The cannon fired, its roar shuddering through the air and lifting a layer of dust and sand from the trench floor.
Like an angry creature spasming its muscles to shed the parasites infecting its skin, the ground clenched and shuddered. Something nearby detonated, and Kais lost his footing at the rush of Shockwaves that followed. Scrabbling in the sand, he dragged his gaze painfully towards the end of the trench, where boiling gouts of smoke and dust lurched skywards. One of the dropships had been hit, toroq-side engine blown to shreds.
The comm erupted in shouts and screams and the world went white.
Burstcannon pulses punched craters in the trench-walls around Kais, knocking lumps of molten metal from the gue’la tank above his head and sending him scrabbling for cover. The tank rolled onwards in spite of the firestorm, attempting to negotiate the bridge that spanned the trench.
“...econd dropsh... oing dow—”
“...ear the site! Get to c—”
Trailing a plume of superheated fuel, continuing to spit a hail of pulsefire at the tank even as it foundered, the dropship hit the ground and dragged itself in an ugly arc. Dust churned upwards, obliterating the shrieks from the communicator and blocking Kais’s view. The last thing he saw was the other shuttle, the one he’d been deployed from, pulling away to the left as its dying sister-vessel gyrated in a fiery circle, heaving smoke and flame into the dust storm.
Shredded by the burstcannon, the scaffold bridge collapsed.
Spewing its mechanical innards, venting fire from the wounds all over its hull, the gue’la tank nosedived into the trench in a cascade of rock and oil, dragging with it the ruined skeleton of the bridge. The trench walls crumbled, smearing themselves across the devastation.
Scrabbling clear of the tumbling wreckage, Kais thought of the gue’la trapped inside the vehicle, wounded and baking, wondering why the access hatch wouldn’t open, slowly suffocating in the dark. Guiltily, aware of the untaulike sentiment of it, he thought: Good.
Rising up beyond the wreckage, thrusters faltering, the remaining dropship wobbled into the sky.
“General address!” his comm announced, startling him. “This is El’Lusha. The drop site is no longer safe! All troopers regroup! I’m sending new coordinates now. Make your way to the pick-up site and await further instructions.”
Kais felt panic gripping him, glancing around in the futile hopes of spotting other shas’las. “El’Lusha,” he transmitted, voice growing faster and louder as his terror betrayed him, “t-this is La’Kais. I don’t think I can regroup... The... the trench is blocked — I can’t see any of the others! I don’t know wh—”
“La’Kais.” The voice was maddeningly calm, a leaden slab that arrested his panic before it consumed him. “La’Kais, you must focus.”
He forced himself to breathe, grinding his teeth together until the horror subsided. He hung his head, ashamed of himself. “My apologies, Shas’el.”
“Listen to me: the rest of the cadre is scattered on the other side of the dropsite. They’re regrouping, but they’re too far clear of your position...”
“Shas’el? I-I don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry, La’Kais. You’ll have to advance to the extraction point alone.”
“T-there aren’t any others?” His voice was quiet, not ready to believe itself. Without even thinking, his hand clutched for the shape of the display wafer in his belt pouch.
“None, Shas’la,” came Lusha’s grave reply. “They’re making their own way.”
“I’m alone, then...” he murmured, more to himself than his commander.
“No, Shas’la. Not alone. No tau ever is — you know that.”
Kais breathed deep, unable to find any comfort in Lusha’s words.
The disembodied voice continued with a sigh. “You should be receiving those co-ordinates now.” A row of characters blinked to life in the corner of his HUD. He stared at them morosely, aware of the distance involved.
“You can do this, Kais.”
He watched the ship clamber into the smoke, suspecting that with it went his hopes of survival.
“Yes, Shas’el.”
Nico Junz was scared. He didn’t mind admitting it. Being a coward was something he’d learned to live with long ago, refining it into a virtual art form. Now he relied upon his innate sense of terror to keep him alive.
That was the principle, at any rate.
He’d flourished amongst the grunts of the 19th Glamorgian regiment thanks wholly to his literacy. His weapon skills were negligible and any one of his comrades could, had they wanted to, pound him into the ground. But could any of them compose letters to their families, or read prayers to pass the time on guard duty? Could any of them make equipment manifestos or help the captain administer the armoury? Of course not. Being a coward was one thing, but being a useful coward was entirely another. Life, if not good, was at least easy.
And then, arcing out of the morning sky like a hail of meteors, the tau had come.
Suddenly nobody had the time to write letters, the captain was too busy shouting orders and killing things to worry about expenses, and the armoury, as of fifteen minutes ago, was a smoking crater. So yes, he was scared. Scared and, even worse, completely and utterly useless.
The ceiling of the tight bunker, empty but for Nico, Captain Reicz and a communications servitor, vibrated in response to some explosion outside, dust misting downwards. Nico whimpered under his breath.
“Quiet,” Reicz snorted, turning back to lean over the servitor’s shoulder. Nico, pressed against a wall in an attempt to remain clear of the captain’s fraying temper, regarded the ghoulish thing with a shudder. Once a living human, now its dead features were riddled with mechanical apparatus and twitching components, logic engines replacing its cauterised brain. Its necrotic flesh tightened in concentration as it listened to the comm-feed from the sensor array on the bunker’s roof.
“T’au transmission intercepted...” it hissed, dead eyes long since rotted away and replaced by glowing optics. “Attempting to translate now...”
Its myriad fingers, branching horrendously from every part of its hands and wrists, began manipulating the gears and clattering logic devices on the console before it, every now and again pausing to tilt its head at some particularly hard-to-translate phrase. Reicz bent over it, watching the flickering display screen as the garbled message was deciphered. Nico felt himself creeping nearer, intrigued despite himself.
“Bastards...” the captain breathed, dismayed by the message. “Sneaky alien bastards...”
Nico had just spotted the words “deception” and “delay” from amongst the glowing text when something clattered loudly on the rockcrete above his head, then roared like a hundred thunderstorms. The whole bunker shook.
Nico dived to the ground with a shriek, curling in a whimpering ball as the ceiling splintered and dust rained down from above. Reicz regarded the damage with rather more decorum, angrily glaring upwards. As if mewling for his attention, the console whined painfully, then shut down with a protracted hiss. The screen flickered and went black.
“What happened?” Reicz demanded.
The servitor twitched and chattered, eyebrows dipped in confusion. “Comm link severed...” it reported helplessly. “External channels dead.”
“Sir?” Nico quailed, pulling himself upright with helpful eagerness. “What’s wr—”