Varl grabbed Mabbon. ‘Truck?’ he said.
‘That’s gone,’ Rawne replied. ‘Head for the wire and out.’
Varl bundled Mabbon through the door. Laydly followed, then Oysten. Brostin grabbed Okel’s big autogun and ran out after them.
Rawne looked at Cardass.
‘Judd! Now!’ he barked.
Cardass smiled.
‘You need covering fire, sir,’ he said. He locked eyes with the colonel. Rawne knew what he actually meant was I can’t walk. Hip’s gone. I’m bleeding out and there aren’t enough of you to carry me and stay functional. This is where you ditch me.
‘Cardass–’
Cardass ignored him, lining up his .20.
‘Covering fire in three,’ he said. ‘Two…’
Suicide Kings, Rawne thought. Like the old card game. It had seemed like a clever name once.
He ran out across the yard after the others, his head low. There was burning debris everywhere. Cardass’ heavy fire ripped from the guardhouse window slot and punished the gate and the front of the blazing blockhouse.
Varl had reached the fence. High chain wire and a ditch separated the prison’s front yard from the perimeter of the neighbouring vapour mill. The mill loomed, pale in the night, exhaling huge, crawling plumes of white steam from its stacks.
The night was cold. They had the heat of the flames behind them and the night breeze in their faces. The bunker blast had taken down several sections of the security fence. Varl led the way, scrambling over the flattened fencing.
Rawne was last to arrive. Las-bolts whipped around him as he ran. He fell.
He tried to get up. Behind him, a Qimurah was walking slowly out of the inferno of the blockhouse. His blistered form was still on fire, and a splinter of roof spar had impaled his chest. He was firing his lasrifle from the hip, as if that was the highest he could raise it.
Rawne heard the rattle of Cardass’ stubber. A sustained burst of fire knocked the Qimurah back into the flames.
Brostin grabbed Rawne’s arm and dragged him to his feet.
‘Come on, chief,’ he yelled.
‘All right,’ said Rawne.
‘You sure?’ Brostin asked.
‘Yes,’ said Rawne. He decided not to mention the las-round that had gone through his abdomen. He could feel the blood running down his thigh and into his groin.
They headed for the fence.
Behind them, Cardass’ weapon fell silent. Gunfire from the remaining Qimurah warriors chased them into the night.
‘This isn’t a rescue,’ said Mkoll as the third stasis tank finished draining.
Milo nodded.
‘I understand,’ he said.
‘What is it then?’ asked Mazho.
‘An opportunity,’ said Mkoll.
Colonel Mazho was the first prisoner Milo had insisted on releasing. He was a stocky, middle-aged officer from the Urdeshi Fourth Light ‘Cinder Storm’ who had been assigned to the Saint as military liaison by high command after her arrival on the forge world. He’d served with her ever since, which made him enkil vahakan. He and Milo had been captured together.
‘How did that happen?’ Mkoll had asked.
‘Oureppan,’ Milo had told him. ‘The Saint had achieved a miracle at Ghereppan. The Archenemy was reeling. She became convinced that Sek was located nearby. Oureppan. A place called Pinnacle Spire. So we went in fast, so as not to lose momentum. It was a trap.’
‘A trap?’ Mkoll had asked.
‘For her. A warp vortex. He wasn’t really there, you see? He was projecting himself using psykers. Well, the trap failed. She survived. The vortex destabilised. The blow-back hurt Sek, I think. Hurt him badly. And we were too close. We were pulled through to his side. Blink of an eye, and we were aboard his ship.’
The last of the nutrient suspension flushed from the third tank. Mazho was sitting on the rusted deck trying to shake off the raw ache of stasis shock. He was peering around, half-blind and dazed. He finally reached into his tunic pocket and pulled out a pair of rimless spectacles. One lens was cracked. He’d lost just about everything except his ragged Urdeshi fatigues, but somehow his spectacles had survived.
He got up to help them as Mkoll opened the third tank’s hatch. It took all three of them to drag out the body inside. It was a massively heavy dead weight. They laid the body on the deck, and Milo pulled the vox-plugs out of its temples.
‘Pain goads,’ said Mkoll. ‘They weren’t going to take any chances.’
They looked down at the body. Kater Holofurnace, of the Adeptus Astartes Iron Snakes, had been stripped of his plate armour and left in its ragged underskin, a tight mesh bodyglove. The armour had not been removed efficiently, and many of the inter-cutaneous plugs and anchor points had been damaged. The Snake’s body had been studded with steel spikes, each one staked into a major muscle group or joint. The spikes were pain goads designed to paralyse and incapacitate. Each one had a small rune glowing on its head.
Holofurnace moved his head and uttered a low groan. Fluid ran from his mouth, and his eyes blinked open, glassy.
‘He’s immobilised,’ said Mkoll. He drew his skzerret.
‘You going to end his pain?’ Mazho asked.
‘Of course he isn’t,’ said Milo.
Holding the serrated edge of the blade flat, Mkoll began to lever the goads out of Holofurnace’s flesh. As each one came free, a shudder of pain ran through the Space Marine. Blood and other bio-liquids dribbled from each wound. They reminded Mkoll of the stigmata he’d heard some sacred beings displayed.
It was going to take a while. It took effort to dig each goad free and pull it out. Mkoll took the laspistol from his waistband and handed it to Milo.
‘Watch the hatch,’ he said.
‘How long do we have?’ asked Mazho.
Mkoll didn’t reply. Mazho limped around the chamber and peered into the other tanks. Two of the other prisoners were comrades from Oureppan, both men from Mazho’s command. They hadn’t survived the vortex intact. It was not possible to free them from suspension. Mazho turned away and closed his eyes.
‘Who are you?’ Mazho asked.
‘That’s Mkoll,’ whispered Milo from the doorway.
‘The Ghost?’ Mazho looked intrigued. ‘Brin’s told stories about you.’
‘They were all true,’ whispered Milo.
‘So how many of you are there aboard?’ Mazho asked.
‘I told you this wasn’t a rescue,’ said Mkoll, plucking out another goad.
‘How many?’
Mkoll looked at him. Something in his eyes made Colonel Mazho recoil slightly.
‘Just me.’
‘How did you get here?’ Mazho asked.
‘Pure blind chance and an obstinate nature,’ said Mkoll.
‘I’ll bet,’ whispered Milo.
‘Do they know you’re here?’ Mazho asked. ‘Are they looking for you?’
‘Stop with the questions,’ Holofurnace growled. He opened his eyes and looked up.
‘Mkoll,’ he said in a low voice.
‘War brother,’ replied Mkoll, nodding.
‘Come to kill me?’ asked Holofurnace.
‘You’d be dead,’ said Mkoll, yanking the last goad out of the Space Marine’s torso.
Holofurnace laughed, but the laugh turned into a wince.
‘Pain goads,’ said Mkoll, moving down to the legs. ‘I’ll have the last of them out in a few minutes. Then some feeling might return.’
‘I’m not sure I want it to,’ said the Iron Snake. He sat up.
‘Already?’ said Mazho, amazed.
‘Pain focuses the mind,’ said Holofurnace, flexing his hands.
‘Doesn’t it just?’ replied Mkoll.
Holofurnace held out a huge hand to Mkoll.
‘Give me that,’ he said. ‘I’ll finish it.’