I had to see

I Had To See


Devlin couldn't breathe. Worse, he couldn't see. It was of no concern that that wasn't his name yet. The sun robbed him of the first two senses. He had given up his name for the right to face these challenges. Dehydration drove a spike into his brain to steal his sight. The glare of the sun had not left him with much anyway. Cramps and exhaustion stole his breath. Taste was reduced to ashes. Hearing couldn't decide between silence, the thunder of his pulse, or a steady scream. None of it helped him. Scent. If failure had a scent, that's all his dust-choked nose could tell him.
Failure. He could fail. It was happening right now. Death, and a release from agony would follow swiftly. Before he had shown the first signs of manhood, the boy had staked his life and his future on a lethal challenge. He expected his competition to fail, not himself.
He coughed. Air moved in his lungs. The spike in his head had two prongs, one for each eye and they were sun bright. Another cough brought sensation back. Bright pain warred with the sensation of skin burned raw and lying on dirt.
He wouldn't see anything past the sun, but he opened his eyes. A gasp worked its way in between two of the intermittent coughs. He couldn't remember why, but he rolled over. Dust made his coughing fitful, but he knew this was important. As if a blessing, the shade of his body pulled the spike out of his eyes. His hands clenched the dirt and the dust. The world outside himself slowly resolved itself to something that he could touch and grasp at. Weakly. His fingers barely stirred the dust.
That's not enough.
At some point he realized what he was looking at. Dirt, a small insect, a twig, a wisp of dried grass, a few pebbles, and one or two rocks worth the name. The tiny landscape was all he knew, in the grasp of his hands. And getting in his nose and mouth. And eyes, they were watering. They were more used to finding shapes in the clouds than picking out details in the dirt.
He got his hands under himself. That took a lot, and the spikes in his eyes returned bringing a fog of grey. By the time he was on his hands and knees he couldn't see at all. He was a smart boy, he went for a one knee crouch. It still made him dizzy. Shading his eyes with his hands made the spike go away enough to see.
He looked and found the tree again, and the promising hint of brush at its base. Water. He got up and stumbled across the slope towards the hope of water. Beyond the tree loomed a heaven of stone and eagles. He knew it wasn't really there to be seen, not yet, not by leagues, but it was where he was going.

//
"22.31 minutes on the ground."
"I didn't think he'd get up."
"I hit the ground for longer than that, but I was in shade."
"The sun didn't want him."
"He was under the sky, not the sun."
//

The trees waved fitfully in the scant breeze. They shimmered from the heat on the earth. By any objective measurement, and they were being made, Devlin's path wavered worse than either. What counted was his intent, which was true.
Under the tree, Devlin threw himself into the shade. For all the world, he looked like a child in pain finding a safe haven. This was true enough, but what more perceptive eyes saw was that he remained alert. His eyes were also taking in everything around him. After an interval he started to lose his shade. Rather than curl up in what little there was left, he roused himself.

//
"He pays attention, even at the edge of death."
"He stares death in the face."
"He looks for life. And life is a path to victory."
//

He had seen something. The observers never knew if he'd seen footprints or read the ground, but he moved surely towards where he might find water. In a fold in the ground he found worked earth where another aspirant had dug for water. In his turn he knelt and dug with his knife. Dry dirt gave way to damp quickly, and soon he had a feeble welling of water. While he waited for the water, he pressed rocks into the sides of his digging, and those left by others. He finally drank and moved on.

//
"Well."
"Indeed."
"For those who followed in his footsteps."
//

The sun lay on the ground like a bruise. Heat stole clarity of vision and hid the path ahead behind a reflected sky. He saw something anyway. Stumbling across the slope he looked like he was taking the path of lesser resistance. Stopping, he bent down over another boy sprawled in the dust and dry grass. The other boy roused but could not stand. Devlin stood over him for an infinite moment, and then turned back towards the mountains.

Another detour, another dusty body. This one stirred enough to reach up a hand. Devlin pulled him and for a seared time they were two. Devlin left his companion under another scrub tree with a prayer.

//
"Care for others, a candidate for the Apothecarium,"
"A leader, a sergeant someday."
"Mmmm."
//


Devlin's feet finally trod sun baked stone. He was clambering up a rock spill before he realized he was nearing his destination. After a look around he moved against the grain of the slope to gain a vantage point. Around the swell of the mountain he saw the mark of craftsmen on the natural rock. He made it that far. The dust and heat remained, but the stone underfoot became carved and smooth and cool.

//
"He looks and sees."
"The Librarium if he has the taint."
"An asset by any measure if he survives."
//

The way ahead was sheer darkness to sun-stunned eyes. Devlin went forward anyway. He'd never know if he actually stepped past a body; records he would never access said the number was two. Solid shade was a balm that forgave the insults done to his body. He pressed on.

Inside, in the light of the sanctuary, he found his destiny. It meant years of medical tortures worse than those of heat and dust. His mind, flayed by heatstroke, was made a receptacle of millennia of wisdom. At the end, he swore his final oaths almost as much to see what would happen next as to serve the father of us all.

Five years later Devlin was again in the dust and heat under a cruel sun. This sun burned a different color than the one of his home world. This dust wasn't the arid dry of the upland steppes, it was yellowish concrete dust from a broken city. This time Devlin wasn't struggling forward towards a goal he had almost forgotten. He was now a novice of his chapter, studying the ancient art of war and proving his worth to become a full battle brother. The chapter needed battle brothers as fast as it could make them, but it got enough use out of its Scout company to hold talent in Tenth Company until there was the promise of replacing it. Devlin and his squad had the hopes of an ancient brotherhood on their heads as surely as their day's duty.

The years had filled out his frame and given him his adult height. The apothecaries had begun their work during this time, gifting him the chapter's geneseed and implanted organs. The Emperor's genetic genius had made him taller than he would ever have been, more muscled than any of the men from his almost forgotten home. Devlin was still a small man next to the full fledged battle brothers. That was fine with him, he knew his duty for now lay in stealth and observation; bulk would be a disadvantage to him now. He knew a lot of things, the recovery wards he lived in between surgeries were teaching chambers as much as places of healing. His mind had been shaped by subliminal and overt conditioning. Chants of facts, histories, legends, and dogma filled the air while the novices recovered from surgery and training. Getting out to spend hard months putting imprinted knowledge to practical use was the sole highlight of his life. Actually being what he had staked his life to become, even an incomplete version, were the days when he was free.

Today was his turn to lead a team of his fellow novices into a rebel city on a scouting run. They took turns leading independent missions as both test and training. Today his team was assigned to sweep a ruined sector up to the enemy picket lines, see what they could see, bleed the enemy where they could, and report back what they discovered. The traitor Guard units had their own scouts out, well motivated men defending their homes. So far they had eliminated several teams of heretic scouts in their forays into the city. Trained Marine scouts were proving themselves capable of mastering the enemy scouts on the heretics' own ground. Their camouflage cloaks and extensive training made the deadly game no contest at all. The Scouts all loved hide and seek with knives. They were young enough to be casually bloodthirsty, eager enough to relish a personal skills challenge, and indoctrinated enough to be eager to spill heretic blood.

Devlin and his four teammates huddled in the lee of a fallen statue. Two years ago the saint had stood tall to inspire devout workers to glorify the Emperor through their labor. Today its bulk sheltered five newly minted posthumans here to punish those same workers for their rebellion. Tan local stone had pulverized when it was pulled down. Some details remained, but not enough to convey the fallen virtues. Around them was more broken stone, broken walls, and a few remaining roofs. Shadows were precious under the hot sun and essential for a commando team lurking in the shattered grid of streets and buildings.

From the far side of the market square the saint had watched over as an artillery barrage boomed and rumbled. The Earthshaker guns were living up to their name. Kilometers away from shot or impact the dust was stirring and small stones were falling.

"We could take the shot. They'd never hear where it came from with all the noise." Marcus was talking about a sentry posted high on a tower ahead of them. In their industrious heresy the rebels had built up sentry towers of girders and sheet metal. Linked to their command posts by landlines these towers commanded a sweeping vista, even to outside the city, on which they could call in fire from their carefully husbanded artillery batteries.
Taking down one of these sentries was part of today's plan. They had been left to their own judgement as to how they would strike. "Prosecute a covert campaign against the enemy sentry line" was how the Sergeant had put it.

"I want one of the sentries. I want the view from that crow's nest more."
"You're mad Devlin, mad" said Bolan.
"The enemy has had the benefit of the view from up there, today they will have to share with us."
"That seems fair, but..."
"I'll take you and Marcus with me into the building, I'll go up. You stay hidden and secure my route out. Let the sentry's relief come up."
"You really want company up there ?"
"Oh yes."
"You should have been one of Lord Corvus' flock."
"Blessed be his name."

He looked at the three who would stay down and in cover. They were looking at each other as much as the ruins around them. Even after years of indoctrination, hints of mischief flickered across their faces. He paused, reflecting on his responsibility for the team. But only for a moment, with a look up at the tower he led his part of the divided team into the ruins.

An hour later Devlin was on a roof, at the foot of a tall ladder. He shook the base of it firmly, to test its flexibility. He threw a bold grin at Marcus and Bolan, arranged his cloak, and started to climb. By the time the sentry nest blocked his view, he'd had his fill of the sky. He was here for the city. Looking down he saw no sign of his brothers below, they'd be censured if he had been able to.

Devlin grinned like he hadn't since trials. He was looking down from higher up than he'd ever been before. In place of vertigo his inner ear was feeding him data about end speed derived from the motion of the tower. His eyes did not see a yawning chasm below, they flicked from fire lane, to covered movement path, to concealed firing position. This was truly fine. Lifting his eyes to take in the scope of the city the maps fled his mind and the reality rushed in. This must be how the Emperor saw the galaxy from the Golden Throne, all laid out before his infinitely sharper eye.

A vista of grey concrete, rolling hills, and dust sketched out a city of ten million souls. Once faithful, they had thrown down the symbols of the Emperor's rule and brought destruction upon themselves. Strongpoints that had been marks on the map became piles of concrete studded with weapons and shameful flags. An arena marked as a defense force encampment was revealed as a refugee camp huddled around their cookfires.

It was too much to take in at once, so he settled in for a long stay. Using a length of rope he fashioned a sling hanging from the girders supporting the topmost nest. With his cloak arranged around him he could watch the entire city and remain unseen. He took out his magnoculars and said a whispered prayer to its machine spirit, "remember this for me little spirit". Devlin began to methodically scan the city before him, panning and zooming to capture every visible detail.

The sentry above him stayed quiet until the relief was almost due. The increase in foot stomping and cursing the weather was as reliable an alarm as Devlin's own sense of passing time. By then he had sated the machine spirit's appetite for detail and was indulging it, and himself, with the views that caught his eye. A pattern of light and shadow occupied him now where before he would have focused on military information. A flock of scavenger birds became as compelling a target as the airbase had been during the mission briefing only hours before. He couldn't say why this was important, but he was doing it with all the energy he threw into his training and his duties. In the scattered confusion of the refugee camps a mother shelters a feeble cookfire with her body. His heart, still his only one, pumped faster as he saw the future of humanity scrabbling in the dirt. Her next son could have stood beside him someday. Instead, here she crouched, condemned to the dirt and to death by foul politics and a suicidal independence movement.

Devlin grimaced as a foul smell intruded on his reverie; exhaust fumes from a heavy vehicle. Hearing no engines and seeing no movement, he took up his systematic scanning again. There it was, about a kilometer upwind a column of dust showed over the broken buildings. It was heading parallel to the battle lines, and in some haste.
He spoke softly into his vox, "enemy armored vehicles, moving this way, closest approach 4 blocks East, platoon strength, likely no infantry support." Marcus clicked his vox twice in response.

The tower started to shake. Looking down, Devlin saw that the relief sentry had arrived. He drew his knife while the doomed man began his climb. Devlin waited patiently and was rewarded with a sure and silent kill. Leaving the body tangled in the ladder by its own belts and webbing, he took its knife as a trophy and climbed back down.

Back on more solid footing he cast about and found the subtle signs left by the rest of his team. He set off to catch up to them, joined by Bolan, who had remained to support him. Working alone was good, but it was better with brothers.

Bolan handed him back his rifle before they descended to street level. Devlin checked it by reflex, then slung it before making the climb. "What's our status ?" he asked. "Guess who had an idea ?" "You had a melta bomb a few hours ago." "Marcus took all of them." “Uh oh, I think I've figured out his plan."

Confident that they were alone in no man's land, they ran through empty streets. Even so, they took care at corners. At crossings they covered each other. As one climbed, the other watched. Arriving on the roof that would be their position in the coming engagement Bolan signaled them to caution. Up the road the engines growled to lend emphasis.

"Corrum went left and just reported, four Leman Russes moving without an infantry screen."
"Of course not, they're behind their lines. Technically." Devlin could not help but smile at the thought of reporting the destruction of a whole platoon of main battle tanks. Then it caught up with him.
"Why, brothers, does Marcus have all of the bombs ?"

Ishmael's eyes twinkled as he hooked a finger forwards to indicate the street below. Devlin swore, "Oh Throne no" and crept to find a good view of the street below. Sure enough, there was the faint outline of Scout Marcus, attached to 3rd Company of the $CHAPTER, operating in support of Imperial forces engaged in the Praja Reconquest. Lying on his back in the street under his cammo cloak. In front of a column of onrushing tanks.

The rebel squadron proved that this war was not merely a local problem. A full platoon of Imperial Guard armor was transiting the streets. Four complex machines blessed and consecrated by Mechanicum adepts. Despite that unction, the machine spirits had still fallen under the sway of the homegrown heresy. They could never have functioned in defiance of the Emperor without a deep corruption. The crusading Imperial forces were here to purge that heresy with fire and faith.

Devlin stalked the tanks and his teammates through the ruins. He exploited the dust and rubble for concealment more often than he had to work to keep the ruined landscape from betraying him.
Back in cover Devlin let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Up on high he hadn't had control so much as perspective. Now he was back down in the dust and no longer in control of his team.
"If he gets himself run over maybe one of the bombs will go off."

As the rumble and squeal of the tanks drew closer Devlin thought about grinding his teeth, probably no one would hear. Instead, he checked his rifle again and moved to provide cover. Or to engage the escaping crews if Marcus pulled this off.

The three waited. The long hours of hypnotic conditioning was starting to pay off, once in a ready position time flowed past in an orderly, calming manner. No one flinched when the first tank passed over Marcus, they simply waited, ready. After all four had passed, Marcus made his break for cover. The commander of the last tank saw something move. He spun his gun around quickly, but Ismail was faster. Any but the best human marksmen would swear that his shot was unaimed. With a crack and a cry the rebel was flung away from his gun. A moment after, Marcus made the safety of a shop front. As Ismail ducked back the street erupted in fire and fury.

Under a rain of debris the team scanned the enshrouded street with their gunsights. Even through the thick smoke thermal imaging could pick out the surviving crews. The street was just as deadly for them as the infernos their vehicles had become. Marcus and Corrum finished sweeping the scene. Everyone could hear the exuberance in Marcus' voice as he reported "mission successful team leader !"

He led his squad back out through the enemy pickets. Dust billowed around his boots as he returned to report on his mission. He knew what he should have done in at least two matters. He knew an honest report would tell the sergeant as much. Dissembling never occurred to him, he'd rather point out a mistake than live with a lie. Setting his shoulders, he went to report in.