Book 1 - The Defense of Firebase 342 Chapter 3 – Mad Dogs and Guardsmen Up in the space between worlds, at the edges of the Janus star system, an invasion force was gathering, making its way towards Firebase 342, the sole remaining defended settlement in the entire sector. Imperial Standard Procedure during events of this type was to place the fleet in stationary orbit over the battlefield for fire support and reconnaisance, but this was a new enemy, one that changed all the rules. The Bugs were unconventional, so you might as well toss the rulebook out the damned window. Colonel John Pengelly Parkin of the Praetorian Guard was not one to take such actions lightly, but he was, at his core, a thinking man and he preferred to win his battles as far in advance of fighting them as possible. Perhaps it was his upbringing on Praetoria, his endless bloody chess matches against his grandfather in their family manor under his piercing stare. Perhaps it was the required readings of Sun Tzu, Machiavelli, Jangtai Khan and Lord Commissar Yarrick that had drilled this discipline of the mind into him, making it second nature. Perhaps. And perhaps it was something deeper. Perhaps there were some things that millenia of refinement and breeding could not erase from a man’s soul. Perhaps it was that survival instinct that had allowed the first humans to live long enough to evolve in the first place, that primal motivation to know all the exits before entering a room, the need for the feeling of safety that comes only when one feels the handle of a weapon, the sense of danger that keeps you from falling asleep on guard duty; perhaps... Parkin didn’t take the time to examine the reasons, but he had his own ship berthed at a remote location, obscured in an ancient hulk of a derelict orbital station on the far side of the planet. When a hive fleet descends to a planet, one ship is not going to be more than an itch in the corner of its eye. Better to keep some forces uncommitted, he told himself; and then he answered: Better to have a way off this planet. He coughed abruptly, not wishing to explore those thoughts any further, and decided to make an inspection of the troops; buck up their nerve before the attack came. He straightened his moustache, adjusted his helmet, tucked his riding crop under his arm and set off along the ramparts, nodding here and there, muttering "jolly good" every now and then and generally looking like the officer the men needed him to be. These men had followed him to hell and back already, and now he was to take them someplace worse. They had fought and bled for him on Armageddon, turned back the green tide with nothing to protect them but blind obedience. Ignorance is our Shield. The campaign was over. The Rogue Battalion had been relieved of duty and were on their way back to divisional HQ on Magellenica for some well-deserved R&R. General Phipps had seen them off. Job well done, Parkin. Decorations all around. First rate. You’ll make general for certain. I’ll see to it personally. Sending the report this evening. Smashing job, Parkin. Smashing. They had come to Armageddon full of the verve and arrogance of untested soldiers. They were going to kick Ghazgul’s green arse and send the orks packing. It was to be a grand adventure, and every face of Parkins’ Battalion was lit with the inner glow of pride that matched the dazzling colours of their uniforms. They had marched down the loading ramps of these shuttles in perfect step. Praetoria’s finest. Six months later, the soldiers Parkin led back onto the shuttles marched, but not in step. They moved efficiently, making little noise and expending the minimum energy. They kept a sharp eye out for unseen enemies and listened for incoming barrages. They kept close, but didn’t bunch up, and their weapons were always held at the ready, fingers ready to switch off the safety. Their uniforms were no longer consistent. Massive casualties and reinforcements had mixed in soldiers from other units: Tallarn desert fighters, Ogryn Shock Troops, Penal Legionnaires, Catachans and militia units levied from the hives of Armageddon were all thrown together, united in their service to the Emperor. The army had acquired a rag-tag look, earning it a nickname: The Rogue Battalion. These troops had earned a rest but now, instead of kicking up their feet on Magellenica, they were digging in and making ready to face yet another enemy, caught in a deadly web of political intrigue. "Excellent, Harper. Keep me informed." And there’s one of the spiders now, Parkin thought to himself as he adjusted his helmet, stuck out his chest and strutted over to Inquisitor Magnus with as much righteous indignation as he could muster. Time to give the boys a show. Buck up their nerve. "I say, Old Bean. What the devil is going on?" The Inquisitor turned from his notebook and faced the officer. "Quite a bit, Colonel." "I can no longer be silent in this matter of the Greenskins, Inquisitor. It really is going a bit too far, don’t you think?" Magnus glowered. "Hopefully the Bugs will agree with you." "Yes, quite so. Quite so. Desperate times and all that I suppose. But consider my boys – they’ve just made it off Armageddon where the orks were thick as molasses, and now we’re all cooped up together in this Emperor forsaken firebase. It is a bitter pill, Inquisitor. Tough on morale." The Inquisitor nodded thoughtfully as they walked across the courtyard of the base. There were soldiers running back and forth making preparations for the Tyrannid attack. There was a tangible sense of urgency in the air as crates of ammunition were cracked open and distributed to the troops on the walls. "And then there’s these heathen Elder with their strange garb and haughty manner. They are alien after all." Parkin said the word alien with a certain stress, as though an Inquisitor needed reminding of Imperial doctrine regarding aliens, traitors, mutants and other heretics. "Can’t trust ‘em! The boys don’t like it!" Magnus looked at the Imperial Guard Officer and tried to control his rising anger. He had taken this Parkin to be a man of intelligence, a man who could see past the confines of Imperial doctrine to the larger picture, but was he mistaken? The various organizations of the Imperium were full of mindless zealots who observe the letter of the law to the last mark of punctuation; such men were worse than useless to Magnus. This Colonel Parkin had seemed to have a brain in his head. Why was he arguing this moot point, and in front of his troops? Magnus then noticed the faces of the Guardsmen, all turned to watch the Colonel as he spoke. There was an attentiveness in them, an expectancy. And then he understood. He looked into the face of Colonel Parkin. "Well, Colonel, I don’t think that the opinions of your soldiers should matter – " A hint of a smile crossed Parkin’s lips. This Inquisitor was quick. He puffed out his chest. "These men, Lord Inquisitor are the finest soldiers in the Emperor’s Army!" Magnus spluttered. "But Colonel I – " "I will hear nothing of it! Not a word!" Parkin waved his riding crop in Magnus’ face. These men will hold the East wing of the Firebase and the heathen aliens can keep to themselves in the West wing! Do we understand each other, Lord Inquisitor?" Magnus raised a finger. "I just – " "Do I make myself clear, Inquisitor?" Magnus let out a sigh. "Very well." He turned an left the East wing as Parkin barked after him. "Jolly good then. Keep those damn dirty aliens out of here! We’ll hold the line! We’ll give the Bugs wot for!" Behind him, Magnus heard the troops give a rousing cheer. He smiled to himself. This Parkin was not a fool after all. He was a good leader – with good troops. They represented everything that was good about the Imperium; unity, honour, strength, courage. If only he had met them in some other time, some other war; a war that could be won. Perhaps then he could have got to know this Colonel and his Rogue Battalion. But there was no time for that. The little time they had left was disappearing quickly. They were as ready as they were going to be. In the sky, black smokey trails arced towards the horizon; the Tyrannids landing spores were entering the atmosphere. Time had run out. The onslaught had begun. Dylan - Sept 3, 2001