Glancing back at Lando, who I was very aware of as he stood close behind me. "Three more on the next one out. That's 300 metres out."
Turning back, I once again got settled into position, taking my time for this one. 300 metres was much further and at the upper end of what I thought I could do, having never tested it. The first shot was wide, but I quickly adjusted and on my final shot, hit the centre.
"Good, pack up." As I did, I could just about hear him on a vox talking. I was too far away to make out what he was saying, but I could have sworn I heard 'kid' several times, which I could only assume meant me.
Once I was packed up, safety back on the gun and no slugs in the chamber, I made my way over to him. He looked up as I drew near. "Hold onto the gun and stick around. Brant here will supply you with several clips."
Clearly dismissed and having an inkling of what would be doing, I allowed myself to be led away.
Lando Frix watched the kid leave the room, once again questioning his decision to bring him on. But after all these years, he trusted his instincts and they were screaming the kid was different. He didn't move like a civilian or a two bit ganger.
The kid reminded him of combat veterans from the planetary defence force, that same air of quiet confidence.
He shoved aside the bubbling rage that thinking of the PDF always stirred. The political manoeuvring that got him kicked out and almost executed as a heretic still burned. He'd served with distinction, working his way up to Colonel from nothing.
Jumped up nobles, he knew he should have transferred, but he wanted to stay on his planet. That choice brought the inevitable interference from the nobles. Something he'd always regret, always thinking, what if?
He shook off the ugly thoughts and turned back to the kid, focusing on his shooting. The kid had impressed him more with every shot. He didn't brag like a cocky punk, full of vitriol, no, he just stated facts. Nothing more, nothing less. He was a good shot too, one of the best he had seen this far down in the hive. Sure, there were those better, many in the gang in fact, but they were all veterans with decades of experience. Lanto liked to think he had a hand in that, thanks to his insistence on training.
It was what kept them on top.
But it was the kid's calm confidence, taking everything in his stride, that impressed him, against his better judgment. As the kid entered the room, Lanto had watched him scan the area, his eyes evaluating guards, cataloguing dangers and noting exits.
So, he was taking a chance; it was a small job, if the kid fucked up, no real loss. But the kid had saved his life, so he deserved a chance.
It took several hours to get the rest organised, making him nostalgic for the efficiency of the Militarum. Not something he thought he would ever say, which, like many organisations within the Imperium, was sluggish at best and centuries too late at worst. There was a duality to be sure, it could be a mission in futility to get supplies for the guards but then at the same time his men were a line of defence for the hives so they were shipped a steady stream of weapons, only for them to dry up as they were pulled without warning to another regiment or a war in the far off corners of the empire.
And that wasn't counting any of the interference from the nobles, jockeying for power, with little danger to discourage them this deep in the Imperium.
But finally they were off, his strike team, the kid and a handful of muscle that were there just in case. He didn't want to say they were meat shields, but he had seen more combat than he ever wanted and had to make the hard choices before.
And would again.
Leading them through the twisting labyrinth of streets, sometimes climbing several layers only to drop back down before they reached the edge of their territory, far to the north. He still remembered how easy it was to get lost when he first arrived. And a wrong turn could easily turn fatal.
It was actually the leading cause of deaths. Or at least for new blood.
A few hundred metres would lead to the disused sector and the swamp at its entrance. Unlike the other side of the gulf, which connected by a gentle slope down to it, their side dropped off, leaving an empty void a hundred metres across to reach the hab. Not something they could bridge, not that he would want them to.
It would be just another weak point.
A bad one at that, considering all the monsters, mutants, beasts and general dangers that came in from the outside, he liked it on the far side. In front of them was a long bridge across to the Ash Stalkers territory, whom they were about to hit. Halfway across, there was some cover from the huge metal tracks, dozens of metres tall, that in the distant past were used for transporting thousands of tonnes of materials.
Crossing it, he paused as they reached the middle, hiding amongst the jigsaw of corrugated iron and scaffolding that some poor fucks lived in. From there, they were going to be out into the open. And his bionic eye could clearly see the two lookouts on the far side, so best not to disturb them quite yet.
Looking around at his strike team, a group of people he had worked with for years. Some, like Drakar, an abhuman, had proven his worth a thousand times over. His huge size and leathery, rocklike skin gave him enormous power and protection, allowing him to do his normal strategy.
Charge and cave in skulls with his huge bastard sword, although it looked more like a short sword in his hands. He had to be as big as the legendary Astarte's, although he had never had the privilege to meet one. Next were Vyrna and Shem, far more shabby-looking humans, but crack shots and with well-honed reflexes from living in the undercity; he knew they had his back.
Or as much as anyone in the undercity did.
Then there was Telel, the quiet, stoic woman of dark complexion, a rarity in these parts. Left for dead by her mercenary company, she'd found a place amongst them. At the back, there was the kid, dressed in rags and filth, although strangely healthy. Like the environment and lack of food brushed off of him. He would have to change his clothes if he proved useful.
He looked almost comical holding a rifle nearly as large as he was. His eyes, however, were anything but—a cold, deep marine blue. Finally, there was the rest of their rabble: the new recruits, or those who had been with the gang for a few years but had yet to prove themselves.
"Alright, gather round. Across the bridge we have two lookouts, then across the street into the warehouse. A few guards inside. We're going in to clear them out, take what we can and destroy the rest." Turning to the kid he said, "Find a spot, take out the lookouts, the rest of you stay out of sight. I will call you if I need you." Remembering something, Lanto fumbled through his pockets. "Wait, kid, take this." Tossing the vox over to him. It was old, clunky, and on its last legs; no loss if the kid ran.
As the chaff moved out, he turned to his team. "Any question?"
They shook their heads, and only Shem spoke up. "I'm still not sure about the kid."
"This is an easy opp. If he fucks up, no problem."
"I know, but…"
"Enough." he cut him off. He had heard it all before. Several times in fact. Holding his gaze until he saw the defiance fade. Then he waved Drakar forward and stepped across the final stretch of the bridge. They walked in a casual stride, like they belonged, but Lanto made sure to keep an eye out on the lookout.
Even as he watched, Lanto noted the left lookout, clearly more observant, nudged the other, indicating something. They didn't look concerned yet, their stride giving them an advantage. Lanto watched as one prepped her gun and the other manned the heavy snub turret.
As they got closer, doubts about the kid started to appear. Had he done a runner? Lanto almost signalled Sham to take the shots; it would've been easy for him at this range, when a crack sounded out, echoing through the Gulf. The ganger manning the turret head exploded in a sea of gore and blood.
Before the gunshot echo had faded and before the other guard could react, another shot rang out. Not as perfect a shot, but a kill shot nonetheless. It struck her in the chest, blowing a hole through it and the flimsy protection she called armour.
As soon as the first shot had rang out, Drakar broke into a powerful run, the rest of the crew following closely for cover. They cross the last hundred metres, closing in on the warehouse. Glancing both ways, Lanto saw the streets were empty, just as he'd hoped.
They should be, but it wouldn't have been the first time a mission had gone FUBAR.
As they closed in on the door, it swung open to reveal a surprised-looking kid, no more than sixteen, standing there, gaping. Lanto had just lined up his laspistol when the child was thrown back, a gaping wound in his chest. The rifle retort behind let Lanto know where the shot came from.
Good reflexes, Lanto thought. He was about to lay suppressive fire ready for Drakar when the walls around the door started to get peppered with shots as the kid fired as fast as he could. Impressive speed with a bolt-action rifle.
Nodding approvingly, Lanto slowed down as Drakar bellowed, charging in. Letting the other three move in with far more precision, he entered last, just in time to see Drakar cave in a man's skull in. With the room clear, they systematically cleared the rest of the building just like he had been taught.
They sifted through the warehouse and to their surprise, they found crates of high-quality goods. Food, guns, ammo. Not the normal crap you found in the depths of the hive.
Lanto's stomach twisted. How the hell did they have these?
Before he could think further on it, his vox crackled to life. "Lanto, you've got company, an armoured truck, ten men and a couple of cyber mastiffs."
Swearing under his breath, Lanto jumped down the last few stairs and peeked around the corner. Sure enough, there in the street sat a fucking heavily armoured truck, autocanon on top. A few men were jumping down, most with augments, the signature of the Ash Stalkers gang.
That was how the gang made most of its money, augments and dog fights.
There wasn't time to dwell on that; the truck was old, but the autocanon could still shred them.
Lanto's mind raced. How the fuck did they have that, no, that is a question for later. The men jumping down from the landcrawler were better equipped too; these weren't the usual ragtag group of gangers. Hardened flak armour, las rifles and one even had a chainsword. A fucking chainsword. He hadn't seen one of those in years.
This was bad.
Waving the others over, he was about to throw one of his grenades, as loath as he was to do that. Every throw was a hit to the gang's resources, and the damn things weren't even guaranteed to do the job.
Just as he was priming the grenade, the vox crackled in his ear. "I can take out the gunner," Aleric's voice came through, confidant. "And distract the rest."
Lanto didn't need to think, "Do it." Setting his team up in position.
The shot rang out, sharp, clean and deadly. The hiver manning the heavy snubber head exploded in a spray of gore. Moments later, the driver joined him. The gangers scattered, diving behind the truck or any other cover they could find.
The gangers moved fast. Lanto's heart pounded in his chest, a grin on his face as the remaining shots were fired off. A few grazed some, but nothing lethal. But he had their attention. Ohh boy did he. The gangers were now fully committed to killing the kid, their guns barking as they returned fire.
Lanto had to hand it to him; he was fast with the bolt action. If he could actually get him to survive, he might be able to make something of himself.
Focus
Mind back on the mission, there was no time to waste. With a quick gesture, Lanto signalled for the charge. His team surged forward, moving with practised precision. The Stalkers didn't stand a chance.
The kids' gunfire kept their attention away from him and his team, giving them the perfect opening.
Taking the merc completely by surprise, they were mopped up quickly and the warehouse was theirs.
They set about clearing out the place, Aleric once more on overwatch. Unfortunately, the truck had to be burned using its own promethium as they couldn't take it with them.
But otherwise, they made out like bandits, even with the extra grunts to carry crates; they had to leave a good chunk of it behind burning like the truck.
-----
Nodding at the guards, Lanto stepped into the meeting room, one of the gang's most secure. A reinforced chamber deep within the heart of the HQ.
He scanned the room, noting the faces of those he had come to respect and even trust, or at least as much as you could trust anyone in the undercity. In the centre was a large, almost ornate table with Selina at its head and her daughter Zardelle to her left. Moving over, exchanging nods with a few people, he headed towards his seat.
Ignoring the sense of unease that always surrounded Selina's daughter, and pulled her into a brief hug. Pecking Selina on the lips with a small smile, he sat in the empty seat to her right. Settling back onto the comfortable chairs, he listened as she took command of the flow of conversation around her, not dominating it like so many he had come across in power, but masterfully guiding it just where she wanted it.
That skill was one of the reasons he'd been drawn to her. They had met out of necessity, she in need of a reliable protector and him a reason to live, as well as a way out of easy reach of the PDF. They had been put in contact with one another, Jorik, who had become the now's gangs' backer. A noble in the highest levels of the hive, and if the hints about them were true, the planets as well.
Lanto also suspected the noble was Zardelle's biological father. Though Selina would never confirm it, and he had never asked. It didn't matter at the end of the day; he had grown to see her as his own. He had watched her grow up from a helpless infant to the commanding and hardened young woman she was now.
In that time, they had grown from a small-time gang of several people to what they were today. A gang reaching right up to the top of the spires. The early years of violence and bloodshed had bonded Lanto and Selina. First as comrades but then as more. He would never forget the razor edge they had walked, the constant fear. Even in the PDF, he had a sensible apprehension of the inquisitors, but that was nothing compared to actually having something to hide from one.
Not that he thought Zardelle was a heretic, but she was mutated and had that odd, unsettling aura around her. Many had mentioned it, but they refused to be scared of her. The mere mention that an inquisitor was in the system set the planet ablaze with strife, especially upon learning his name: Merek Firefist.
A pretentious name, until you learned it came from his perchance of exterminadusing worlds. Lanto had no idea what he was up to, but even hearing about it was enough for him to want no part of it. Rumours and fear spread throughout the hive cities like wildfire, igniting conflicts wherever it went. Families turning on one and other in the fear that they hadn't repented enough.
All in the fear of drawing his attention and being condemned as a heretic, losing the Emperor's blessing.
It was enough to stir the workers' zeal, proving their loyalty to the Emperor. It was why they had to flee; Zardelle's mutations made her a target, marked for death to prove loyalty to the Imperium.
Even the underhive hadn't escaped the inquisitors' influence. But that worked in their favour, killing the former leader of Glow Gate, shattering the gang and taking control of much of its former territory. Only the Trodden, controlling the main bridge, remained of the original gang.
They had only strengthened their position since then, slowly but surely expanding, not just in Glow Gate but throughout the hive. His training and their backer, who had supplied them everything from medicine to guns and rations, had made them a force to be reckoned with.
This allowed them to recruit more and with higher standards.
This was necessary since the gang was spread out over the vast distances of the hive. While powerful, they lacked the concentration of other gangs. This had never been a problem before, but perhaps that was an oversight. Few had dared to challenge them over the years, and none had been a real threat.