Some of the corpses belonged to the rebels themselves: they were wrapped in cloth and given a wooden tombstone – that was all the funeral. Nearby, a common grave yawned – a huge pit where bodies were simply thrown until the pit was full and could be covered.
Li Qingyu rolled the cart to a group of rebels engaged in burial.
"These are all our brothers. We should bury them properly," he said.
The rebels approached with shrouds.
"May their souls rest at the Golden Throne," one said.
Li Qingyu was surprised: these rebels still believed in the Emperor. However, it was logical. They rebelled against the Governor's predatory taxes, not against the God-Emperor. If they managed to seize power, they might even manage to hold onto it. The Imperium didn't care who sat in the Governor's chair, as long as the tithes were paid on time. It was only interesting how they would sing when they themselves had to skin the people to pay the imperial quota.
Li Qingyu shook his head, dismissing extraneous thoughts, and headed for the common pit. Several badly decomposed bodies of PSS soldiers immediately caught his eye. Their uniforms had been removed, leaving only their underwear. That was still kind. The planet was agrarian, rich. On another world, they would have even taken the underwear, or even processed the corpses themselves.
Making a mask out of rags, Li Qingyu jumped into the pit. The stench of corpses hit his nose so hard that his eyes watered. Without wasting time, he began to search for dog tags.
A dog tag, or "dog tag," was an army identifier. Usually, a soldier wore two dog tags around his neck, with personal data. Patting the neck of one of the dead men, he felt a tag, very similar to those worn by American soldiers in the third millennium. Dog tags were divided into a primary and a duplicate. Li Qingyu took the duplicates, leaving the primary ones on the bodies – in case the PSS returned and wanted to identify their own.
After rummaging through the pile of bodies, he quickly collected more than twenty dog tags.
Suddenly, a surprised voice came from above:
"What are you doing down there?"
Two rebels stood at the edge of the pit with rifles on their backs, looking down in bewilderment. Holding his nose, Li Qingyu held up a handful of dog tags and slapped his palm on his shotgun.
"Looking for bullets for the cannon. Melt these metal plates into balls – and they shoot great."
The rebels nodded in understanding. Their zone of control had almost no industry, and their weapons were a motley assortment – from standard assault rifles to crude, homemade shotguns. The advantage of these homemade weapons, however, was that they could fire anything that fit into the barrel. Deciding the guy was just scavenging for metal to make ammunition, they said:
"You can take the cart," and left.
Li Qingyu quickly gathered all the available SIT tokens, stuffed them into his backpack, and climbed out of the pit, greedily gasping for air.
The stench! An unbelievable stench! He felt as if he had just inhaled directly from Nurgle's backside. After catching his breath, he dragged the empty cart back. Less than a kilometer from the Grain Station, he pushed it into a ditch, jumped in after it, and lay low.
Soon it was dark. After a snack of hardtack and water, he emerged from the ditch under the cover of night and headed towards the Hive. The rebels were lax on discipline: he walked the entire way to the border of their zone and didn't see a single sentry.
The evacuation was uneventful, but his backpack only jingled with 38 tokens. Light, almost weightless – and Li Qingyu felt like a fisherman returning with an empty bucket. Not good.
Looking around, he noticed a field with some plants.
"Oh, is this potatoes?" he wondered.
He ran into the field and began to work his knife like a shovel, digging up fist-sized tubers from the ground.
"Ha! It really is potato!"
Amused, Li Qingyu began to dig furiously, stuffing his backpack to the brim. Who would have thought that the future Rogue Trader, conqueror of stars, would begin his career by stealing potatoes?
With his backpack stuffed to the max and having incurred a "yellow" overload penalty, he set off on the long journey. Consulting the map, he estimated that the SIT perimeter was about twenty kilometers away, and one of the points was marked as Lieutenant Rudolson's sector. That's where he headed.
After several hours, when the moon was high in the sky, Li Qingyu approached Rudolson's positions. The SIT defense looked solid: watchtowers, searchlights, pillboxes with heavy bolters, trenches, barbed wire, and in front of all this – undoubtedly minefields.
Li Qingyu stopped two kilometers from the front line, found a softer spot, and sat down to wait. He had no doubt that Rudolson would find him – his bio-signature had already lit up on the auspex and was displayed as a green dot on the tactical map.
And so it happened: soon, the roar of an engine was heard from the fortifications. A "Chimera" IFV, blinding with its headlights, drove right up to Li Qingyu. The turret hatch opened, and Rudolson stuck his head out.
"Will you give me a ride through your domain?" Li Qingyu grinned.
Rudolson crossed his arms over his chest.
"Civilians are forbidden from entering the military zone. Trespassers will be shot."
Li Qingyu spread his hands.
"Come on. I've been on my feet all night. Give me a cot, I'll sleep, and then I'll leave."
The lieutenant looked at him silently.
Li Qingyu clicked his tongue, pulled a handful of tokens from his backpack, and made them jingle melodically.
"By the way, I went behind enemy lines to the rebels for your sake. I almost kicked the bucket."
Rudolson paused, then commanded the driver:
"Open the troop compartment."
With a creak, the "Chimera's" ramp lowered, Li Qingyu jumped inside, and the vehicle rolled back towards the SIT fortifications. They stopped at a camp surrounded by trenches. Rudolson led his guest to one of the tents.
Li Qingyu looked around: a watchtower, two machine-gun nests with heavy stubbers, soldiers wandering around, drinking, playing cards. Someone was shouting drunkenly, and from one tent came women's moans and giggles.
Li Qingyu snorted with laughter.
"Civilians forbidden, execution," you say?
Rudolson's face darkened. He led Li Qingyu into his tent and pointed to a cot:
"You can sleep here until morning. Tomorrow, you'll take the big lift down to the Lower Hive." He extended his hand. "Give it here."
Noticing a small electric hotplate by the cot, Li Qingyu pulled out a few potatoes and threw them on to bake. Then he took out a pile of SIT tokens from his backpack and gave them to the lieutenant.