achilleas asked as the squad piled out into the pouring rain, weapons at the ready, lamp packs driving back the darkness pooling in the recesses of a city that had seen better days.
'Negative, sir. The vox is thick with interference. Atmospherics, mostly.' The colonel grunted. The buildings didn't help none.
'What I wouldn't give for one fire mission...' Raindrops dappled his black combat fatigues as he fanned out alongside his troopers. White flak vests and helmets ruined whatever attempt at stealth they might have made. DeVeer joined him as the rest of her platoon hurried on ahead, the Chimera advancing in their wake. Lasfire rang out. The autocannon roared as a halftrack slewed sideways to block the street up ahead.
'Stubborn fekkers.' DeVeer growled as they hustled into cover behind the Chimera's armoured bulk. Gunfire echoed. Shadows took the shapes of men, not all of them friendly. 'God-Emperor curse them! Filthy fekking Pilgrims!' Achilleas smiled.
Pilgrims. Slang for Enemy. They had taken Halcyon by surprise. Infiltrated. Overwhelmed.
The Agarthans had taken to calling them pilgrims because that's what they were, albeit they worshipped the wrong god. A false god whose mark they painted upon walls, and carved into their flesh when the mood took them.