[37]

231.738.M41

Karsmire

16:25 Local Time

It was raining and cold, and I was sitting close to Tara, even though no body heat was shared through power-armor. We had our helmets off and were watching through the north window, well back from it in the dark. From here at street level, it looked like the entire city was in ruins.

Across the hall from us, visible as shadows against the opposite window, Verity was talking to Hana, making emphatic little hand gestures that meant the subject was either a terrifying combat experience or an account of somebody's hilarious misbehavior. I smiled as I looked back out of our window. I leaned my head against Tara's shoulder.

I don't think she sensed my smile. She said, "I think you're wrong about them. The sect."

Her voice sounded sad. I made a little sound that meant, "Go on."

"They didn't do it because they were angry, or because they had bad theology from good intentions. And it wasn't because of the Eldar, either. Not really. Not by the time they did it."

She was talking about 198. And she brushed away a tear, so she was talking about Gwen. And her voice was cold, so she was talking about people we were going to kill.

I asked, "Why, then?"

"Because they had a weapon, and an idea of an enemy, and no one they trusted to tell them not to use it."

I looked out at the city. I thought about the Battle Sisters on Naomi's data-slate. Maybe Tara was talking about them, too.

"You think that's enough?" I said. "For anyone?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Mmm. Good. Don't use heretical xenos terror weapons."

She looked at me, pulling away a little.

"Now I've told you," I said. "Now you're safe forever. Oh—and no mass murder, either."

That made her laugh. She leaned her head briefly against mine.

"Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"I don't know. This."

We sat together, keeping watch to the north. Maybe half an hour passed.

"I miss Gwen," she said.

"I miss her too."

❖ ❖ ❖

​

Grendel had attended to the shaping of the ambush: how to get the enemy here, how to bait the trap. He left the mechanics to me and Palatine Elin. It was both flattering and terrifying that Elin deferred most decisions to me, as the commander on the ground.

We knew where and when they would want to strike, if the bait worked. We still didn't know from what angle or with what force.

How were we to survive, win, and capture at least one of them alive?

The first thing was to reduce the times and places that the enemy could attempt to accomplish their objective (killing our duplicates). So the duplicates would arrive just before H-hour by pre-emplaced groundcar controlled remotely by Mak'ti. They were currently hidden in a narrow alley to which we controlled all the lines of sight. That would be 20:27.

Next, prevent the enemy from waiting for better opportunities. Grendel had provided that part. There would be a vehicle crash on the route from the Division Headquarters at 20:26, which would block traffic. A vox call would be made at 20:29 on a restricted but unencrypted military channel, notifying the Sisters that their transport would be delayed. If not already engaged, I would reply that the delay could be enemy action, and that we were evacuating.

Next, restrict force type. The choice of terrain did this for us. Being nearby the 33rd headquarters, unauthorized air travel was a non-factor, and even if the enemy had anti-surface missiles, there was a good chance they would be shot down. Light mortars wouldn't penetrate the roof of the building the Daughters of Mak'ti would be in, and the targeting window between arrival and being indoors would be only a few seconds. The streets in the ruins weren't clear enough for truck bombs or large numbers of vehicle-mobile infantry. This left an infantry strike, with their transport hidden somewhere nearby. Only we had infiltrated first: if they brought their transport in too close, we would see it. So far, we hadn't.

Enemy avenues of approach were partly solved by terrain, also. The Daughters of Mak'ti would look like they were guarding the ground approach. That left two possibilities for our enemies: engage from long range with heavy sniper rifles or shoulder-fired rockets (what I would have done) or infiltrate through the buildings behind the Forward Logistics Annex and go in through the building.

So we and our support-by-fire teams were positioned to suppress and assault the cluster of buildings that could put shoulder-fired or sniper shots on the Daughters of Mak'ti. And we had mined the Forward Logistics Annex itself around where the Daughters would be standing. Mines never kill the whole enemy force. We were only ordered to capture a few.

For the capture operation itself, we each carried two magazines of Capacitor bolts in addition to our normal equipment. Capacitor bolts are locally manufactured on Gaervalt. They trade range, barrier penetration, and the bolter's explosive lethality for a powerful sustained electric shock delivered by spiked tines that can punch through armor. They leave messy wounds if the target isn't wearing armor, but they are usually survivable unless they hit the heart, throat, or head. Castor had something similar for his rifle.

Adem had double his usual set of stun grenades for his launcher.

The support-by-fire teams had no less-lethal rounds, but would assist in fixing the enemy with suppression if they tried to flee or attempt a breakout. If the enemy somehow infiltrated a force too large for us to fight, we would attempt to slow their withdrawal while the full Sisterhood maneuvered to destroy them.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Our own vehicle, the Arvus lighter, was buried under a heap of trash and debris behind our building. It was our last chance at close pursuit if the enemy made a successful breakout.

If they had a Fear unit, eliminating it would be Isela's concern. The rest of us would do the best we could, with doctrine and faith.

❖ ❖ ❖

​

20:26

We had been helmeted, in position, and ready to fight for two hours. We hadn't seen anything. No one had—not on scanners, not on our hidden picters, not with our eyes. No vehicles moving in, no stealthy advancing troops.

Wessex reported in that the vehicle crash had succeeded on schedule. He had the small counterintelligence roles. Inquisitor Grendel was the operation vox controller.

Seconds later, one of the support teams had our first sighting.

"Support 1 to Command. Eyes on one autocar. Northbound on south approach road, eight hundred meters out. Slow, no lights. Inside… count four men. Correction. Believe four women."

Grendel: "Copy. Stand by 1. Mak'ti, go."

Mak'ti: "Affirm."

Headlights lit up from the old autocar in the alley. They were the only light other than city glow reflecting back from the clouds, and they stood out bright in my helmet's low-light vision.

The old autocar brought the Daughters of Mak'ti to their doom. The crude robots disembarked with awkward, halting motions, but soon were hurrying naturally across the level tarmac and into the target structure.

Grendel: "Support 1, status?"

"Vehicle stopped at intersection four hundred meters out. Not moving."

"Confirm intersection 3-Beta?"

"Affirmative."

"Marisa, maneuver and prepare to—age—ic—ew—ss—pp"

The headlights flickered in perfect synchronization with the breaking vox.

Castor's shout, "Movement! Target structure!" was audible from up the stairs.

Nothing human could have gotten inside without one of us observing their approach. I stared through the windows of the Forward Logistics Annex. The Daughters of Mak'ti were back away from the rain-streaked windows, just visible in my low-light vision.

The Inquisitor was still giving his order, but it was incomprehensible, only fragments of sounds making it through.

I saw one of the Daughters twitch with subtle, silent impacts. I couldn't see what caused it. Just a blur of darker shadow in the dark interior.

I had a sudden memory of a horrible childhood experience, where a predator fish was accidentally added to a fish jar full of my friend's little silver pets. All the tiny fish had known somehow, scattering and bouncing off the glass a moment before the dying began.

"Mak'ti!" I shouted. "Mines! Burn, burn, burn!"

At first nothing happened. Then there was a strobe of flashes inside the target structure and all the glass blew out. The sound hit a split second later, rattling our own windows. The vox was suddenly clear.

Grendel: "Marisa, status?"

"Eldar in target structure." It should have been a scream, but it came out calm.

Grendel didn't take any extra time to reply. There was just a tension in his voice that hadn't been there before. "All units, weapons free."

I heard distant bolterfire. I tried to see the telltale flicker of near-perfect stealth, or shadows gaining substance and form, or humanoid shapes making impossible leaps or swarming like spiders up the walls. I couldn't see anything moving in the dust from the explosions. I took the risk of moving to the broken window and switched to thermal.

Support 1 reported that they had destroyed the enemy autocar.

Eldar armor—or the abominations of flesh and alchemy they often use instead—hides surface temperature as effectively as our power-armor. But they come apart into warm pieces that bleed warm blood, just like us.

"Marisa sees corpses in target structure," I voxed. "Three or four visible."

Grendel: "All units. Do not capture. Do not enter target structure. Contain and destroy. All noncritical updates through command channel Beta. Palatine Elin, deploy as planned. Confirm copy."

"Elin copies, complying."

I ejected my capacitor bolt magazine and reached for a standard one. I drew breath to give the order but the others were already doing the same.

On the vox, one of the Support personnel—I think Sister Eloise—said: "Contact, contact! Support 2 is engaged!" The sound of isolated shots erupted into a tumult of automatic bolter fire in the middle distance. Somewhere at the top of the stairs, Adem's grenade launcher thumped a slow rhythm as he fired and reloaded, fired and reloaded. Each shot made the Logistics Annex shiver as more high explosives went off inside.

Support 2 was on the opposite side of the Annex. I made my decision.

"Sisters, Arvus," I commanded. Then into the squad vox: "Arvus, Marisa. Open ramp. Be ready."

Eloise: "Aria is hit. Shard weapons. Four, five. More, they're—" someone was screaming in the background, and it blotted out her voice for a moment.

"2, clear the net," said Grendel. "Go to Command Beta."

We rushed out into the street, where a mound of trash and rubble was disintegrating as the Arvus rose out of it, its rear hatch lowered and facing us. We dashed onboard and I thumped on the bulkhead between us and the pilot. (Edric Esmond, formerly Lieutenant, Imperial Navy.) "Support position 2, go," I told him on the squad vox. "Leave the hatch down."

The shuttle boosted into the air. Grendel passed us the facts in clipped, dispassionate tones as the Eldar killed my friends.

"Enemy breakout near Support 2. Force includes warriors and Wracks. Shard rifles, tox rounds. Unknown close combat weapons. Superior stealth. Rapid climbing without handholds. Estimate ten. Eastbound via rooftops. Support 2 is dead."

"I see something," said pilot Esmond. "I think—I see them."

"Command, Marisa," I said. "Arvus has visual. Air-mobile in pursuit."