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***
The thick, rolling cloud of artillery-borne smoke wafted away in front of them as the chimeras drove forward. Melchoir's chimera ran over a pothole. The officer bounced painfully into the side of the top hatch. As bad as he was off, though, he really didn't have much right to complain. Inquisitor Druxus had nearly been killed holding onto the eastern gate against the main attack the previous day. Inquisitor Amns was also pretty badly off, though he seemed to hide his injury well behind his usual easy charisma.
Things were going about as well as Melchoir could have hoped for, actually. The enemy was attacking in strength, and were inflicting horrific losses, but the planetary defenders were doing what guardsmen do best - hold the line, and kill by attrition. As the chance of a breakout from the enemy's main thrust became more real, and as the chance of some form of outflanking maneuver slimmer, the forces of the defenders became thinner on the perimeter so that more could be thrown against the main assault.
That made the defender's command staff and attendant fast, elite forces just that much more important. Unfortunately, the many wounds that Druxus had taken had all but drained him of his foresight. If they enemy was going to try a late-game flanking maneuver, they would only have conventional warning, as Amns wasn't a latent psychic, and Melchoir wouldn't use witchcraft even if he had the ability on principle.
Where sorcery had failed, though, a network of diligent scouts and a bottomless barrel of optics had done its job. That morning, the enemy HAD tried a flanking maneuver, around the south side of the city. It was the part of the defences that had the heaviest static and passive armaments, as it's where the enemy had been expected to arrive in the first place. Melchoir had arranged a cunning plan to trap them. He had fought with this enemy too long not to pick up their tricks.
On more than one occasion, the enemy had attacked through rainstorms, smoke, and other conditions of poor visibility and maneuverability. They had been "unpredictable" long enough to become predictable. Melchoir had ordered artillery to fire smoke near the enemy. Like clockwork, the "counterattacked" through... straight into a minefield. After a morning of getting bogged down and picked at by what artillery was available, they had cleared the field and were in the process of outflanking it.
Now it was Melchoir's turn. He got permission to assemble the best forces available to outflank the outflankers. They would attack with a wide, swinging arc with dozens of vehicles, this time, under the cover of artillery smoke of their own. The officer was gambling that the enemy would be so off-put that someone had figured out their behavior patterns that they would clumsily attempt to start mixing things up now.
And so here he was, trailing after a towering cloud of gently-drifting smoke.
The vox crackled and popped to life.
"Marshal Theleos, this is third platoon. We have spotted the enemy, permission to engage."
The officer reached down and tapped the button. "Granted," he spoke dryly. In a moment the smoke wall a half a mile to his right began to light up with flashes of gunfire followed by the immediate tympanic drone of multilaser fire. The officer tapped his micro bead and gave the order for everyone nearby to look out.
The enemy was here after all. The only question would be their disposition.
Melchoir peered through the smoke in front of him, hoping to catch a glimpse. Then he saw it, xenos forces desperately scrambling to form up into some sort of defense.
It appeared that "by surprise" would be the disposition. The officer couldn't stifle a bit of a smirk.
"This is Melchoir," he spoke into his micro bead, "Enemy straight ahead. Engage and prepare for counterattack."
With smooth movements, his transports and fire tanks began to form up into a wedge, moving into cover to take up fire lanes. As the smoke rolled away, the Folerans' armored fist prepared to give them hell.
The air exploded with the firepower of flame tanks and multilasers. The broadside ripped across the clearing and slammed into the enemy transports on the other side. The enemy hastily attempted to return fire, and the two lines of medium vehicles blasted volleys into each other.
Nearby trees began to splinter and break apart as multilaser fire swept over the infantry. The fire tanks slammed melta cannon fire into the transports. The murderous wall of firepower quickly started finding its targets. The nearest enemy chimera suddenly exploded in the face of multimelta fire. As the survivors began to break out of the wreck, the chimera next to it suddenly burst into flames. Anti-tank firepower was returned against Melchoir's tanks. The concrete face of a ruined building exploded in a shower of dust as first one and then another railgun shot blasted through. After another moment, the hellhound hiding in the building suffered a hit that sheared off the front face of the vehicle just as it was spraying its own burning fuel onto infantry on the other side of the field.
The sudden, overwhelming burst of violence was too much for the enemy. Some scattered, looking for safety, while others began to run away from the battle entirely.
To Melchoir's left, the small, battered remnants of Druxus' personal guards teleported themselves onto the grass in front of them. Immediately they began to fire their storm bolters into the exposed enemy from point-blank range as they advanced.
This was perfect. A fast attack through obscurement right into a disorganized enemy. They had good armor and local killing power superiority. Scarcely had things gone so well for him.
But he had fought this enemy enough to know better. Their outflankers had reserves, of course, and if there was anything that this enemy liked, it was counterattacking.
He just had to know where the hammer was going to fall. All around him, his entire attacking force was meeting with the enemy along a mile-long ribbon of steel and fire. The officer was well aware of the theory of supremacy of defense.
As the enemy began to disintegrate and rout before the murderous onslaught of his tanks, he looked all around him. Waiting.
All they needed to do... was...
Then he heard it.
"Enemy outflankers!" Melchoir shouted into the vox, "First platoon, shift fire right at four!"
The enemy burst forward with a volley of high-strength guns. The chimeras rocked away from the new threat as their thin side armor struggled to fend off their blows. One of the vehicles eviscerated apart as the tanks began to form up into a defensive wall.
"Come on!" Melchoir shouted, "Get together!"
Plasma and melta fire streamed around him as the vehicles locked together into formation.
But just as the enemy was preparing for the attack in front of them, they weren't aware that there was a bigger threat lurking.
And it was right behind them.
"Fire!" Melchoir shouted, but his guns were already ahead of him. The blistering flashes of plasma bolts and melta beams were returned in kind. A dazzling light show of murder sprayed out across the battlefield. Heavy flame thrower fire mixed in with plasma guns and melta cannons to return against the exact same fired into them. A colossal explosion rocked the punishing display as the assassin threw a demolition charge right into the middle of the enemy.
The ground heaved shredded hunks of xenos through the air. Many were hit again a second and third time before they hit the ground in a scene of complete and absolute carnage.
Melchoir had been ready for them, and he had reaped the rewards.
The only survivor was the enemy monstrous creature, which quickly began to jump away from the murderous cloud of death.
As the rest of the enemy fell, it managed to hide behind the nearby tower.
Melchoir watched as the wounded Druxus moved to intercept, directing plasma fire from his chimera into the mechanical beast out of view.
With the counterattack thwarted, Melchoir turned his attention back to the main fight. The enemy had been largely immobile, likely due to being so disorganized. A few were valiantly moving forward to make a stand, but the enemy was already largely crushed.
All that was left to do was to clean up.
***
The eight of them sat around the table. The lighting in the room, if you could even call it that, winked and choked against the sputtering power output of the generators. Everything was oddly calm.
The enemy, it appeared, was regrouping and preparing for their next, what had to be final, assault.
Inquisitor Druxus sat slumped in his chair at the head of the table, bags of fluid dripping intravenously into his body. Next to him was Amns. Neither of them looked particularly pleased.
Next to Melchoir were two other Foleran officers. Neither of them looked like they had been officers for long. Across the table were three members of the planetary defence force. None of them looked like they'd ever seen much of combat before this fight. One of them was too old to be a proper soldier anyways, and another far too fat.
"And furthermore," Druxus continued in a soft but commanding voice, "With their attack rebuffed, this gives us liberty of forces, and more options for action. Kerik," he said, looking at the old man across the table, "What is remaining of your aircraft?"
"Two dozen and one, my lord," the planetary commander replied.
"Prepare them for action immediately," the inquisitor replied, "They will be sent out as quickly as possible."
"But, lord Druxus", Melchoir blurted out before he even knew he was doing it, "We need air support for the defense of the city."
"The city is defended, Theleos," the inquisitor replied with a rapidly cooling tone of voice, "The aircraft are going to be used to destroy enemy stores before we attack them - "
"Attack?" Melchoir interrupted, "But we have perfect defensive positions here already. We're winning the war of attrition."
"If you understood attrition, Theleos," Druxus replied, his voice and facial features turning to ice, "Then you would understand the purpose of depleting enemy supplies. Furthermore, if you understood defensive positions, then your Folerans would have been victorious a month ago against this enemy, rather than getting slaughtered and leaving us to clean up your messes."
Melchoir clenched his teeth hard. Such an insult based on faulty reasoning was insufferable to him. His hands formed into fists under the table.
"My lord - "
"Do you have something further to say, Theleos?" Druxus demanded harshly.
Melchoir squinted his eyes at the inquisitor, jaw muscles rippling.
The room was deathly silent.
"No, Lord Druxus," Melchoir seethed.
"Then tonight we attack. I hope everyone is prepared," Druxus replied, "When my plan works, the enemy will lose their grip on the city, and will be scattered into pockets of resistance that can be easily assuaged."
Melchoir looked at Amns. If the other inquisitor had any reaction to the exchange, he didn't show it.
***
In particular I like the potential of actually grabbing the initiative every now and then. But first I have 2 russes to finish and my painting seems to have become slower than ever...