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***
Melchoir winced in pain. He squirmed underneath his flak vest, but there was no way he could get his armor to set on him without the pauldrons digging into the wounds on his shoulders. One of the gifts of the Inquisition was amazing powers of healing. Unfortunately for Melchoir, it wasn't perfect.
Foresight was another gift of the Inquisition, and it turned out that that wasn't perfect either. For the last two weeks, Inquisitor Druxus had pulled together the remnants of the planetary defense force, and the remnants of the Foleran army on the planet, and had set them to the task of creating a defensive perimeter around the last stronghold on the planet - the ruined city of Cashan. They were few, but their enemy were fewer.
Druxus had scried the start of the battle to take place on the south side, and in two weeks. The grand assault was starting here, on the east side of the city, and right now, days ahead of predictions.
The planetary defense forces woven together with Folerans made up the outer defense with the best forces available kept in reserve with the inquisitor in the center of the city. Well, they were in the center until a few hours ago. Now they were coming up onto the east side, scrambling to take up the best defensive positions they could.
Melchoir writhed under his armor as his small vehicular column entered a ruined building.
He could hear the sounds of battle just ahead of him. On the other side of a line of towers and down the hillside was the first line of defense. Even Melchoir, without being able to see the combat, could tell that the guardsmen below were losing.
The officer switched on his transport's vox set and swept the channels. He could hear Druxus commanding reserve forces, and ordering in what meager air power they had at their disposal to strike immediately. He could hear the panicked cries of other guard officers desperate for reinforcements. His supercharged tanks had gotten too far ahead, however, so for now, he'd just have to wait.
He flicked off the vox, and listened intently to the sounds of battle up ahead. Fewer and fewer lascannons and battlecannons being fired. The same number of strange xenos and psychic ones keeping on. The guardsmen down there were getting butchered, and he was stuck waiting up here. He felt the tug inside of himself to lead his tanks down, and charge in to save the hapless soldiers below. He was actually a little surprised that he didn't.
These last few months of fighting had worn down the senior officer. His calm, but urgent sense of ethics had been trickling out of him. His mind, normally abuzz with creativity was beginning to slacken into apathy. He gritted his teeth again as the pain from his right arm shot up into him.
This was it, he supposed. If his priest were still alive, he'd tell him that the measure of a man isn't what he does after he's decided to fight, but what he does when, completely worn out, he approaches the decision to give up. It wasn't what one could do, it's what one chose to do after they'd exceeded their limits.
He was Melchoir Theleos, after all, thankless servant of the Emperor, and it was the service, not the Melchoir, that mattered now.
The officer felt something flutter in his mind. He turned to the right to see Druxus appear from the ruins behind him, with the ten best, most highly trained soldiers likely in the entire sub-sector in tow. It appeared that they had caught up. He should probably move out, now.
The officer tapped into his micro-bead.
"This is Melchoir. Let's get up onto this street and follow it down to the right."
The motor pool began to stir itself. The vehicles began to move around each other and through gaps in the ruins. Awkwardly, they began to assemble into a column and roll down the narrow street.
As the treads ground forward, the sounds of combat to his left now started to become present. Ahead of him, the paladin terminators approached one of the towers. Things were getting set up for immanent action.
To his left blinked a brilliant flash of light and an odd fizzling sound. He turned and could see a monstrous mechanical dreadknight teleport next to the tower near him. Then another, further away appeared before their very eyes.
The column rolled up to meet the terminators in the middle, coming up to a set of defensive positions.
With a deafening crack, something explosive hit one of the ruins nearby. Stray small arms fire was beginning to zing overhead and patter around them.
The battle was about to begin.
The first few fleeing guardsmen broke over the crest of the hill followed by the first few pursuing enemy. Melchoir watched in frustration as they were gunned down both with precision fire.
Someone began to open fire further to the right. Melchoir craned his head to see what was going on. The multilaser at the front of his column let up with a dull, thudding noise before quickly ceasing fire.
Melchoir tried to adjust one of his shoulderpads as small arms fire began to patter on the ruins high above him.
From behind, a small unit of the planetary defense force broke out of the ruins onto the narrow street, fleeing for their lives. Melchoir turned to look. Were they about to get flanked?
As his gaze swept over, it caught on something. To his left, on the low platform, someone was standing. In its hand was a small metallic device. With a droning cackle, it tossed the grenade in front of itself.
Immediately the air began to explode with a strange, sucking violence. The wind whipped up the street and into the device. Reality began to warp and heave as a vortex of time and matter began to rip a bale green glow in the platform.
Melchoir braced himself as the small tempest began to grow, voraciously ripping into the world around it like a starving man on a meat shank. He watched in horror as the maelstrom grew and began to disintegrate everything nearby. Bricks began to fly off the tower and cast themselves into the void. The nearby dreadknight struggled as hard as it could, but it was too close. Slowly the mechanical creature began to scoot and slip towards the vortex.
In an angry flash of power, the platorm began to dissolve, followed by the tower and the dreadknight. Melchoir shouted for his tanks to drive forwards. To do anything. His voice was completely lost over the gale. The heavy vehicles began to lean slightly against the maddening gash in reality. Bits of the ruins on the other side of the street began to flake off, and the dust all around them began to cloud in towards the spinning terror.
Melchoir shielded his eyes as the blasting dust flew in from behind him. He could scarcely see, much less hear over the screaming disintegration around him.
The imploding cloud of debris and crackling, otherworldly violence began to spin away from the officer, skipping and studdering as began to roll back down the hill. From behind it came the sounds of thunder and lightning, and the booming echo of gunfire in the chaos.
Melchoir turned, averting his gaze from the rolling whirlwind. Then he realised it, the sounds of battle weren't only coming from in front of him down the hill.
A great, booming crack filled the air as the floating barges fired forked blasts of lightning into the rear armor of the fire tanks. The vehicles instantly burst into flames and then exploded, spraying huge jets of flaming fuel arcing high into the air.
Thick, black smoke began to gush out and sift through the windows of the ruined buildings, the inky cloud rolling over the transports as the toxic vapors fled towards the crackling vortex across the street.
Meanwhile, the enemy began to pour around him from behind the armored column, blocking off the street as they, chased after another wave of broken guardsmen. An enemy vehicle blitzed up the hill and took aim at the Leman Russ at the rear letting loose a single shot. Its massive cannon slammed into the side of the heavy tank, instantly bursting the lumbering behemoth into flames.
From behind the vortex and to the right, enemy infantry began to run head-on into the armored column. Quickly they readied their anti-tank weapons and began to fire into the chimeras from point-blank range. Baleful streams of energy crashed into the transports from the side, some whippnig up into the air as they got caught in the maelstrom, but even more crashing into the side armor.
The transports bucked violently against the storm of anti-tank fire. The chimera in front of Melchoir suddenly and violently detonated, flinging huge chunks of twisted steel up into the air mixed with equipment and body parts.
Melchoir's chest seized. He choked on the thick black smoke as his own transport reeled under the power of an enemy lance weapon. He was completely trapped. He was completely surrounded.
With a great, heaving push, he wrested himself free from his transport, popping out the top hatch with a painful grunt. He staggered over to the wheel well, trying to keep low as gunfire slammed into the other side of his vehicle. He could only hope that the thick smoke would obscure him. He turned and looked back down into the hatch.
"Come on!" he shouted as loud as he could, "Get out of there!"
First one shot and then another pierced the side armor of the vehicle. Melchoir reached down with his power fist. One of his command squad reached up and grabbed on. With super-human strength, the servo motors whirred angrily as the officer lifted the veteran clear of the top hatch with one arm.
The rear door opened, and a few other survivors of his command staff bailed out. A torrent of fire slammed into the chimera against the gale force winds. Melchoir and his aide jumped clear of the transport and the survivors all ran for cover in the ruins.
The officer pushed against the flying debris and stumbled over the rubble in front of him.
Then, suddenly, the sky above him lit up. Against the slanted pillars of smoke returned a slanting pillar of fire cascading down from the air. Through the swirling smoke, enemy aircraft began to descend upon them, strafing down at the exposed infantry desperately fleeing the wreckage of their transports.
The long blast of fire sprayed down over Melchoir's head and cascaded down into some henchmen that had just disembarked from behind them. They instantly went up in flames, incinerating in the swift flame of the aircraft.
The command squad hugged into the ruins harder, but they couldn't be safe here. One of the barges glided forward slowly towards them, the metallic overlord staring coldly at the fire tank near them. With implacable malice, he floated forward, the other barge blasting lightning into the tank as it struggled to turn and face the enemy.
With horrific rending, the guns managed to peel and ruin, causing the vehicle to break apart into chunks and collapse onto the ground.
The barge lord entered over the remains. It stared down at Melchoir.
The officer's mind raced. There was only one thing he could do.
"Charge!" he bellowed, activating the disruptor field on his power fist.
He raced forward, followed by his command staff. Others nearby who had been fleeing their ruined chimera ran into the barge as they turned the corner of the ruins. They regained their senses just enough to prep a few krak grenades before running away.
The barge lord fired its arcane wand down at them, sending beams of light towards the command squad. One nicked Melchoir's refractor field, while others landed on the guardsmen to his left and right, causing them to instantly disintegrate from the inside out in a flash of baleful glow.
Melchoir, slowed by the wreckage, jumped forwards towards the barge.
He reached up and ripped one of the operators out of the chariot, pulling most of it out - the parts that weren't strapped down. His shoulders stabbed pain into his being as he desperately tried to scramble into the vehicle. He crawled up between the seat and its console and picked over the remains of the driver. He soon stood face to face with the overlord.
Melchoir remembered the last time he had fought one of these creations. He took in a deep breath and leapt forwards. The lord attempted an attack that missed, and the officer brought his armored gauntlet down into the chest of the overlord. With little effort, the enemy's chest collapsed in on itself. It twitched violently in a spray of electricity before it ceased to move.
The officer was temporarily stunned. It had been more difficult last time.
His brief thought was interrupted by the screaming of demonic aircraft above. The warp-fuelled dragon-creature swooped overhead, preparing to deliver another long blast of flame onto the ground. With a swift beat of its wing, the flier rammed into the ruin, clipping off most of the jagged top floor. The metal wings ground off huge chunks as it flew, cascading a sheet of concrete rubble downward.
Melchoir attempted to jump off the barge, but became entangled. He tried to shield his face with his powerfist as rocks and dust flung down on top of him. The barge twisted away under the falling debris, knocking the officer off, landing him prone on the ground.
More rubble collapsed on top of him.
The officer coughed loudly as the fizzling refractor field shot ozone into his lungs. His feet, trapped under fallen stone, throbbed with pain while the unhealed avulsions on his shoulders slammed into his mind. Above him, the enemy fliers circled. From across the street and in front of the towers, they were beginning to pour in. The paladins desperately hung on, fighting off everyone in sight.
A lone terminator, split off from the others, was charged by enemy infantry overwhelming them. More steamed in behind them.
With overbearing power, the rushing throng of enemy infantry overran the terminators. They were breaking through.
Melchoir looked around. His position was collapsing. They were surely doomed. The only thing that could possibly save them now... the only hope of reinforcement...
A new sound pierced into Melchoir's hearing. It came from the air. It was more fliers.
THEIR fliers!
A formation of vendetta fighters came screaming in. Dozens of aircraft, representing the last of the loyalist air force.
The vendettas quickly broke off and began to engage the aerial targets before them.
They sunk their teeth deep into their enemy, the long fangs of their lascannons piercing through their thin hides. A massive barrage of skyborne weaponry instantly exploded the closest enemy fighter, and hit the dragon, causing it to screech as it banked away. The vendettas gave chase.
A fantastic dogfight erupted above the towers, the front guard aircraft mercilessly hunting down the enemy fliers, banking and weaving back and forth. The pilots stuck on their targets, the gunners ripped them apart.
The enemy aircraft began to scatter in a panic as the aerial cavalry charged down upon them.
From behind came in a second and third wave, ripping through the sky and firing down against ground targets as they just began to crest the hill.
The vendettas slowed down to apply the thickest carpet of fire, pounding mercilessly onto the enemy below.
Melchoir breathed a quick sigh of relief as the aircraft flew overhead. But he knew that it would take more than that to save them from an imminent death.
They needed more troops. Failing that, they needed some kind of plan.
As the fourth, final wave of fighters flew overhead, Melchoir saw it. The vendettas slowed down, allowing the fighters in front of them to break away and handle their own targets. First one and then another began to open up their back hatches.
The aircraft began to slow almost to a halt over the towers. From the darkness of their cabins, strange payloads began to appear. Giant metal casks of something.
With a shove, the aircraft simultaneously deployed their cargo from their line hovering above the advancing enemy. A half dozen fuel tanks, plummeting towards the earth. The vectored engines of the vendettas roared to life as they sped off as quickly as they could.
Melchoir closed his eyes and tucked under the rubble.
***
The Empire 
1500 pts
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