Chapter 7: Lieutenant Rudolphson's Request
Kian scrambled out of the trench, his mind already back in the Underhive. He just needed to reach the ventilation shaft, turn in these seven rifles, and—boom—mission complete.
A few kilometers away, the grain station was still a cacophony of thunder and fire. The rebels, lacking heavy anti-armor assets, were being systematically dismantled by the Chimera's autocannon. Kian stayed low, hugging the shadows of the irrigation ditches, his ears straining for any sound of pursuit.
The gunfire eventually faded. The rebels were likely either dead or scattered into the woods. The PDF would be beginning their battlefield cleanup. Next time I deploy, Kian thought, I'll hit that grain station. There's bound to be high-tier loot in the officer's quarters.
Just as he was visualizing his future riches, a low, rhythmic vibration began to thrum through the soles of his boots. At first, it was faint, but it grew into a bone-shaking roar.
Kian glanced over his shoulder. Two massive beams of light—bright as a pair of miniature suns—cut through the dark, sweeping directly toward him.
"Throne-damned grox-sh*t!" Kian hissed.
He broke into a dead sprint. His stamina bar plummeted as seven rifles clattered against his back. But a man on foot, weighed down by fifty kilos of steel, stood no chance against an armored transport. The scent of promethium fumes and ozone grew suffocatingly close.
Behind him, he heard the mechanical whir-clack of a turret rotating, the barrel of an autocannon locking onto his heat signature.
Kian threw himself into a muddy irrigation ditch, disappearing from the surface just as his stamina hit zero. He was trapped. In these flat plains, there was nowhere to hide.
How did they find me? he wondered, his heart hammering against his ribs. I was in the dark. I didn't have a light on.
Then it hit him. He slapped his forehead in frustration. "The Auspex! How could I be so stupid?"
An Auspex was the Imperial version of a high-end radar/scanner. A handheld unit could track a squad within a kilometer; the medium-grade unit mounted on a Chimera could ping a lone human across ten kilometers of open terrain. The driver had likely finished with the rebels, checked his screen, seen a lone "red dot" moving away from the trench, and decided to investigate.
"Fine. Whatever. Let's see what a 40mm shell feels like," Kian muttered, surrendering to the inevitable. He'd lose his loot, but at least he'd get a free ride back to the Sanctum.
He climbed out of the ditch, standing tall in the blinding glare of the searchlights.
"Go on then! Fire!" Kian yelled, arms wide. "If I so much as blink, I'm a heretic!"
He braced his muscles, genuinely curious about the sensation of being vaporized by an autocannon.
Seconds passed. Then minutes. The engine idled, a low growl in the dark, but the gun remained silent. The searchlights flickered off, replaced by low-intensity red tactical lights.
Kian rubbed his eyes, his vision slowly returning. Before him sat the Chimera—a boxy, armored beast painted in the grey-green of the PDF. Its hull-mounted heavy stubber was leveled at his waist, and the 40mm turret was tilted up, disinterested.
Clang.
The top hatch threw itself open. A figure emerged, silhouetted against the red light.
It was a familiar face.
Five minutes later, Kian was sitting inside the cramped, vibrating hold of the Chimera as it rattled toward the Imperial lines.
Two PDF corpses lay on the floor, covered by tarps. Five other soldiers sat on the benches—three were wounded, groaning softly as the vehicle hit bumps in the road. Across from Kian sat Rudolphson.
Kian looked at the man's right hand. Last time they met, it had been a pulp of meat and bone. Now, it was a gleaming, clicking prosthetic of black iron and brass pistons. A Bionic.
Rudolphson's rank insignia had changed, too. He was no longer a Sergeant. He was a Lieutenant, commanding a full company. This night raid had been his operation—a swift strike with 120 men and armored support to retake the grain station.
The two men stared at each other in silence.
Finally, Kian broke. "Well, look at you. Moving up in the world. When are you buying me a drink, Lieutenant?"
Rudolphson's eye twitched. He looked at the seven rebel autoguns Kian had slung over his shoulders.
"Do you have any idea what the penalty for the unauthorized possession of Imperial-pattern armaments is?" Rudolphson asked, his voice gravelly.
Kian let out a sharp laugh. "The same penalty as being born in the Underhive, I imagine. A slow death in a factorum."
Silence returned. Kian knew he was safe. If Rudolphson wanted him dead, he'd be a red smear in a ditch right now. The PDF were the "Planetbound Militia"—local men who knew the value of a blood-debt. They weren't the fanatical Astra Militarum or the Inquisition. A PDF officer could look the other way for a friend.
Kian pulled out a Lho-stick, lit it, and leaned back as if he were in a luxury transport. "Drive me twenty kilometers west. I'll get out there."
The Chimera ground to a halt near the Great Ventilator. Kian hopped out of the back, the weight of the rifles settled comfortably on his frame. He turned back to the Lieutenant.
"Let's make this official," Kian said. "I'm Kian Voss. I'm a scavenger. I find things people lose, and I fix things people break. Do you have any 'broken' things that need fixing?"
Lieutenant Rudolphson looked at him with a grim, weary expression.
"Many of my men died tonight," Rudolphson said quietly. "Some fell in territory that the rebels still hold. We don't always have the luxury of bringing them home."
He spat on the ground, his bionic hand clenching into a fist. "The Planetary Governor... that throne-damned maggot. He hides in his spire and hoards the tithe. He makes it nearly impossible for the families of the fallen to claim their pensions. Without their Dog Tags, the Departmento Munitorum won't recognize their deaths. Their widows and orphans will starve."
The Lieutenant leaned closer. "If you are truly a scavenger of battlefields... find my men. Bring me their tags. I'll ensure you're paid in credits, and I'll make sure the PDF look the other way when you're 'shopping' in my sector."
[DING! NEW MISSION: HONOR THE FALLEN]
Objective: Retrieve PDF Dog Tags from active war zones and return them to Lieutenant Rudolphson.
Rewards: 1,000 Agri-Scrips per Tag | Rudolphson Reputation: +5 per Tag | Unlocks "Safe Passage" in PDF Northern Sectors.