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-- Lieutenant Braun looked up as the sunlight pouring through the gap in the forest canopy dimmed. A large triangular shadow passed overhead, changing shape as the massive wings flapped slowly. He gripped his weapon in silence and motioned for his squad to do the same, a surreptitious gesture to avoid attention. The Catachans were well-trained; they stood motionless in defiance of their instinct to find somewhere to hide, as the slightest movement could give them away. The light brightened as the creature was hidden by the trees once again, but the squad remained still. That had been a large one; large enough to carry one of the aliens. He hadn’t seen any sign of a rider, but these Eldar were adept at concealing their presence. Any of the flying beasts could carry a scout, but killing every one just in case was not an option. If the animal didn’t scream as it died, the sound of gunfire or the flash of infrared on the alien scanners would tell their enemy exactly where the Catachans were.
Braun moved on, trusting his squad to follow – even turning his head would be an unnecessary risk. As he did so, he thought furiously. He remembered the beast that had taken Grice, a fanged biped taller than the trooper’s Sentinel. Then as well, Braun had had to choose – risk detection by shooting the animal, or abandon the struggling soldier to his fate as he was lifted from his walker’s cockpit. Leaving him hadn’t been easy.
But that had been a monster, designed for life as a jungle predator. Each member of the squad had grown up in an environment every bit as dangerous, fought on countless worlds with similar terrors. Braun remembered the stalker on Methuselah, before the survivors were evacuated. It had picked off his fellows one at a time, hunting them. He’d never seen it and never knew what it was. It was probably still there, preying on the traitors who’d taken the world. You never saw the stalker until it was too late, you didn’t survive its attack when it came. You only heard rumours, and wondered, and waited for the death which came to everyone who didn’t reach the transports, but you knew it was out there and you knew it was coming.
Here it was different. Here you didn’t even know if you were being stalked, whether your movements were being tracked, you simply had to assume the worst. The monsters weren’t the enemy. Creatures adapted to be perfect hunters lived on instinct, they were predictable. Here, the enemy wasn’t a beast, but an alien which relied on tactics and cunning, which had learned to make use of its environment, and that frightened him more than all the stalkers he could imagine.
His train of thought was interrupted by a sudden motion in the undergrowth to his left. Alien scouts, or frightened beasts? Beasts, he thought bitterly, only they let you know where they are. He’d heard rumours, from some of the survivors. Rumours of stampeding beasts, driven to flight by the Eldar. The alien beastriders would be among them, and in the confusion as you dived to avoid flailing claws you wouldn’t know which animals carried Eldar until they attacked. They didn’t do it all the time; too predictable. Sometimes, when the herds were spooked, it was something else entirely. Like the fliers, you’d only know the aliens were there when they were ready for you to.
Keller had been right, he thought, remembering the Commissar’s words. All Eldar, he had lectured upon their arrival, are masters of the battlefield. You can prepare, you can know every inch of your world, and still the well-planned Eldar attack will use your own planet against you. Know that the Eldar are able to fight you on your world and win, and never forget that this is their world. All the Catachans had thought he was exaggerating, that he didn’t understand just how well-equipped the jungle fighters were to fight on this sort of world, that he had underestimated them. Only now did Braun understand that this was an Eldar planet in more than name, or lines on a map. The Catachans fought for their world, keeping the jungle denizens at bay and fortifying their settlements, or abandoning them and moving on. But the aliens didn’t fight against their planet; they owned the very soul of this world, they used the world, and when they needed to they would use it as a weapon. He knew that if he looked into the eyes of any soldier following him, he would see the same understanding there. Braun knew that every one would fight to the last for the Emperor, but he also knew the truth had sunk in. The aliens wouldn’t attack until they needed to; they didn’t hunt, or stalk, because the humans’ own fear and ignorance had already cost them the battle.
There was no stampede, no flying scout. Balls of plasma erupted from nowhere, incinerating three soldiers. Braun didn’t even register who they were. All pretence at concealment gone, the Guardsmen flung themselves to the ground. Four never rose; a brief glimpse of a tall long-necked biped and its rider, the fate the Eldar wanted their enemies to see, and a fine mesh seemed to solidify out of the air and trap the prone humans, lacerating their bodies. Braun struggled to his feet, only to be knocked sprawling as another biped rushed straight for him. The rider trained some sort of weapon on him as he fell back, and then fired. --
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