Bragg’s Command
1.
The message contained precious little information. It had been thrust into Bragg’s hand by one of the battlefield relay servitors. It said simply to leave the Ghost’s trenches and to make way, urgently, to the quartering area of the Grismas Gaolers 4th Division. Gaunt had already authorised the request so Bragg was immediately dismissed from the Ghosts and sent on his way. He bumped into Larkin as he walked back from the front lines. The Ghost’s sniper had been concussed two days previously after the building he was using as a firing position had been demolished by a stray artillery round. He’d survived more or less intact, but Gaunt had ordered him to Dorden’s sickbay until the medic gave him permission to leave. As it turned out, Larkin felt that Dorden was being over cautious, and the sniper was going out of his mind with boredom. As soon as he’d seen Bragg, he’d been over for a chat, and as soon as Bragg told him about his special instructions, he’d decided to come along too.
They were surprised to find a Chimera waiting to take them to their destination. The driver checked Bragg’s ID, apparently not bothered than an extra trooper had come for the ride, and waved them into the back. Bragg ducked to avoid denting his head on the reinforced plating. Larkin, much smaller, and twice as talkative, had no such problem.
“So where we going again, Try?” he asked again.
“My orders are to report to Colonel Hastings. I’ve been seconded,” he let the last word ring out, relishing it. It sounded important. He knew that Larkin knew it sounded important. “You, on the other hand, are a bored squig-for-brains and trying to amuse yourself.”
“Aye,” admitted Larkin, peering happily out of the firing holes. “What do you think they want you for?”
“How should I know?” shrugged Bragg. “I’ve never heard of Hastings befo… Oh-“
He paused, recalling something from the last week.
“I know what this is about. Do you remember what Gaunt said about me? When I took out that Ork truck with the las-cannon? He said he hadn’t seen a better shot.”
Larkin, something of a perfectionist with a rifle, bristled.
“Try, it took you five goes to hit it. It wasn’t like it was small either, and it was painted bright red.”
“All Ork stuff is painted red.”
“Well, it should have been an easy target, then. You’d nearly emptied the battery pack by the time you hit the fething thing. I seriously doubt you’re here to give marksmanship lessons.”
Bragg sighed. He could have worked out that much himself. There was a reason he was called ‘Try again’. What Larkin failed to understand was that it was a remarkable feat of strength. Bragg was a large man; exceptionally so for the typically slender Taniths. The Las-cannon he’d shouldered was usually mounted on a tripod with a two man crew. Perhaps he was here to teach the Colonel’s men about – what was the word? – ingenuity.
The Chimera rattled and bounced around trenches, tracing a path parallel to the front lines. They were on Van Burg Prime, as were other units of the Guard, although they hadn’t seen much action so far. The Guard were ostensibly here to protect the planet from a marauding Waaargh which had launched from the adjoining star system, but already the fight had gone out of the Orks. Well, that wasn’t strictly true, it was just, as with many Ork war crusades, the greenskins had turned on each other before they’d even reached their enemies. The Waaargh fleet had splintered apart and Orkish craft had fallen on planets all over this sector. While none of the individual tribes were going to trouble any of the planetary systems, Orks had an aggravating habit of spreading spores and multiplying rapidly so several battalions of the Guard had been deployed across the star system to put down any greenskin threat. The bulk of the fighting was being done by Hasting’s command, the Grismas Gaolers 4th Division. The Tanith-First-and-Only had been deployed in support, and apart from the brief action that saw Larkin injured and Bragg’s improvisation with a heavy weapon, there hadn’t been a lot to do.
Bragg then was in a state of happy anticipation when the Chimera slowed to a halt and the deployment door swung open. They were surprised to see the officer already there, apparently waiting for them with some impatience.
“Thank the Emperor, you’re here,” said Colonel Hastings by means of introduction. Bragg pushed his bottom lip up, a gesture intended to let Larkin know that he knew how importantly he was being treated. They clambered out of the back of the Chimera, Bragg again remembering to duck. Hastings sized him up and apparently liked what he saw.
“Yes, yes, you should do nicely.”
Before Bragg could ask exactly why he was here – Gaunt’s orders had omitted that specific part – the Colonel was moving off over the training ground, marching at a brisk pace. He still managed to keep the conversation going.
“They’re tearing the place apart. We can’t get them to stop.”
Bragg put a burst on to catch up, with Larkin at his heels. He could see why he’d been requested for this. It sounded like the sort of work he was good at. He was good at cracking skulls, and he was looking forward to putting down some greenskins.
He stopped though, suddenly anxious, when he saw the wide grin on Larkin’s face.
“What’s the matter with you?” Bragg asked, feeling very suspicious of anything that made Larks happy.
“Oh, nothing,” said Larks, the picture of innocence. “I’ve just remembered something special about Hasting’s unit, that’s all.”
“Well, are you going to tell me, then?” Bragg asked Larkin, now feeling very uncomfortable.
Larkin’s eyes sparkled with amusement, but he didn’t answer.
His confusion wasn’t helped by the fact they weren’t headed toward the front lines, but rather towards a Barracks set about a mile behind the trenches. And already he could hear the commotion inside. A line of troopers stood around the outside of the Barracks, apparently guarding their own quarters. The Colonel stopped before he crossed the line. The noise inside was increasing now – loud brays of something bestial and apparently very unhappy.
The Colonel turned back to address Bragg.
“Okay,” he said, catching his breath. “I’ll come in with you, but I’ll be honest: if you can’t get control, then I’m not sticking around. Ready?”
Bragg had no idea if he was ready or not, but he nodded anyway. The line of guardsmen opened up to let the three of them through, and then they were at the door to the Barracks. Bragg noticed, with some concern, that the thick steel had been dented in several places. Apparently from the inside.
“Remember,” whispered Hastings opening the door. “Act like you’re in charge.”
2.
The barracks was probably designed to billet about fifty men. It had undergone some intensive reconstruction though, some deliberate and some definitely unintended. If there had been twenty-five bunks here once, they’d been removed and replaced with ten, much larger mattresses. Bragg wasn’t an expert on these matters, but he very much doubted the beds had been supplied smashed to kindling, or that the wreckage that had been created so that it could have been wielded around the nine angry Ogryns in the barracks.
“Aw feth,” he said, surveying the damage and the rampaging Abhumans. Bragg had seen Waaarghs that had caused less devastation than this.
The Ogryns were highly agitated and were expressing this by smashing the barracks, and each other, up. Two of them were rolling on the floor together, punching and biting, and the ground trembled like it was being struck by artillery fire. So far they hadn’t been noticed, although in the noise and the confusion it wasn’t that surprising. The Colonel cupped his hands over Bragg’s ear and shouted to be heard over the mayhem inside.
“They’ve been like this all morning. Ever since their Bone’ead stepped on a mine.”
“Is he alright?” asked Bragg. Ogryns were notoriously tough.
“No, he trod on another straight away. We’re still finding bits of him in the trenches. We told them everything was fine, and brought them back here, but they’ve figured out he’s not coming back. Duck!”
Bragg didn’t catch the warning at first, coming so naturally into the flow of the Colonel’s conversation, but soon understood when an Ogryn blasted an enormous hole in the barracks wall with his ripper gun: a clunky, big-bore automatic shotgun designed especially for the abhumans. The three of them cowered on the floor as the retort echoed around the room. The Ogryn in question looked at his own gun in a state of confusion, and then turned it so he could look down the barrel.
“Aw what?” said Larkin, his hands over his head.
The Ogyrn was reaching for the trigger, but was having trouble locating it as he’d reversed the natural position of the gun.
“Is he trying to kill himself?” said Larkin, his voice whiny and high.
“Probably not,” sighed the Colonel. “They’ve never really understood why the guns ‘go boom’.”
“Then what’s he doing?” shouted Bragg.
“Seeing what blew out the wall and made the noise, I’d guess.”
The Ogryn had now found the trigger, but fortunately for him, was pulling it, instead of pushing it.
“He’s going to blow his head off,” said Larkin.
“Mmm,” agreed the Colonel, making no move to stop him.
“Feth,” swore Bragg, pushing himself to his feet. “Oi!” he shouted.
It was loud enough to make Larkin’s ears hurt, but nowhere near loud enough to distract the rampaging Ogryns. The one wielding the ripper gun was now shaking his weapon up and down in an effort to make it fire.
“OI!” screamed Bragg as loud as he could. It worked. The Ogryns stopped as one, including the armed brute, who dropped his gun in shock. It landed on the floor, pointing directly at the three of them, but mercifully didn’t fire.
Larkin felt sick.
The Ogryns apparently found their unity and rounded on Bragg. The trooper realised then this was the first time he’d ever been this close to these abhumans and felt a sweat break out on his forehead. Ogryns were the end result of centuries of life on high-grav planets. They were nearly nine feet tall and nearly as wide, and sculpted out of muscle and ugliness. Although physically imposing, their evolution had taken several steps back with regards to their intellect and they were considerably less smart than the average Ork. They were, however, every bit as capable of the Greenskin’s viciousness and brutality. They ganged up on him, and Bragg, a good head taller than most men, was still an easy two feet smaller than the brutes crowding him. Fortunately for him, though, and the Imperium in general, Ogryns love the Emperor and have some understanding that they are on the same side as the Guardsmen.
“What you want?” said the Ogryn who had been about to blow his own head off.
“Yeah!” agreed another wearing a big iron helmet.
For such spectacularly ugly creatures, they were strangely uniform – each had a big squashed nose that looked like it had been broken and not reset properly (which it probably had), squinty eyes, few teeth and big, gaudy earrings.
“What you want?” said another, apparently not realising the question had already been asked.
“Yeah!” chimed the one wearing the helmet again.
“You Ogryn?” asked another, perfectly innocently.
Bragg flustered, felt his cheeks burn. He’d been called something unpleasant things before but – Sweet Emperor! – never an Ogryn.
“No!” he said.
He didn’t dare turn around, and he couldn’t hear anything, but he knew – knew – that Larkin was laughing right now.
The Ogryns took this news badly. They stamped nearer to Bragg. The trooper, for his part, was rooted to the ground by some vague idea it would be a bad thing to run, and sheer fear.
“For the Emperor’s sake, Bragg, tell them you’re in charge!” shouted the Colonel from behind him.
One of them was stooped over him now. Bragg could smell his bad breath. The reek of his sweat and odour surrounded him like an aura. He shouted his answer back without daring to turn around.
“But I’m not,” he said, somewhat feebly.
The Ogryn before him was breathing heavily and flexing his considerable muscles. Bragg couldn’t know this but only some dimly remembered code of conduct was stopping him from dismembering Bragg. The Ogryn was sure that the Commissars had told him that was a bad thing to do.
“Listen Trooper,” cried the Colonel, “If you can’t get them under control then they’re going to have to be put down. You look three-quarters stupid and hulking enough to be an Ogryn, why do you think Gaunt sent you? Now just act like one.”
Now he could hear Larkin laughing hysterically. Bragg wished he were anywhere else right now; the Frontlines, a dropship, the Warp, anywhere but here. He sighed, then sucked in his breath. Think Ogyrn.
“Of course, I’m yer bleedin’ Bone’ead,” he shouted back. His face was angled up and directly into the face of the Ogryn.
The abhuman seemed taken aback. “But you’s too short.”
“Yeah!” That was fething Iron hat again.
Bragg though quickly. “Not too short too stamp all over you!” he said, praying to the Emperor his bluff would hold.
The Ogryn blinked. Then again. Bragg wondered whether he’d break his fingers if he had to punch him.
Then, to his eternal relief, the Ogryn stepped back into the ranks of the others.
“Better!” shouted Bragg. His throat was getting sore. “Now, you better be ready to follow orders!”
The Ogryn that had been seconds away from pulverising him, beamed happily.
“Ogryn’s follow orders,” he said, showing a few mouldy teeth.
“Yeah!”
3.
By shouting as loud as he could, Bragg inserted himself as the Bone’ead. After much more shouting, and berating, he managed to get them busy trying to tidy up the brutalised barracks as best they could. There was a lot of shoving and arguing between them, but Bragg quickly realised he was going to have to accept this. While they were merrily tidying up, the Colonel slipped over to him.
“Good work, Bragg. I’ll be sure to tell Colonel-Commissar Gaunt how useful you’ve been.”
Bragg thought about the news of this spreading amongst the Ghosts.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t,” he said.
“Oh, don’t be so modest, Try,” said Larkin, appearing at his side. “I think Gaunt, Rawne, Corbec and the others would love to hear about how you can pass for an Ogryn.”
Bragg looked withering at him, but Larkin didn’t care. The sniper’s smile was so wide it looked like it would break his face in two.
“Anyway,” said Hastings, dragging the conversation back to its purpose, “there’s another Bone’ead being sent down from the fleet, but he won’t be here till tomorrow. You’ll have to babysit them till then.”
Larkin laughed so much he had to wipe tears away from his eyes.
“Sir,” asked Bragg quietly, “I request then that Trooper Larkin stays with me till then.”
“Fine,” said the Colonel.
Larkin stopped abruptly. “What? I can’t-“
“Now, now,” cautioned Bragg, “You have your orders, Larks.”
“But look at them!” he whined. “I’ll be trodden on!”
“I’ll take that risk,” said Bragg.
He turned to the officer. “Anything else I need to know?”
Hasting scratched his head. “Don’t think so, should be a quiet night.”
The Officer thanked him again and left. Bragg watched him leave, feeling that the Colonel was going to turn out to be wrong.
4.
It was late into the night when they finally got some shut-eye. The Ogryns had eventually found a mattress each and settled down. So far, there’d been a brawl over whose mattress was whose, and then one of them had tried to take his ripper gun to bed with him and blown a hole in the floor. Bragg had sent Larkin out to frantically explain to the watch that they weren’t under attack. Finally, torturously, he’d managed to get them all to lie down and close their eyes.
Bragg was exhausted and ready to turn in himself. There was a spare bed as the Bone’ead no longer needed it. He sat on that, and felt his eyes close all by themselves.
“Boss?” asked one. The Ogryn was making an effort to moderate his voice, but it was still uncomfortably loud.
“Yes?” he said, hoping to convey some of his displeasure with his tone of voice.
“Me want story.”
Oh Feth, thought Bragg.
“Story?”
“Yeah. ‘bout Emperor or somethink.”
“Yeah!” said the usual echo.
Now they were waking up again, and more alarmingly, waving their ripper guns in the air.
“Alright,” sighed Bragg. He couldn’t be bothered to go into the Horus Heresy at this time of night, so he decided to tell them about another special man.
“I’ll tell you about my Commissar,” he started, forgetting to speak in Ogryn dialect. Fortunately, none of the abhumans seemed to notice.
“Me like Com-miss-ar,” said one.
“Yeah!”
“Alright, settle down. Commissar Gaunt is the leader – ah, boss, of my regiment: The Tanith First-and-Only…”
In turn, as much as they tried to fight it, the Ogryn succumbed to sleep. Bragg and Larkin sat on the mattress, listening to them snore and watched the stars twirl slowly in the night sky, courtesy of the gaping hole in the barrack wall.
5.
The klaxons awoke them all with a start. Bragg hadn’t realised he’d dosed off until his ears were crackling with the sound of the screaming alarm and the Ogryn’s loud braying, apparently in competition.
“What’s going on?” he asked, hand to his head.
Larkin was already lucid, and rummaging for his rifle.
“We’re under attack,” he said. “Greenskins.”
The alarm confirmed it. An Ork raiding party was using the last of the night cover to attack the base.
Bragg didn’t know what annoyed him more; the assault on the base or the fact that all the Ogyrns were awake and howling after he’d settled them down.
“What do we do?” asked Bragg.
“Why are you asking me?” complained Larkin. “I don’t know. Fight, I suppose.”
“What about them? The Colonel told me to keep them here,” he asked, pointing to the angry mob.
“Sweet Emperor, Bragg. How about we use them instead?”
Bragg wondered why he hadn’t thought of that. He took a deep breath. Larkin covered his ears.
“Ogryns!” he shouted, almost shaking the walls. “Get your guns!”
