Guidard tugged uncomfortably at his collar. It was probably just his imagination, but his armor just didn't seem to fit right. Sighing, he tried to make himself comfortable, readjusting his grip on his lasgun and settling back into his fighting position.
Five months had passed since the 5th Chertan Cohort of His Most Holy Emperor's Imperial Guards had surrendered to the Tau. The thought still left a bitter tang in his mouth. After three campaigns of fighting on almost two-dozen worlds, the vibrant red and silver banner had been ceremonially cased. His troubled feelings weren't prompted by anything so noble as loyalty to the distant Emperor of Mankind, but the more real and immediate distaste for surrendering to anybody.
He shifted his weight again, leaving imprints in the moist dirt. His fatigue pants were cold against his skin, but whether from the cool earth or from dampness seeping in he couldn't tell. To his front, the fluted shafts of this world's plant life had been beaten down in key areas to give him a field of fire. Closer at hand, the pale green and blue clusters next to him gave him some protection from prying eyes. In his experience he had been to worse worlds than this, but it wasn't the greatest either. It certainly wouldn't have made him decide to beat his lasgun into plowshares or whatever. It must've been pleasing enough for the officers, though. When the battlesuited Tau commander had come forward to negotiate with the Legate Marquett he had offered the Cohort something that their own Emperor had promised for the distant future: a place to finally settle and hold as their own.
Many of the men had easily made the transition over to a semi-civilian life, as had most of the females in the unit. The small settlement of low, white, pre-fabricated buildings that they named Breakstone City had become home. The former soldiers worked the hydroponics centers or operated the simple manufacturing presses that the Tau had given them to start a new life. Many of them had wholeheartedly embraced the "Greater Good" that the aliens spouted. Guidard just knew he didn't want to live the rest of his days as a slave. At least with a lasgun in his hands he still felt that he had some control over his life, even if he did have to wear this accursedly uncomfortable armor. Maybe it wasn't just in his mind that the armored plates didn't fit. How could they make decent armor for a man? After all, the creatures had hooves... hooves, by the Emperor's blood!
Glancing to his left, he checked that his battle buddy was still awake. Tachon mirrored Guidard's own situation, lying prone in a hasty fighting position, rucksack at his feet, weapon propping his head up, and eyes scanning the dusky forest depths. The big difference was that his weapon was a much more compact design than Guidard's. Tachon cradled a Tau Pulse Carbine. Maybe going along with this whole "Greater Good" thing might be a good idea, at least for show. Tachon had thrown himself into the reeducation classes with such zeal that it made Guidard a little uncomfortable, but Tachon did have a superior weapon as a result. The alien weapon may have marked him as a lapdog, but Guidard did grudgingly admit a slight twinge of envy over Tachon's good fortune.
He looked away from Tachon to scan his fields of fire again in the gray early morning twilight. Behind him, he could hear the Sergeants in the patrol base rousing the men for stand-to. The practice of bringing all the men on line at dawn and at dusk was a military tradition long lost in the history of mankind. It was also traditional for the men to grouse about being roused from the warmth of their thermal bags to stare blearily at nothing. Afterwards, the morning shaving ritual would begin, hopefully accompanied by heat tabs and cups of caffeine. Guidard adjusted the light gain on his scope, ignoring the discolored spot where the Imperial Eagle had previously adorned the rifle. The shoulder shield-plate he now wore bore the same crest displayed by all the alien warriors.
"All fire-caste warriors bear the mark of our homeworld, no matter where they are from. You too, shall bear the mark, that all may remember: though from different worlds, we all serve the Greater Good." The slightly nasal words had seemed to reverberate and hang in the air for a moment. The robed creature had spoken at some length while other Tau oversaw the distribution of the new uniforms and armor, but Guidard had tuned out the irritating buzz of his voice. The Commissar-Recruiter had spoken similar words when the regiment had been formed on Chertan. The last time Guidard remembered seeing him, the Commissar had been fending off a half a dozen murderous Kroot before going down beneath their scything blades.
Even if Guidard had wanted to believe the Tau considered them partners, he could tell otherwise. If they were partners, why didn't all of them have Pulse Rifles? Why couldn't the settlements manufacture the armor plate that he wore? The answers were in that almost unreadable, almost condescending way that the aliens spoke to them, as though they were spoiled children.
"Five more minutes," Tachon whispered. "Five more minutes of stand-to." Guidard could feel his foot going to sleep. He would be very glad to stand up and stretch for a bit after this formality was observed.
"Sir! I think you'd better hear this..." called out the gravelly voice of Sergeant Scallin. Guidard looked back over his shoulder into the center of the patrol base, where the command section had set up. Centurion Nollet stood and brushed off his pant legs. Although wearing a similar uniform as the rest of his men, with rank markings on his helmet, from his shoulders hung the short crimson cloak affected by the Centurions of the Cohort. Standing in front of him was a younger soldier, whose name Guidard could not remember, from Scallin's squad. The soldier's uniform was soaked and muddy, and his chest heaved as he attempted to stammer his report to the commander.
Although Guidard couldn't hear the conversation that took place, the change in Centurion Nollet was apparent. His stance tensed and he began asking short, sharp questions. The soldier's eyes darted back and forth as he gripped his weapon, answering each question in turn.
"Dismissed, soldier. Squad leaders, on me!" The soldier ran back towards his position on the line, to be replaced by the Century's four squad leaders who immediately huddled with the Centurion. The meeting was brief, only time enough for a few instructions and an explanation, and then the squad leaders peeled off to command their men.
"Mad minute!" the sergeants began to tell the soldiers as they walked the lines.
"Mad minute on the commander's mark!" growled Sergeant Poret as he walked by, kicking Guidard's boot. Guidard blinked and stared hard at the woodline. He thumbed the selector on his weapon to las-burst. They hadn't seen or heard any trace of their prey since two days ago. Guidard didn't see anything in his sector that would've sent the entire unit to alert. Whatever the soldier had told the commander, it must've been bad news.
With a loud crack, the Centurion fired his laspistol into the treeline, sparking the entire Century into action. Lasguns stabbed into the foliage, pulse weapons tore through the undergrowth, and grenades threw dirt into the air with their concussive blasts. The result was instantaneous. An enraged forest came to life around the unit. Like ghosts materializing, spots amidst the trees shimmered, then shifted, and then formed into horrible shapes as the injured Lictors charged howling from just outside the perimeter.
The one facing Guidard was a massive specimen, reared on it's hind legs with huge scything claws poised in the air and it's spider-like mouth a dripping cavern. Guidard sprayed burst after burst of coherent light into the beast in front of him. It shrugged off the hits, bellowing in anger, leaping forward towards his position. Tachon had thumbed the selector on his carbine and began to pump grenades at the alien. A series of concussive blasts caused the creature to falter for a split second. The distinctive roar of a lascannon rang out over the smaller weapon fire and the Lictor's head exploded in a mass of ichors.
Guidard was already switching out the powerpack on his lasgun. No sooner did the body of the beast hit the ground than a wave of creatures bounded from the forest. Guidard slapped the powerpack home, locking it into place. The thrum of a heavy bolter sang out to his far left, knocking the smaller Tyranids to pieces. More just poured into the gaps that their fallen spawn had left. Guidard dialed up the power and began taking single shots. Breath, hold, aim, squeeze, release, again. Like a ritual, he blasted the foul aliens to pieces as they came. Again, Tachon's grenade launcher tossed out its payload and again the battlelines faltered in the face of the explosives.
Horrific screams began to mingle with the sound of weapon fire where the aliens had managed to reach the human lines. Guidard suppressed the urge to turn and look, struggling to hold mental discipline and maintain his rate of fire. Everything seemed highlighted in extreme detail. He felt his mind cataloguing every spine and bony plate, every string of spittle and steaming gout of blood on the unnatural beasts, as though storing up ammunition for nightmares yet to come.
A cold click close by his cheek brought him out of his grim reverie. Clammy hands seized the next powerpack, discarding another one drained of its usefulness. Again he brought his sights up, realizing as he did so that the distance between his position and those deadly claws and teeth was diminishing with every volley.
"Tachon, grenades!" Guidard shouted to his battle-buddy, mentally kicking himself for the Pyron XII Anti-Personal Landmine sitting uselessly in his rucksack.
"I'm dry!" came the desperate reply.
Tachon certainly didn't deserve the colorful descriptions of his family that followed. It didn't matter, though. He couldn't hear the litany of profanity over the gunfire anyway. At this point, neither words nor mere pulse grenades could've prevented the proverbial tide.
In a single leap, the nearest of the monsters were upon them.
"Preserve us, oh gaa-!"
Guidard could only spare a quick glance to his side. The battered mass that was once Tachon's head rolled to a spot in the dirt, his limp body rent by the vicious attacks of three Tyranids. A heavy blow stuck Guidard square in the chestplate, lifting him from the ground and throwing him from his fighting position. Beady black eyes, exuding malice, glared over a maw of needle sharp teeth. They shattered as he quickly brought the butt of his lasgun up and across the creatures face.
The wave washed over Guidard as he lay recovering in shock. Tyranids, vicious and seeking moving prey, bounded over his still form towards the center of the perimeter, and the command section. He could hear the volume of fire slacken as more soldiers were slain in the onslaught. His fellows' shouts and screams around him were incoherent as the fighting became close and brutish.
"What the- I know that sound..." Guidard thought, or tried to think. Everything was slightly hazy and the cacophony around him made concentration difficult. He thought he had just heard a pair of staccato bursts. Another pair followed close on to the first. He hadn't imagined it. Soon, an entire chorus of the sounds was drowning out the paltry blasts of the lasguns.
He rolled over in the humus and propped himself up on his weapon. Muck and sweat clung equally to his dull gray fatigues and hung in clumps from his reddish armor. There, in the direction of Breakstone City, several avatars emerged from the treeline. Only five months before they had filled him with dread, but now they were his salvation.
Four Tau Battlesuits, or "Crisis" suits as the aliens so peacefully called them, were leaping forward, pulse cannons blasting the Tyranids to pieces. The Tyranid lines had broken against the human defense, and the remaining monsters were operating in small packs. Faced with this new threat, they rushed against the bounding armored suits, only to be picked off by the coruscating azure firepower of massed pulse cannons. In a few short minutes it was over. Nothing moved within the perimeter except Tau and Humans.
The lead battlesuit, easily identifiable by the markings on its head, scanned the clearing slowly. Its weapon-arms smoked, it's left foot planted firmly in the middle of a pile of chitin and ooze. In eerie silence, the three battlesuits turned towards their leader and a moment later bounded off in the direction the main attack had come from. At that point Guidard noticed the several squads of Tau Fire Warriors jogged in from the other direction and beginning to reestablish the perimeter.
"Gue'vesa'el Nollet, I commend your warriors," the battlesuit squawked from its external speakers. The suit dwarfed Centurion Nollet, who was wrapping a field dressing around his blood-drenched arm. His cloak was rent in several places and his missing helmet made it easy to see the grim expression on his face. "In finding the rearguard of the devourers you were successful. My warriors will now be able to complete the task and conclude this incident."
"How long have your men been following my unit, commander?" The Centurion's words were cold. The simple question hung in the air like a challenge. There was a pause before the Tau commander responded, his voice filtered by the suit.
"We have been tracking your deployment since you departed Settlement 273."
"Why was I not told I would have support?" the Centurion snapped. "Why were we briefed that opposition would be light? Why were my requests for help just fifteen minutes ago denied?" Several soldiers of both species were now watching the center of the clearing. The smells of ozone, blood, and other foulness were oppressive. Silence was palpable after Nollet's outburst.
"Gue'vesa'el, your warriors have fought well. The Greater Good has been served. Your warriors will now return to Settlement 273 and resume regular duties." With a slight whirring of servos, the battlesuit turned and walked away from the Centurion. Nollet glared after the Tau, clenching and unclenching his good hand for a moment before regaining his composure.
"Sergeant Tassin, get your aid and litter team moving. Sergeant Scallin, I need a detail..."
A hand opened before Guidard. It was a three fingered gloved hand, leading to a gray jumpsuit, a reddish breastplate, and topped by an over-under binocular reddish helmet.
"Assistance, Gue'vesa?" Again, its helmet filtered the usual nasal of the Tau's voice, and the "eye" mechanism chirped as it focused. He squatted easily on his hoofed feet, leaning on his pulse rifle, his hand extended expectantly.
Guidard lay there, propped up on his weapon. He could see the aid and litter team lifting bodies nearby, preparing to transport them back for burial. These were men that would never work the simple factories or garden the hydro-plants again. Guidard recognized the bitter tang in his mouth. He hadn't been defeated. He had been used. He rose painfully to his feet, cursing the breastplate that had saved his life minutes before and at this moment dug into his cracked ribs.
Guidard now understood the choice five months ago. He had chosen to be a slave with a lasgun.
The Fire Warrior looked up, as though confused.
"Go to hell."