assistirfilmes Chapter 830: Book of the Dead
Chapter 830: Book of the Dead
Chapter 830: Book of the Dead
Cold iron is a curious metal to the Terran psyche. For ten thousand years of history it was the strongest material they could make war with. From the start, they believed it was strong enough to kill spirits and magical creatures from their myths; in ancient Shammallama they made bowls of iron to talk to the dead.
'It is... telling... that what it takes to stop a deceased incorporeal Terran is an element forged in the heart of a dying star. An element that is rich in their blood, the element that gives their blood the striking deep crimson color. The color of danger in nature.
'Why do you think that every Terran graveyard is surrounded by a spiked iron fence? It isnt to keep beings out. Its to keep the dead where they belong.
'For our safety. - Dr. VnkMin, Treanad parapsychonaut at SUDS directorate, circa 50 pre-glassing.
The shades were coming, N'Thrap could see them. He'd already lost four men to their touch, but he'd still managed to lead the majority of his unit to safety.
N'Thrap glanced over at the small being next to him, staring, like everyone else, out into No Man's Land. N'Thrap reached down to his weapon harness and drew his combat knife.
"Here, you can use my knife," N'Thrap said, without looking at the being.
The being took the knife even as N'Thrap slowly drew his Mark-2 Cutting Bar, Large, and triggered the power cell.
N'Thrap could see the red glow of the eyes of the oncoming shades.
FAB IRON ROUNDS - PERCUSSION CHEMICAL PROJECTION ONLY - NO MAGNETIC OR GRAVITON appeared in N'Thrap's vision with a emergency push icon on it.
N'Thrap pushed it on, reaching over and slapping his hand on the shoulder guard of the being next to him to pass the order and the template on.
"You, who stood with me, shall always be my brother," N'Thrap said to the men on his right and left.
N'Thrap revved his cutting bar. M'Krek a few beings down to the left lifted his dual barrel nifty-fifty and let the bolts slam shut. K'Lek, a few beings over on the right, lifted his rifle, popping the cutting bar bayonet into deployment position and revving the engine.
A dogboi howled. Another joined it, then a third.
The Terran shades screamed in rage and hatred.
For a long second everyone on the line stood silent as the shades rushed the line, screaming in rage and hatred. Wherever they caught some poor bastard they swarmed them under, ripping and tearing something out of the unfortunate bastard's body and fighting over it even as the victim went limp.
Creation engines and nanoforges hissed and hummed as the sun began to dip beyond the horizon.
The pressure valve on N'Thrap's cybernetic leg released a sharp hiss of steam. His onboard wargear updated for the new rounds. Sharp dropoff after two hundred meters, excellent impact profile. Cold iron rounds, chemical propellant.
Proof the rifled barrel still had its place on the battlefield.
N'Thrap's rifle almost felt smug in his hands.
The Terran shades were within a thousand meters of the wall.
"OPEN FIRE!" N'Thrap called out, pointing with his chainsword at the onrushing horde.
"GET SOME, GET SOME!" K'Lek yelled out.
"FOR MOO-MOO'S!" M'Krek bellowed.
Another dogboi howled.
The sun slipped a little further.
The heavy guns of the Treana'ad Infantry hammered out, the gunners expertly walking their fire into the oncoming shades. The shades screamed, puffed into nothingness, and were gone.
But more took their place.
Two of the dogbois howled and N'Thrap saw the onrushing horde flinch slightly. Not long, only a split second, but the entire front rank for two hundred meters flinched slightly before the next ranks swept through them.
N'Thrap didn't know what it meant, but he still kicked it back to command as part of a data package.
Seven hundred fifty meters.
Dead and they're still coming right at us, N'Thrap thought. P'Thok, Great One, how did you stand against such savage wrath with nothing but a plasma rifle, plasteel armor, and your wits?
N'Thrap opened up with his miniguns, raking the front lines, which puffed away, the ones behind sweeping into the gaps.
A squint brought his telescopic vision into play and he watched the bullets rake out from his guns, hit the front lines, and explode into a shower of white hot sparks.
The iron was hitting nothing but some kind of phasic energy and exploding like it was hitting armor.
N'Thrap tossed it back to MI.
He just hoped that it would do some good.
Five hundred meters.
A flight of eight graviton strikers came in on a close pass, their guns hammering, tracers lashing the ground as they poured 30mm cannon fire into the oncoming swarm.
N'Thrap saw it wasn't doing anything.
No rage? No personal willpower directing it? No desire for survival? N'Thrap wondered.
He kicked the data to MI.
Three hundred meters.
Everyone was firing now, with the exception of the little guy next to N'Thrap, who was holding N'Thrap's knife and trying to look brave as he stood there in his warmek pilot suit and a grin.
N'Thrap looked down at him.
"We shall kick in the door to Hell and dance with the Detainee in the pale moonlight together, brother," N'Thrap said even as his guns kept raking the oncoming horde.
The being in the pilot's suit just nodded, still giving a sickly smile.
Two hundred meters.
The dogbois howled all up and down the line.
N'Thrap was startled when a green mantid jumped from where it was on the back of the being next to N'Thrap to N'Thrap's back. Before N'Thrap could even say anything, the Mantid plugged a cyberarm into his data access port, used his engineering override, and grabbed a whole handful of bandwidth.
One hundred meters.
The sole Terran on the line raised his pistol in the air.
"GENTLEMEN!" the Terran called out. Not shouting, but making his voice audible over the din of the battlefield regardless.
N'Thrap held his swords out to either side. Beside him, the Lanaktallan cyborg did the same.
"I hope you know what you do," N'Thrap said to the mantid.
Fifty meters.
"PREPARE TO DEFEND YOURSELVES!" the Terran's voice wasn't a yell, wasn't a bellow, just somehow able to be heard over the onrushing horde.
He fired a single shot into the air.
Ten meters.
The Mantid on N'Thrap's back was pulling most of N'Thrap's thin bandwidth pipeline, but there was suddenly no time to think as the shades swept through the phasic shielding that had been put up. If anything, the shades got more detailed, more intense.
They screamed as they swarmed the wall.
592 felt his legs go dead.
modify the carrier wave. adjust the lower register. loop across.
592 activated the program.
The fingertips touched his thorax and abdomen.
Ret.lek hacked at the shade as furiously as he could without endangering the Treana'ad his buddy was riding on.
The shade yanked its hand back, holding a tiny green mantid in its hand made of glittering blue energy. It stuffed the mantid in its mouth, chewing, as it turned to face Ret.lek.
Ret.lek felt his eyes burn even as he thrust the chainsword through the shade, which screamed as ectoplasm showered Ret.lek.
Dogboi howls erupted from every speaker in the FOB.
This time it caused every shade inside the FOB and two hundred meters beyond the wall to puff into non-existence.
The Lanaktallan reached out and caught 592 as the little green body fell from the back of the Treana'ad.
Dogboi howls kept sounding from speakers.
Ret.lek went down on one knee, grounding the tip of the chainsword, one arm hanging dead and useless.
The Lanaktallan passed the tiny body to the Treana'ad.
Ret.lek looked up as the Treana'ad tapped him with the tip of his bladearm.
The Treana'ad held out 592's body.
Ret.lek reached out and took it.
"He dances with the Detainee in the pale moonlight," the big Treana'ad said.
Ret.lek just nodded.
"Up, brother," the Treana'ad said. It held out a hand. "The war awaits."
Ret.lek accepted the hand, letting the immense power of the Treana'ad pull him to his feet. When he held out the chainsword, the Treana'ad waved one hand and shook his head.
"Let my knife serve you as well as it did this day," the massive Treana'ad said.
Ret.lek just nodded. He jumped down off the wall and moved toward where the warmeks were parked.
The XO appeared out of nowhere, walking next to Ret.lek. The XO looked up at the stars, which shone down uncaring.
"You all right, kid?" the XO asked.
Ret.lek swallowed and shook his head. "My arm. One got me."
"Let's get you to the medics, get that arm looked at," the XO said.
Ret.lek held out 592's little body. "One got him."
The XO nodded. "We'll take him to the medics too."
Ret.lek didn't say anything, just followed the XO.
The dogboi howl sounded from every speaker.
The shades snarled, but swept around the FOB, as they screamed and poured across the battlefield in the darkness of the night.
Ret.lek didn't know that, just following along behind the XO as he wove between the tents and the containers.
The XO held up his hand and Ret.lek stopped. He could hear a breathless whining sound. The XO looked around. He took a few steps, stopped, listened again.
"Wha..." Ret.lek started to ask.
The XO made a chopping motion.
It took a minute, but Ret.lek spotted the shape. It was laying against one of the containers.
A dogboi from second platoon. She was laying on her back, helmet open, panting fast and making a slight whining sound as she breathed.
Ret.lek could see the grey of the warsteel where one of the shades had torn into her guts and chest. Her muzzle still had a coating of that thick clear goo that the shades bled. She had a pistol on one hand.
The XO knelt down next to her, holding out one hand and laying it against the dogboi's cheek.
"I'll get a medic," Ret.lek said.
The XO just nodded.
Ret.lek saw the dogboi was still whining, but licking the XO's arm with a long red tongue even as she panted and whined from the pain.
Ret.lek hurried, finding a medic that was rushing toward the wall. The male Hesstlan glanced at 592 and shook his head.
"Sorry, he's gone," the medic said.
"I know. It's not him. Come quick," Ret.lek said.
The medic followed as Ret.lek led him back to the XO.
The XO was kneeling down, his gloves off. One hand was petting the dogboi's head even as the dogboi was pressing the side of her muzzle against the XO's other hand.
The medic ran up, did a single pass with the scanner, looked at the XO, and gave a tight shake of his head.
"We know," the XO said. He looked at Ret.lek. "It's time, Wrecker."
The dogboi was panting quickly, eyes glassy.
Ret.lek knelt down. He set 592 down gently, then reached out and took the dogboi's hand.
It was cold and the fur crinkled as it fell free.
The dogboi looked at the XO.
"but who will love you when I'm gone?" she asked, her voice small.
"You," the XO said softly, even as the dogboi's breathing stopped. Her eyes went blank and she sagged in her armor, her head falling to the side.
"She's gone, sir," the medic said. He looked at 592. "He is too. I'm sorry," the medic stood up. "I've got wounded on the line."
"Go," the XO said.
Ret.lek picked up 592 then stared as the XO bent down and lifted up the dogboi, armor and all.
They were silent as they walked to the medic tent, laying the two corpses down.
They were silent as they walked away.
The stars looked down silently.
The war went on.