Rhadamanthys learns to fly

Part 1

Rhadamanthys quietly recited the Litany of Accuracy as he took aim at the last of the fleeing figures.

“Grant me the sight of the eagle, the calm of the breeze, the patience of a saint and the skill to smite the foe from afar.”

The bolt pistol coughed and the distant figure jerked, then collapsed to the floor. Silence settled over the chamber as the retort of the weapon faded away. Rhadamanthys lowered his pistol, clicked the safety on and holstered it.

“Clear.”

“Too slow recruit! Too slow by half.”

The words erupted from a wall mounted vox-caster, their volume and more importantly, the disgruntled tone making Rhadamanthys flinch. The imposing form of Brother Sergeant Cadmus appeared at the window of the training room's control centre and the vox-caster blasted the Sergeant's voice at Rhadamanthys again.

“You will repeat the exercise recruit, and this time, you will complete it in a manner befitting one of the Emperor's chosen warriors, or I will nail your hide to the wall.”

The Sergeant spoke to someone Rhadamanthys could not see and a small door beneath the window opened. A tracked servitor rumbled out, carrying ammunition and a flagon of water. Rhadamanthys refilled the pouches around his waist with fresh clips and grimacing, took a long drink of the chemical laced water. The servitor trundled back to the door and Rhadamanthys looked up to the window as the Sergeant's voice came over the vox-caster again.

“Thirsty eh youngster? Wait ‘til you spend 3 days and nights holding a bridge against a horde of screaming greenskins in the Ash Wastes of Armageddon at the height of summer. Then you'll know what thirst is boy.”

Rhadamanthys was distracted by the Sergeant's short speech and when he looked back from the window found that a group of enemies had emerged from the far end of the training room.

“Another lesson boy, never forget your objective, no matter how fascinating your Sergeant is.”

The Sergeant laughed at his own joke as Rhadamanthys assessed his enemies. Like the first group he faced they consisted of close to a dozen barbarians armed with knives, bolas and spears. Unarmoured as he was, their primitive weapons could hurt him, even kill him, for he had not yet received many of the extra organs that turned a man into a Marine. Having been recruited just 2 cycles ago Rhadamanthys had only been granted the first 3 of the Primarch's Blessings. First was the Secondary Heart he could feel beating a counterpoint to his own natural heart. The second Blessing was the Ossmodula, to strengthen and enlarge his bones, at 14 cycles he stood taller and broader than any man the warrior lodges of his clan had ever boasted. The third organ, the Biscopea, had been implanted only a short time ago but already the increased musculature it was designed to develop was beginning to show in his arms and legs.

Increased size and strength were not to be Rhadamanthys' main weapons in this fight though. The Filienostos pattern bolt pistol he had unholstered and now carried in his right hand was. The weapon was old, it had been used by countless recruits before him and despite the fact that Filienostos pattern weapons had long ago been discarded by most Chapters in favour of the more reliable Umbra Astartes pattern weapons, it would be more than enough to deal with a pack of savages.

With that thought in mind Rhadamanthys raised his weapon and took aim at the leading figure. With a short bark the weapon discharged, the bolt flashing away into the distance, taking it's target high on the chest. A hollow ‘crack', barely discernible at this distance signalled the bolt's charge had exploded within the man's chest. With a muffled cry the figure crumpled and his companions scattered. Barbarians they might be, but stupid they were not, each warrior headed for cover, then with a series of hoots and howls they organised themselves for the hunt. As Rhadamanthys watched his enemies swing wide in 2 groups, hoping to come at him from 2 directions, he reflected that only a few short cycles ago he had been doing much the same with his clan's warriors as they hunted game to feed their village.

One of the barbarians broke cover, sprinting forward to the small copse of trees that dominated the room, Rhadamanthys brought his pistol around quickly and snapped off a shot at the running man, the figure hit the ground but Rhadamanthys did not know whether he had hit it or not. A second figure ran for the copse, but this time Rhadamanthys was ready and his shot was true, his target screaming shrilly as the bolt tore off one leg at the knee. Another of the savages, this one armed with a spear, darted out from cover, ignoring it's wounded companion and Rhadamanthys fired a handful of shots at the barbarian without any luck.

Looking around he could see that the second hunting party was working it's way around his flank, if their companions could keep him occupied for a little while longer they could attack him from his left side. Firing a few more shots at the barbarian with the spear Rhadamanthys quickly considered his options. He could stay where he was and hope to despatch the first hunting party in time to catch the second before they turned his flank, he could retreat to a new firing position or he could do the thing they least expected of prey and attack them head on. He fired at the copse one more time then switched the empty magazine for a full one. More figures armed with spears scurried to join the their companion in the copse, as they did the hooting and howling began again.

Quickly muttering the Litany of Protection, Rhadamanthys unsheathed his combat knife and with a howl of his own charged headlong at the small copse. His howl was answered threefold from the trees as the warriors within cast their spears at his running form, having anticipated this Rhadamanthys had already begun his dive, rolling as he hit the ground and coming to his knees just short of the trees with pistol at the ready. The rustle of dry leaves gave away one of the savages and the Filienostos barked twice, a high-pitched scream rewarded Rhadamanthys' shooting.

Coming to his feet again Rhadamanthys quickly headed for the cover of the trees, then halted, eyes searching the gloom for any sign of his enemies. A hoot brought him around to his left, pistol raised and as he heard the triumphant whoop of a warrior behind him he knew he'd fallen for a trick. He ducked and spun, a burning sensation across his shoulders told him he'd not been quite quick enough to avoid the slash of his enemy's knife, he continued his spin, flinging out a booted foot and cutting his foe's feet from under him. He heard a whoosh of air as the warrior landed awkwardly and turning quickly saw his enemy laying prone, winded. Rhadamanthys straightened from his crouch, then stamped hard on his enemy's exposed neck, the sickening crack of breaking bone was followed by a thrashing of limbs as the barbarian lost control of his body.

Leaving the twitching corpse where it lay Rhadamanthys advanced quietly into the copse searching for the warrior who had hooted. Rhadamanthys heard a hoot again, this time from outside the copse and began to worry about the second hunting party. If he couldn't find the hooting warrior soon he'd end up trapped in the copse with a half dozen angry savages waiting for him on the outside.

Again, the only warning Rhadamanthys had of his enemy's approach was his howl of glee, this time from above. A heavy weight dropped onto him from the tree branch overhead and he tumbled to the ground, dropping his pistol. Lying on his back struggling to prevent his enemy's knife from entering his vitals was not what he had planned when he had charged into the copse and almost as worryingly he again heard the other hunting party hooting. An intake of breath warned him his opponent was about to reply to their hooting and with a desperate effort Rhadamanthys flipped his enemy, reversing their positions. Now his greater mass began to tell as he forced his foe's knife hand away and brought his own to bear. Again his enemy gulped air as he tried to call for help, but now Rhadamanthys was able to press a knee into his stomach to prevent him calling out.

The barbarian's eyes bored into his as their deadly wrestle continued. With a jerk Rhadamanthys tore his left arm away from his enemy and stabbed down with his blade. This time the savage did cry out, not in triumph, not for his companions, but in agony as the knife stabbed clean through his desperately raised hand. The knife continued downwards and Rhadamanthys buried it in the man's chest, pinning his hand there. He watched as the light slowly left the warrior's dark eyes and finally, felt his foe go limp.

Leaving the dead man where he lay Rhadamanthys scrabbled around on the ground, feeling among the fallen leaves for his bolt pistol. Finding it he hefted it's comforting weight and quickly checked it's workings. The tell-tale red on the weapon's diagnostic panel told him the safety had come on automatically when he'd dropped it, but other than that it had taken no damage from it's fall and was ready to fire. Satisfied, he flicked the safety off again and edged towards the outskirts of the copse. Worming his way to the final row of trees and Rhadamanthys scanned the horizon, searching for the second hunting party.

Finally he saw a flicker of movement out by the rocks of his original firing position. Turning his head sideways to better use his peripheral vision he waited, another flash of movement caught his eye and he focussed his attention on it. He could see three men in the rocks to his right, but that only accounted for half of his remaining foes. A crackle of static preceded his Sergeant's vox-cast bellow.

“By the Emperor's throne lad, this is worse than your first effort!”

Seeing the savages' heads jerk in unison to the source of the sound, searching for an enemy, Rhadamanthys took advantage of their distraction. Switching to full-auto he raked his pistol across the group, it's sharp retorts joined by howls of pain as bolts exploded deep within unwashed bodies. Again the Sergeant's voice crackled over the vox-caster, though he sounded amused now, rather than angry.

“Better lad, but still not good enough.”

“If you think this is so damned funny why don't you come down here and do it.”

Rhadamanthys' muttered reply was drowned out by another cacophony of howling and hooting from the barbarians.

To be continued…

Part 2

“If you think this is so damned funny why don't you come down here and do it.”

Rhadamanthys' muttered reply was drowned out by another cacophony of howling and hooting from the barbarians. Too much noise for the handful of primitives left alive. A grinding caught his attention and turning he saw the door at the far end of the training room slowly closing, having already disgorged a second, larger band of hunters. Grimacing Rhadamanthys realised the Sergeant's noisy interruption had not been for his benefit, but rather a ruse to disguise the entry of this second group of barbarians. Unbidden the Incantation to Banish Fear rose to his lips.

“Fear is naught, for my faith is strong.”

Raising his pistol he snapped off a series of quick shots at his new enemies, hoping to force them to cover and gain more time to evaluate the situation and figure out how in the Emperor's name he was going to survive this battle, let alone win it. Rhadamanthys changed clips as he ran for the rocks he had started the battle hiding behind, a quick look behind showed the savages had not been deterred by his hastily aimed shots and were racing towards him. Sliding into cover behind the rocks he quickly checked the previous occupants were dead, he wasn't going to fall for a second trick today if he could help it.

Again he raised the Filienostos and again it roared out it's fury, Rhadamanthys' aim was truer now that he had time to aim and several of the second hunting pack fell whilst the others scattered for cover. A familiar grinding noise caught his ear as he ceased firing. The rumbling grew louder and Rhadamanthys could see the whole wall was receding, not just a small portal.

“How many savages does he think it'll take to kill me?”

He muttered incredulously as he resumed firing at the scampering figures of the second pack as they tried to close with him.

Suddenly a new noise cut through the clamour, this one infinitely more welcome than the howl of blood thirsty barbarians or the grinding of yet another door. The sharp bark of a bolt pistol. His spirits soared as a cry of ‘Death to the Emperor's enemies!' convinced him the weapon was in friendly hands. Still firing he heard the rumble of another wall sliding away, looking to his left he saw another recruit trying to fend off a small horde of spear throwing hunters. The retort of a pistol to his right joined the clicking of gears and convinced him the third wall had disappeared and a fourth recruit had joined the growing battle.

The din of battle grew as the four recruits each tried to hold off his enemies whilst the hunting packs yipped and squawked at one another. Rhadamanthys flinched as a spear landed just short of the rocks, showering dirt and small stones over him. His foes were creeping closer and despite having gunned down several more there seemed to be no end to their numbers.

“Rally, rally to me!”

A loud cry reached him and he saw another recruit standing in the open, ignoring spears and bolas, calmly firing his bolt pistol two handed into a small group of warriors charging at him.

“To me! We must face them together!”

It was Memnon of course, ostentatiously facing down his foes boldly and fearlessly as he bellowed commands, Rhadamanthys would have rolled his eyes if he hadn't been so busy searching for targets. His words made perfect sense but Rhadamanthys was reluctant to heed them. If it had been anyone but Memnon… But it wasn't and if he wanted to live, his best chance was to follow the braggart's advice. Firing at a savage who was too close for comfort, Rhadamanthys rose from his hiding place and headed for the copse again. If he could get through the copse it would be just a short dash to Memnon's side and safety in numbers.

Reaching the trees again Rhadamanthys stepped over the body of the broken necked warrior and gingerly entered the gloom. Pausing to let his eyes adjust, he began to pick his way across the leaf littered ground, years of hunting with his clan's best warriors had taught him to move quietly but quickly and he reached the far edge of the copse without incident. Surveying the landscape he could see Memnon finish off the last of his foes with his knife and begin yelling again.

“Worthless cannibal scum! You are not fit to be foes of the Emperor's chosen!”

Rhadamanthys half listened to Memnon's tirade as he tried to get his breath back, ready for a final dash to Memnon. He heard a rustling behind him and spun, finger tightening on the trigger of his bolt pistol. He sagged in relief when he saw it was Tecmus, a boy who had been recruited from the village next to Rhadamanthys' own, he was also the closest thing Rhadamanthys had to a friend. The relief he felt drained away when he saw the ragged wounds across Tecmus' belly. Tecmus dropped to his knees and Rhadamanthys stared at the glistening grey of the entrails his fellow recruit fought to hold in. A howl of glee shocked Rhadamanthys into action, he whipped the pistol up and fired over the kneeling Tecmus, catching a charging savage high in the shoulder. The warrior spun, dropping his knife and Rhadamanthys ended his life with a second shot.

Rhadamanthys moved to Tecmus' side and tried to examine his wounds, but Tecmus weakly pushed him aside.

“My weapon, I've lost my weapon.”

Tecmus coughed and fell forward, motionless. Rhadamanthys grabbed him and slung him over one shoulder, heading back to the edge of the copse. Tecmus was bigger than Rhadamanthys, he had been granted the third Blessing much earlier than Rhadamanthys, and his weight was already tiring Rhadamanthys. He felt warm blood seeping through his clothes as he began chanting the Ritual of Strength.

“I feel my bones: the strength,”

Hoisting the injured recruit to a more comfortable position he awkwardly slotted a fresh magazine home.

“I feel my muscles: the strength,”

Looking out of the small grove he could see Memnon standing next to the fourth recruit, Lycastus, both blazing away at enemies he couldn't see.

“I feel my soul: the strength,”

Rhadamanthys took a deep breath and began running towards his Lycastus and Memnon.

“I feel the Emperor,”

Rhadamanthys staggered as he ran, nearly falling, the dead weight of his wounded friend making him ungainly. A howl behind him told him the warrior chasing Tecmus had not been alone. Fear quickened his pace.

“Who grants me grace,”

Just a few dozen strides and he would be safe with his brethren and they could see to Tecmus' wounds.

“And by His will: strength.”

The final words of the chant were cut short as he went down in a tangle of bola ropes. He hit the ground heavily, trying to protect the wounded Tecmus by rolling to his right. For the second time that day he lost his grip on his pistol. The first thought through his mind was that Sergeant Cadmus was going to make good on his threats and weld the weapon to his hand if he kept dropping it, the second was that without it the savages would overrun him in short order.

Reaching for his knife Rhadamanthys cut through the bola ropes, noticing as he did so they seemed to be made from human hair, then looked up in time to see a barbarian launch himself from the copse, yipping loudly and readying a spear to throw. He scrambled backwards, hands grasping fruitlessly for his bolt pistol. The hunter raised his spear and brought it into line with his prey. The arm began to move slowly forward. Rhadamanthys' vision greyed, his hearing faded and his world narrowed to the spear point.

If possible the staccato bark of a bolt pistol on full auto and the sudden blossoms of red across the hunter's chest surprised Rhadamanthys more than it surprised the savage. As his senses expanded back to normal Rhadamanthys saw Memnon & Lycastus running toward him, pistols sheathed. A thud behind him made him start, coming to his knees and turning he saw Tecmus' hand outstretched, Rhadamanthys' pistol at his fingertips. The wounded recruit smirked and Rhadamanthys could barely hear his words.

“I knew I'd never hear the end of it if I let Memnon be the one who saved you.”