‘Negative, sir,’ said Speers, advancing alongside the major. ‘The Castellians are still inbound.’
The las-bolts from the shadows continued, both behind, in front and to the flanks of the rapidly crumbling enemy force.
‘Douse that tower!’ Culcis pointed to where the dead heavy bolter gunner was still slumped. Drado and two others filled it with las-beams, shredding the fresh team of cultists who’d sneaked in to retake the gun. ‘Take it out. Permanently.’
Trooper Henkermann was brought up, flanked either side by Drado and Lekke. Two incendiary rounds from his grenade launcher burned the tower completely and collapsed in the roof. The heavy bolter would no longer be a threat.
‘Forward the 50th!’ roared Regara, as the Volpone stormed the slowly retreating cultists. Gone was the enemy’s military discipline, eroded in the face of a superior foe that now had the tactical advantage.
The major was first in, parrying a bayonet blow with his sabre. He kicked, breaking the cultist’s shin with his bionic leg, and rammed the blade through the traitor’s face when his defences crumpled in pain.
Culcis shot another enemy in the chest, almost point-blank, before shouldering the wretch over to engage a second.
Speers lobbed a pair of frag grenades into the midst of a fleeing group, who disappeared in a storm of fire and shrapnel a few seconds later.
And it was done.
The cultists were slain to a man. Upon investigation, each was revealed to have a purple cataract blighting their left eye like the others the Volpone had seen. And they wore the same sigil upon their armour as had been daubed on the brickwork.
Regara ordered Basker and his flamer up to burn them. The Volpone were dragging the bodies into a pyre to be immolated when their mysterious allies showed themselves.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Drado articulated what they were all thinking.
Major Regara kept his reaction behind a mask of aristocratic arrogance.
With little choice, Lieutenant Culcis came forwards to receive the Guardsmen that had saved the Volpone’s collective arses. The taste in his mouth was bitter when he acknowledged the leader of the ragged regiment they’d met on the road. Just over thirty men emerged from the shadows, all told. They moved in pairs and teams of three and four, from all across the plaza.
‘Hauke,’ said the leader, slapping his chest. Like his kinsmen, the ragged officer was dressed in dark tan fatigues, cut off at the knees and elbows to reveal even darker skin. Blue and grey whorls, jagged teeth and concentric circle tattoos daubed his body. A feather earring hung from his left lobe – some of the others had bones or necklaces of teeth and bird feet.
Hauke had a lasgun looped on a strap across his back. In his belt he carried two long knives and a bandolier with spare ammunition. He grinned, showing perfect teeth and warm eyes ringed with a sort of kohl. An aquiline face framed thin, reddish-brown lips and an angular nose not unlike a beak. His captain’s rank pins were bright and well-polished but the rest of his uniform was dishevelled.
‘Lieutenant Culcis, Volpone 50th.’ Culcis saluted but didn’t shake Hauke’s hand when it was offered.
Hauke let it fall. He tapped his chest again. ‘We are Kauth, last of the Longstriders.’ He thumbed over his shoulder at the trooper carrying the scrap of banner Culcis had seen them with earlier. A small cadre of men had fallen in next to Captain Hauke, whilst the rest fanned out amongst the enemy dead that Basker and the rest had yet to collect for the pyre.
To Culcis’s repugnance, he realised the Kauth were cutting trophies off the dead: fingers, ears, teeth – anything they could carry and thread on a piece of twine.
Regara saw it too. The major wasn’t best pleased.
‘Desist at once!’ he raged. ‘We’re men of the Imperial Guard, not savages!’ He looked quickly to Vengo who was loitering nearby, his gaze lost in the middle distance. ‘Sergeant, impede those men.’
Like a switch had been flicked in his head, Vengo moved in to intercept the Kauth with a small combat squad from the Volpone nearest to him.
There was arguing immediately. Not all of the Kauth could speak Gothic and ranted back in a feral tongue.
A clipped command from Hauke, more like a squawk, halted the Longstriders in their tracks. He frowned.
Before he had a chance to speak, the major was on him.
‘I am appalled, sir,’ he said. ‘Butchery is the province of the Archenemy, not good Emperor-fearing men of the Imperium. This is not the jungle or some arse-end backwater bereft of order’– Culcis raised an eyebrow at that remark, that’s exactly what it was – ‘it is the sovereign soil of the Imperium.’ Regara was incensed and working himself up. The near miss with the cultists had affected him, maybe something else too. He wasn’t done and looked Hauke up and down with an aggressive sneer. ‘And you call those uniforms? You are a disgrace to the Imperial Guard. I do not recognise you, sir. No, I refuse to recognise you.’
Hauke was nonplussed, even a little amused, though he kept it veiled in case of more reprisals. ‘We saved your life, brother.’
‘You did not. And I have the sworn testimony of over twenty men that will attest to that. The record will show the Volpone’s courage in this combat action.’
‘Sir?’ Culcis felt he should intervene. The Kauth did save their lives, whether Regara cared to acknowledge it or not.
The major turned on him, crimson with rage. He hissed through gritted teeth. ‘They are a rabble, lieutenant. Less than that, they are tantamount to animals. I will not recognise them.’
‘Seems you’d be better with an eye rather than a new leg, eh, brother?’ said Hauke, genuinely. ‘Man who can’t see truth at end of nose is poor indeed.’
Regara didn’t even look at him, instead spitting his words candidly at Culcis. ‘Get them out of my sight, lieutenant. Do it now, or I shall order Sergeant Vengo to open fire.’
Culcis bit his tongue. These men were savages, yes, but they had saved the Volpone. He also didn’t trust Vengo not to turn this altercation into a bloodbath. ‘At once, sir,’ he said at length. Regara stalked away to let his second-in-command get on with it.
‘You need to get your men to stop doing that, captain,’ Culcis addressed Hauke.
‘It is right of Kauth to trophy-take from slain.’
‘Not when you’re fighting alongside the Volpone, not when you’re fighting for the Guard. Do it now, sir.’
A shrilling cry issued from Hauke’s lips, a sign to his men to desist and gather. Some frowned, wanting to resume cutting, but they obeyed and converged on the banner bearer.
‘Very good,’ said Culcis. ‘Is that your regimental standard?’ he asked, noting the scrap of cloth the Kauth had flocked to.
‘Blessed by the beati,’ Hauke replied. ‘On Vigo’s Hill where Longstriders stood their last, or so we thought until She came.’
‘Saint Sabbat?’ Culcis couldn’t keep from scoffing. He regained his composure quickly. ‘You were blessed by Saint Sabbat.’
‘Aye.’ Hauke was solemn as a priest. He believed it. Judging by the stern expressions of his men, they all did.
Culcis shook his head, his incredulity obvious to all but the unassuming Longstriders.
‘Here, brother.’ Hauke offered Culcis a pair of cigars. The leaf was dark and thick, and redolent of liquorice. No doubt Hauke had won, stolen or been gifted them by another regiment in the reserve.
Culcis hesitated.
‘Good,’ said Hauke, pushing the cigars onto the lieutenant. ‘Take them.’
Grudgingly, Culcis accepted the offering, swiftly pocketing the smokes before Regara could see, and politely asked the Kauth to return to camp.
Hauke nodded. He gave another shrill cry, almost avian, to his men and they departed the plaza quickly. In a few minutes they’d blended back into the slums and it was like they were never there.