Statistically, you will almost certainly die when assaulting a well-maintained fortress with a competent commander. Strive to make your death useful. - Training Manual, Penal Legion, Suicide Bomb Squads.
@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#
Taylor, even under his impassive mask, seemed nervous. Chrysalis had spoken of his fears, and I could only imagine what had him worried; he knew better than I the positions of our enemies. As the changelings took defensive positions around the hangar, I imagined he had sensory input flowing through him at a rate much faster than men should be able to handle. It must have had something to do with his armor, maybe a psychic hood or some augment keeping his brain from frying. I've seen it happen to psykers; it isn't pretty.
“My handprint is needed to override the airlocks,” Delray said, looking pale and nervous. I knew enough of the Valkyrie to understand just how terribly difficult this was going to be. “It only makes sense for me to take the helm as soon as possible. The Broodlord can wait.”
“The Broodlord is more cunning than you or I or any mortal man, Shipmaster.” Jay, for once, seemed a bit somber. The pilot light on his flamethrower steadily burned as he looked to us. He grinned behind his gas mask, something I could only tell by the way his eyes crinkled under his dark lenses. “Some of these corridors seem pretty tight; it'll be hard to run or defend if we get swarmed on our way to the helm.”
“Then use the bugs to clear a path for us,” Oleg replied, swinging his autocannon over his shoulder. Taylor and Chrysalis hissed at the idea. I doubt anyone other than Delphine and I knew of their relation to the insectoid ponies, but they seemed as offended as anyone.
“Why would I sacrifice them in some blind assault?” Chrysalis asked, though I knew drones were not exactly praised within changeling society. They were like Tyranids Gaunts, led by a hivemind and weak without its guidance. “Each death weighs upon me, human.”
“I will take anyone who wishes to slay the Broodlord, provided thay are not otherwise occupied” Taylor said, drawing the attention of the inquisitors. He held up a hand before they could volunteer, cutting off any opposition. “Inquisitors are to aid Shipmaster Delray in reaching the helm while I and the changelings handle the overgrown bug.”
“With all due respect, boss, fuck you; I'm coming.” Jacques hovered in the air next to him, looking as serious as Dahl had before we landed on Equus, only the griffin was infinitely more loyal.
@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#
Ten minutes later, Jacques, Chrysalis, the one hundred changelings, and I were making our way through the cramped corridors. We could fit four drones side by side, which made us a large wall of green and black. With fifty in front of and behind us, nothing was getting at us unless it came through the steel grating on the floor, or through a ventilation shaft above us. There was no need for verbal communication; I could give my orders directly to the changelings, and Jacques needed no instruction. I was in one-hundred-two places at once, and it felt... I'm not quite sure how to describe it, truthfully.
An infected human jumped from behind a crate, wearing a suicide vest. I counted ten fragmentation grenades on his front; there was no doubt the blast would be devastating in such tight quarters. Before a counterattack could be made, the explosives detonated, sending a hail of metal, bone, and chitin towards Chrysalis, Jacques, and I. It took me just as long to put myself directly in front of my wife, using my armored body as a shield.
There was a sound that would have startled Thor, followed by a ringing that made me feel like my ears were bleeding.
For the first time, I knew what it was like to be connected to a drone as it died, or, more specifically, how it felt when thirty died. It was a cold, lancing pain that watered my eyes; it hit harder than any weapon and cut deeper than any blade. Chrysalis once related it to losing a child. I agreed.
“Everyone alright?” Jacques asked in a loud voice, wiping off as much changeling blood as he could. He was relatively unharmed; mostly light cuts from passing bits of metal or... other materials. He walked around Chrysalis, who was standing rigidly behind me, face stoic and eyes unfocused. I only knew this because we were almost the same individual at the time; the drones behind us were much worse.
“Yes, Ripper; we're both fine.” My voice wavered more than I'd like to admit, but I was under serious emotional trauma. Unlike y normal response, I wasn't angry. If anything, I was doing my best to feel nothing. I was also failing.
“Boss, we only have a little farther until we've reached the bugger; take a break.”
@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#
“Shit!”
“Get down!”
“Sweet Celestia! They're coming out of the walls!”
“What pit of Tartarus spawned these unholy things?” A stallion by the name of Forbidden Query asked over the roar of a machine gun. We were huddled in the crew showers, taking cover as best we could. There were some crates here and there; the wood didn't help much, but it was something.
“Ymgarl, I think,” I answered as I took aim at another genestealer. The beasts were Tyranids through and through, but they were first encountered on Ymgarl thousands of years before the Hive Fleets started showing up. One of the monsters lurched from behind one of the boxes and snatched an inquisitor before we could react. He didn't scream long.
“Fuck! I'm out of fuel!” Jay tossed his clunky flamer at on of them as he switched to his only reserve weapon: a knife with a blade about thirty centimeters long. He dodged a swinging claw and lodged the blade into the 'stealer's skull.
“They're coming in behind us!” One of the ponies shouted before her voice suddenly went quiet. The lights over head exploded, leaving us in darkness. I could taste something foul in my mouth as my stomach churned. Delray and Delphine were crouched next to me, using whatever weapons they had on hand; they were using cheap, automatic rifles, but they worked wonders on the handful of soft spots on a genestealer's carapace.
The moment a claw ripped through a drain near our feet, a grenade found its way in. Three seconds later, a gout of flame shot from within the hole; Jay must have still had an incendiary bomb or two. Delray kept his gun on the drain, shaking from the adrenaline pumping through his veins.
“Why'd they stop?” One of the inquisitors asked, and, peaking over my crate, I could see why. The only source of external light was the corridor, and it was free of silhouettes. The pipes and vents did not shake or rattle with anything climbing through them. There was no unnecessary breathing or any gargling clicks or hisses. For now at least, we were not under attack.
I jumped at the mechanical clicking and locking noises that filled the showers. It took me a moment to realize it was the handful of remaining inquisitors reloading their weapons. The servo-skull still hovered where it had been before everything had gone to shit, it blue lights glowing as though nothing had happened.
“Yes, sir,” Query spoke into his headset. Only now did I recognize him as the stallion who Taylor sent away after we had first landed in Canterlot. He looked much different, mostly from the various fluids painting him, but there was also a difference in the way he looked around the room, like a cornered hound. He turned to Delray. “Shipmaster, the Burned Man wishes to know if there is a crew elevator near the starboard servitor chamber.”
“Yes, there is.” The Shipmaster's voice was shaky, made more so by an obvious worry over that tiny detail. We were on the port side, and I think I saw the elevator door during our run for safety. “May I ask why?”
“Sir, it's on its way up, but they are not on it.”