V3 Chapter 73: Plague of the Under-Hive
"Are we seriously going to keep fighting in a place that stinks this bad?"
Stroud said it in a voice that bordered on despair. Through the lenses of his carapace armour helm, he stared out at the sickly green fog drifting slowly beyond the defence line, lit from behind by the glare of high-powered searchlights.
This was a large freight distribution hub, held by the 112th Special Operations Legion's Fourth Reconnaissance Infantry Regiment.
Between this hive city's under-hive and lower hive lay seven major passages wide enough for large-scale movement: three industrial transport tunnels, two great cargo lift shafts, one primary sewage conduit, and an ancient trestle bridge spanning a vast chasm.
All three industrial transport tunnels converged, in the end, on this very freight distribution hub they held.
Behind this position lay a residential district numbering in the millions. If it fell, a flood of plague zombies would pour straight into the lower hive, and the disaster would grow far worse.
The other two cargo lift shafts and the primary sewage conduit had already been handed to the Astral Claws Astartes to hold.
The last route, the ancient trestle bridge spanning the chasm, was held by local PDF and an armoured detachment.
Stroud drew a deep breath.
And regretted it at once.
His sealed helm's filtration system could block the airborne contaminants well enough, but it could do nothing against a stench that had already soaked into the very air itself.
"Colonel. Corpse tide activity detected again."
The voice came through over the vox.
"They're about to hit the line again."
"Understood."
Stroud muttered, impatient.
"Doesn't this ever end."
They hadn't even been here a full day yet, and this was already the seventh wave of the corpse tide.
The population of the entire hive city's under-hive was probably not far short of the lower hive's own. If every last one of them turned into a plague zombie, Stroud honestly thought it'd be simpler just to burn the whole place down.
Unfortunately, there was a howling mob of madmen up above his head.
And a mindless horde of the walking dead beneath his feet.
Stroud stopped thinking about it and opened the comm channel.
"Fourth Infantry, all units to combat positions."
"Have local PDF fall in with us. Load all heavy weapons. Warm up the flame batteries."
The order spread fast.
Soldiers along the defence line moved into position, lasguns propped over cover in great numbers, heavy bolters swinging to adjust their fields of fire.
Red outlines had already begun appearing in Stroud's field of view.
A lot of them.
And still climbing.
Just then, from a raised platform not far off, a sniper rifle's crack rang out.
Finn had opened fire.
Out in the distant fog, a red silhouette taller than an ordinary plague zombie jerked once, its head bursting apart.
Stroud glanced up.
Old habits — the man still preferred to shoot first and explain what he'd actually seen after the fact.
But this wave of the tide seemed different somehow.
The soldiers along the line began to hear something.
Laughter.
At first it was only scattered, here and there.
Then it kept growing.
Like someone had told a joke, and now everyone within earshot was laughing along.
Stroud's brow furrowed.
"Hell."
He had a very bad feeling.
And Stroud trusted his own instincts completely.
"All hands, listen up!"
"The whole distribution hub to first-degree readiness!"
"All heavy weapons, prepare to fire!"
The order had barely gone out when a high-pitched droning began issuing from deep within the transport tunnel.
The sound kept growing.
Stroud stared fixedly at the green fog.
Only when the searchlight beams finally caught it did he see what it truly was.
It was never fog at all.
Countless flies, packed together into a swarm vast enough to fill nearly the entire industrial tunnel.
"Fire!"
The automated flame batteries on both flanks opened up at once.
Gouts of promethium roared from the nozzles, blooming into flame that surged toward the approaching swarm.
Countless flies burned to ash in the heat.
But more kept pouring in from deep within the tunnel.
Then Stroud saw what followed behind the swarm.
"What in hell is that?
A daemon?"
Stroud was absolutely certain that whatever it was, it was no ordinary plague zombie.
A cluster of rotting daemons, wielding rust-eaten swords, was advancing toward them.
Their movements were far more coordinated than any zombie's, and they clearly possessed minds of their own.
Around their feet, a swarm of small green creatures bounded and capered without pause.
The laughter had been coming from these things all along.
The little things waved their stubby arms, giggling in high-pitched bursts, and some had even clambered up onto the shoulders of the larger daemons.
"Fire!"
Stroud bellowed again.
The whole line erupted into a wall of fire at once.
Las-bolts poured into the enemy horde, autocannons roared without pause, heavy bolter shells detonated among the mass.
Plague zombie after plague zombie fell.
But the daemons kept coming.
Deeper still in the fog, something far larger was closing in, slowly.
Stroud could make out nothing more than a vast, blurred silhouette.
Whatever it was, it was clearly enormous; with every step it took, the little daemons around it bounced and squealed with excitement.
"Fucking disgusting."
Stroud said through gritted teeth.
Those foul, stinking things were driving straight at the line.
Pressure on the whole line climbed fast.
Ordinary plague zombies were hard enough to kill outright as it was, and now genuine Nurgle daemons had joined the mix.
Stroud had already started missing the boss's power.
If Duvette had been here to switch on his abilities, none of these damned things would be having this easy a time of it.
But he also knew Duvette wouldn't burn his abilities the moment a single line ran into trouble.
Those powers had always been reserved for the whole battlefield, not one corner of it.
"Open the comm."
Stroud said.
"Contact the Astral Claws, request support."
The comms officer set to work at once.
A few seconds later, the reply came back.
"Colonel. The Astral Claws have denied the support request."
Stroud turned his head.
"What?"
"Their own line's under attack from a mass of daemons too."
Stroud fell silent for a moment.
Then looked back out at the front again.
Plague zombies kept pouring out.
Swarms of Nurglings bounced through the corpse tide.
The rotting daemons kept trudging closer, heavy-footed.
"Fine, then."
The bald man tightened his grip on his lasgun.
"Looks like it's just us."
Just then, a familiar power suddenly welled up from somewhere deep inside him.
Stroud's eyes went wide.
He felt his own strength surging, his senses sharpening, the lasgun in his hands humming faintly.
A flood.
He knew this feeling all too well.
The next instant, Stroud let out a roar, raised his lasgun, and pulled the trigger.
Las-bolt after las-bolt tore out in a mad stream.
A weapon that should never have withstood a rate of fire like this now unleashed an unimaginable torrent of las-fire.
The entire defence line changed in that same instant.
Soldier after soldier picked up their rate of fire.
Heavy weapons roared without pause.
The corpse tide and daemon horde, which had been steadily closing on the line, were driven back by main force under the sudden surge in firepower.
But there was little relief in Stroud's heart.
Duvette's abilities had actually been switched on.
That could only mean the boss judged the whole battlefield had reached the point where these powers were truly needed.
The other fronts were probably in serious trouble too.
With the strength they'd had until now, the entire Badab front had been growing harder and harder to hold.
Stroud stared at the enemy still pouring in from the distance, and pulled the trigger again.
"Come on, then."
"Let's see how many more of you there are."
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