Ciaphas Cain: Choose Your Enemies

A ragged cheer went up from the troopers around me, only to die away again as the remaining pair opened fire. With a kind of numb detachment I saw a line of snow and ice in front of me splinter into shards and crystals as the steady stream of spinning shuriken chewed into them before ricocheting away in a random direction, spreading death and injury in a widening wake behind the swooping jetbikes. None of which mattered in my case, because the line of fire was heading straight in my direction, and in a handful of seconds there would be nothing left of me except a rapidly expanding crimson mist and a rather battered cap. Reflexively I tried to stand and run, but my frozen body refused to respond, merely stirring sluggishly in something approximating the right direction.

Then an engine roared, stressed far beyond its design parameters, and the Salamander slewed sideways in front of me, Jurgen grinning down from the driver’s compartment. He ducked just in time as the hail of deadly discs spanged loudly from the hull plating, passing just over my head on its way to chew up more ice, snow and slow-moving Guardsmen.

‘Perfect timing as always, Jurgen,’ I said, hardly slurring my words at all, relying on our comm-beads to communicate, as I wasn’t sure I had the energy to shout even if I could have been heard over the growling of the engine, the roar of the Chimeras’ heavy bolters and the crackle of five score lasguns blazing away, not to mention the screaming of the jetbikes.

‘You’re welcome, commissar,’ he replied, as though he’d done nothing more significant than hand me a sandwich, and gunned the engine, while I clambered aboard. Though the open passenger compartment was as uninviting as I’d expected, at least it afforded some protection from the wind, and I immediately felt a little warmer even though intellectually I knew I was still in danger of freezing to death. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, but I thought you’d appreciate a warm drink when I caught up with you.’

Sure enough, there was a flask of hot tanna sitting on top of my kitbag in the corner, which I lost no time in cracking open and swallowing gratefully. If anything it was too warm still, burning my tongue on the way through and tracing a little track of liquid lava down to my stomach, but by that time I was past caring. ‘You thought right,’ I assured him, and took another swallow, on the grounds that the damage had already been done by this time, and under the circumstances I needed to be able to move more than I needed my stomach lining.

‘The command centre, sir?’ Jurgen asked, and I nodded through sheer force of habit before remembering he couldn’t see me.

‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ I said, gazing skywards. In all our years of serving together I’d grown so used to Jurgen’s robust driving style that I could normally keep to my feet no matter what he did, but – still sluggish from the cold – my body didn’t respond as instinctively as usual, and I found myself stumbling as he engaged the gears and slammed the throttle fully open, his usual method of starting off. I clutched at the pintle-mounted storm bolter for support, swinging it round as I regained my balance, and found one of the eldar raiders drifting across the sights. Even before my conscious mind had registered what I was seeing, I pulled the trigger, sending a hail of explosive-tipped projectiles in its general direction.

Luck or the Emperor was certainly with me that day, as the volley ripped along its starboard side, either detonating within the engine, or cooking off its powercells.18 A miniature thunderclap echoed across the landing field, audible even over the racket of all that firing, and everyone in the vicinity ducked to protect their heads from the rain of debris and dismembered pointy-ear which descended abruptly from the middle of a short-lived fireball. The remaining intact flyer evidently decided enough was enough at that point, and made a run for it, slotting into formation with the one the Chimeras had dented, which was already wallowing away towards the south-west, trailing smoke.

‘Good shot, commissar,’ Sulla broke in, her voice a little attenuated by the miniature vox-device in my ear, and I belatedly realised that at least some of the cheering I could hear from the assembled troopers was intended for me. She’d obviously had a clear view of the incident from her perch in the Chimera turret, and if distance had made it look as though my lucky hit had been the result of skilful marksmanship, who was I to disabuse her?

‘Same to you,’ I said, with a wave in the direction of the retreating eldar. ‘The one you got won’t be in any hurry to tangle with the Five Hundred and Ninety-Seventh again either.’ Which may even have been true, but unfortunately there were still plenty of others who still had that lesson to learn.

Editorial Note: