Chapter 19 – Kill-Team
A squad of Krieg Guardsmen threaded their way through the alleys of the Underhive. They were a Kill-Team, the elite of Krieg.
Besides the standard Lucius Pattern No. 98 Lasguns, the squad carried a Grenade Launcher, a Plasma Gun, and a Flamer. The Sniper's rifle was fitted with a fire-control scope.
Their mission was to raid deep behind enemy lines, sowing as much havoc as possible and, if feasible, searching for survivors. Such work should have been left to the Emperor's Angels, but the fallen Astartes had the loyalists pinned down elsewhere.
Thus, the crushing yet vital task fell to the Astra Militarum.
Collapsed ferrocrete served as a perfect cover for the Kill-Team. They advanced through the rubble just as their forebears had once fought rebels in tunnel warrens, now battling cultists seduced by the Dark Gods.
'Khorne, god of war and slaughter.' His worshippers hailed Him as the very embodiment of courage. To please their master, the Heretics killed without restraint.
Khorne admires the brave, yet He cares not from whence the blood flows. Skulls were piled into great monuments, human skin tanned into battle banners. The twin-headed Imperial aquila was violently defaced, replaced by Chaos stars fashioned from bone.
With every step, the Guardsmen trod through viscous, dark crimson fluid, as if walking upon swampy ground.
The Wachtmeister halted abruptly. The purity seal affixed to his shoulder guard burst into flame, signifying a daemon's proximity.
He raised his vox-caster to report to forward command at once, but only static answered. The machine-spirit of the device was shrieking. The Warp-taint here had thickened enough to twist reality itself.
The sergeant turned and gave a few swift gestures, and the Sniper peeled away while the rest pressed on.
He tried contacting the other squads; same result. Then he unslung the heavy vox-caster and set it down with solemn care. It was disrespectful to the machine-spirit, yet shedding the weight would let them complete the mission efficiently.
The squad reformed into combat spacing. The troopers leapfrogged forward on an endless carpet of corpses that paved their path, yet they crossed it sure-footed.
A bayonet to the throat, a couple of ambushes, stray sentries dealt with, until, inevitably, they encountered a large enemy force.
The foe seemed to be conducting a sacrifice. Before a Warp-rift opens, such rites can summon lesser daemons. The sergeant raised his fist, and before the Heretics could complete their blasphemy, he elected to strike.
The first sound was the crump of a grenade, followed by the crackle of lasguns in disciplined volleys and the shriek of a Plasma Gun.
Superb marksmanship meant every squeeze of the trigger claimed a life.
The searing plasma jet, a blue torrent, struck, and the target's upper torso simply vaporized.
Like blood-hungry wolves, the Krieg Guardsmen surged from cover. The Flamer vomited a roaring cone of promethium that swallowed the Heretics attempting to return fire.
Caught off-guard, the cultists replied in frantic, leaderless disarray. Bullets flew, blood splattered across the ruins.
A stray round clipped one Guardsman. He staggered and fell, yet his comrades stepped over him without hesitation, filling the gap in their firing line. Then a reek of malevolence rolled in.
The beasts charged through the cultist ranks. Flesh Hounds, muscle-bound, horse-sized, scaled in dark crimson, bone-spikes jutting through flesh, tusks capable of punching through flak-armor. Blessed by the Dark God, the cursed beasts exuded terror. Alas, they had chosen the wrong prey.
No order was needed: the troopers shifted fire, concentrating everything on the hounds. Las-bolts, grenades, plasma streams hammered the daemons. They roared in fury yet pressed on, leaping into the Guardsmen's midst.
The sergeant, knocked down by one hound, wedged his bayonet between its fangs. Even half-dismembered, the monster only grew more savage.
It raged, slavering, breath foul, then shuddered and collapsed.
A blackened hole smoked in its skull. While the squad had pinned it down, a hidden marksman had delivered the killing shot.
But the fanatics had used that moment to close in, smearing blood-drawn sigils across their bodies.
Unarmored yet unafraid of bullets, they charged. The Guardsmen dropped their rifles and met them in brutal melee.
The sergeant gutted his opponent, bayonet sliding cleanly into the heart. The cultist convulsed once and died. Then a distant boom made his stomach knot.
The sergeant's jaw tightened. The spire of the clock-tower tilted, faltered, and toppled. The exposed Sniper was swallowed by enemy artillery.
His death bought them time: without the Flesh Hounds, the Kill-Team gained a slight edge in the brawl.
One wounded Guardsman slumped against a broken wall, ignoring the scorched ground. A knife lodged in his heart shifted with every beat, driving deeper.
He had minutes left, yet the sergeant left him his rifle and grenades. The trooper simply settled into a less painful posture, slowing each agonized breath.
He would hold to the last. Only when a man can no longer lift a gun may he claim the Emperor's mercy.
They approached the altar cautiously. The sergeant and two troopers pressed on. Near the altar, they caught a faint murmur.
"Child... my child... don't leave me."
"Child, wake up... please don't leave me."
He spotted her: a woman, back turned, covered in wounds, still praying to the Emperor in her despair.
"Citizen, you're safe, turn around." His weapon stayed level.
"Who are you? Angels of the Emperor? Can you save my child?" She turned, terrified.
The infant in her arms had long since ceased breathing, flesh fused to hers. Its features were a shapeless mass. Mother and child were now one entity, forever.
The sergeant immediately turned to his colleague and nodded. The Flamer trooper understood. He pulled the trigger, and the ravening serpent of fire engulfed them, consuming flesh and grief alike.
When the flames died down, Sergeant gave orders, "Move out."
Life is the Emperor's currency. Once again, Krieg had purchased a plain, unremarkable victory for Him.
[End of Chapter]