Beg'el

The leaves rattled quietly in the afternoon breeze. Mesh’a used the opportunity to adjust his position, sliding his hip against a nearby log to take part of the weight. Breathing out slowly, he linked his HUD to his carbine’s markerlight display once more. The world turned blue, and he experienced disorientation as the world merged with the sights of his weapon. The sight purred quietly as it scanned the dead woods for targets.

The terrain before Mesh’a’s Pathfinder team sloped away gently to a shallow river, its brown waters cutting a path between two empty fields. The trees were thin, but afforded enough cover for the five Fire Caste warriors to do their job. Their olive plates and khaki fatigues weren’t a perfect match for the winter-deadened foliage, but they were concealed well among several fallen logs. The enemy would have to be incredibly lucky to spot them before it was too late.

Short bursts of gunfire sounded in the near distance, rolling across the hills and echoing crazily. Mesh’a’s earpiece immediately lit up with reports.

“Enemy camp engaged, falling back now. A sizeable force is in pursuit, they will be in range in two minutes.”

The cadre’s shas’nel cut in a moment later. “Carry on as planned. Marker teams, report.”

“Team six, in position.” Mesh’a heard the other Pathfinder teams respond in turn.

“Standby for engagement.”

Crude engines roared from the far side of the river as the enemy prepared for pursuit. The Stealth teams were somewhere in front of him, but their bafflers were up and they hadn’t yet activated their IR strobes. Once they used their jump jets, though, he knew he would seem them. Smoke belched skyward as the first tracked vehicles rose over the ridge, in pursuit of a foe they could not see. Their ramshackle hulls swayed violently as the amalgamations carried on towards the river. Beg’el howled as they clung to their vehicles, longing for a battle that the Tau did not plan to give them.

Mesh’a activated his marker, followed closely by the rest of his squad. “This is Pathfinder Six,” he declared, “be advised that I have two Beg’el vehicles approaching the river.”

“Very good,” responded the shas’nel. “Keep them marked, we are tasking anti-armor now.”

More of the greenskin warriors appeared, running toward the river on foot. Their bestial howls tore through the morning air; Mesh’a was disgusted with their crude barbarity and mindless violence. Today, they would be shown the ways of disciplined warfare.

Jump jets flared at the river as the stealth teams leapt across. Their outlines were visible for a moment as they did so, and the Beg’el fired useless volleys that cut limbs down and blasted gouges into the trees. A moment later, the stealth teams activated their IR strobes.

“We are clear,” came the voice of the shas’vre. “Engage when ready.”

“All teams, execute primary attack plan.” Mesh’a’s blood ran faster at the Fireblade’s words, and a smile crept onto his face as he heard a Sky Ray empty its missile rack.

Half of the greenskins had disembarked before the seekers lobbed in from above. The first transport took a pair of missile through the engine block and cabin, disabling the vehicle and killing both driver and gunner instantly. The remainder of the Beg’el on the back leapt clear as their less fortunate comrades were struck.

Missiles punched in across the deck of the second vehicle, ripping into the fuel tanks and igniting the vehicle’s reserves. The primary detonations sent the warriors pinwheeling from the transport in a hail of spinning limbs and torn armor. The fuel then ignited, sending a jet of flame up to bathe the survivors in promethium.

“Vehicles disabled,” Mesh’a reported. “Survivors are regrouping to cross the river. More Beg’el are approaching on foot.”

“Numbers?”

Mesh’a blocked off groups in the sea of green. “Three hundred, at least.”

“Target the largest groups. We are tasking support elements to your area.”

The first of the Beg’el came splashing up out of the river, gripping the muddy banks in their thick hands to haul themselves up. Mesh’a tried to put them out of his mind, switching his markerlight to the thickest concentration of foes beyond the river.

“Team six has designators on the Beg’el horde,” he intoned. A light of affirmation appeared on his HUD, but he received no audio return.

“Beg’el infiltrators,” hissed on of the shas’la. “Just below us.”

Mesh’a shifted his eyes to the leaf-strewn depression, just beyond their position. He was careful not to allow movement in his markerlight while doing so. He watched for several seconds before a patch of muddy grass detached itself from the foliage, revealing the hulking mass of a greenskin kommando.

“Scanners should have picked them up,” Mesh’a mused quietly.

“They’ve slipped beneath our notice a dozen times,” muttered another Pathfinder. “I don’t understand how they do it.”

“Do we engage?” asked another shas’la. He was newer to the team, and the edge of anxiety in his voice shined over the comm-link.

“No. Maintain your marker pattern, for the Tau’va.” Mesh’a caught a few nervous shuffles in response, but his brothers held their pulse carbines on the distant enemy.

Solid-shot fire whistled past their heads as the Beg’el infiltrators spotted them. Mesh’a flinched as one of the high-caliber rounds smashed into the log he was using as cover, tossing fragments of wood against his helmet.

“Contact, Beg’el infiltrators!” he called over the comm-link. Another emerald light blinked as his response. The greenskins roared at the prospect of violence, drawing crude cleavers and knives as they launched themselves up the hill.

In his periphery, Mesh’a saw a trio of Hammerheads glide between gray trunks, their green armor announcing their presence as boldly as the coming of the Tau Empire. Their railguns turned soundlessly on their mounts, declining in elevation until they drew in on the Beg’el horde near the river. The air burst into flame as three projectiles crossed the distance in the blink of an eye, called to target by the Pathfinders’ markers.

The submunitions detonated at chest height, tearing into the greenskins and the earth around them. Everything disappeared in a cloud of dust, but Mesh’a had seen enough aftermath from Hammerhead attacks to know that none of the enemy still lived.

“Target destroyed,” came the cool voice of the Hammerhead squadron leader.

“Prioritize remaining foes,” came the shas’nel. “Team Four, Team Six, fall back to transports for extraction.”

“Group one, move!” As the first half of his Pathfinder team broke cover to retreat, Mesh’a and the remaining two opened fire with their underslung grenade launchers.

Plasmic fire rolled across the nearest Beg’el as the grenades detonated. The survivors reeled away from the blasts, and Mesh’a drew a bead on the biggest of their number. His colossal arms were trying in vain to beat out the fire that licked against his leather armor. The pulse carbine bucked in the shas’ui’s hands, blowing the creature’s head out in a spray of super-heated gore.

“Go.” Mesh’a didn’t question the other half of his team. Instead he broke cover and ran toward the edge of the woods. Pulse fire flashed between group two as they ran, drawing grunts from the pursuers as they were hit. Dead limbs fell and blasts of leaves sprayed up as rounds from the clumsy enemy weapons tried to find their mark.

Mesh’a turned to cover another maneuver just as the smart missiles struck home. Volleys of warheads fell from above, bursting wetly among the last of the foe. The sound of gunfire faded into the distance, where the greenskins were still doing battle with the rest of the cadre.

Another team of Pathfinders emerged from the trees nearby. Their shas’ui took a moment to consider the slain Beg’el as the Devilfish hovered into view, their auto-loaders refilling the spent smart missile racks. The second shas’ui nodded her head to Mesh’a, a gesture of respect which he quickly returned. The Devilfish ramps lowered, and the two teams moved soundlessly to embark for their next maneuver against the foe.