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***
The reconnaissance team crept slowly through the ruined city. It was pitch black.
The three-man team silently crossed a street between two blasted buildings under the cover of night. Only their special night-vision optics gave them any hope of achieving their mission.
Said mission was a rather clever one devised by inquisitor Druxus. The more that he knew about the situation here on the ground, both the more shocked and the more delighted he had become. It turned out that the air drop of Folerans had done its job - critically weakening the enemy under a tide of boots and shells. Unfortunately, there wouldn't be any more of them, so the inevitable crush of attrition was now turning into two small, weak factions picking over the remains.
But the more he learned, the more he was able to draw in reinforcements, including some defectors. Just recently he had been able to peel off some Dark Angels space marines from the other side. On the one hand, they would help him take a key strategic position, and on the other hand, he could have their leaders punished in atonement for choosing the wrong side of the Grey Knights to fight for.
Waiting nearby was the attack forces. He was only waiting to hear back from his recon team.
They approached the small landing pad, and surveyed the area with their various night-vision scanners and devices.
The report was grim.
"Recon team to Lord Druxus, do you read?" the radio operator muttered softly into his long-wave vox.
"I am here, recon team."
"It's confirmed, sir. There are demons and traitor space marines everywhere. This doesn't look good."
"Affirmative, recon team. Stand by for reinforcements."
"Thank you, Lord Druxus".
The vox went silent. The team remained immobile in the stifling darkness.
From behind, they could begin to make out the sounds of engines, slowly creeping forward in first gear so as to make as little noise as possible.
They would be here soon.
"Sarge," one of the other team members hissed, painting a target with his laser.
The sergeant looked out over the landing pad and across the street. The demons were suddenly stirring.
And then he caught it. There were more there than there were just a moment ago.
And not all of them were demons.
Suddenly the calm night was shattered by a torrent of storm bolter fire. Friendly terminators, having just teleported in, took the enemy completely by surprise.
Cyclone launchers were replied to with bolt weapons and demonic blasts of their own. A wailing screech began to pierce through everything as sonic weapons began to spin up to volume.
The night sky flickered and flashed as the fierce battle began to rage in front of them.
It should be only moments now until the guardsmen arrived.
***
Melchoir waved his hand in front of his face. These new night vision optics were... neat. It turned out that there were a lot of perks for working with the inquisition, and one of them was that you got nice equipment in good working order. Instead of having to chuck a few firefly grenades into the air and hope for the best, with these fancy goggles he could attack IN the dark, rather than merely book-ended by it.
The grainy green image shifted in front of him as his column of medium tanks trundled forwards at low speeds. He had learned over the preceding days that the reason why there weren't obvious battle lines was because there practically wasn't a war here any more. He had heard somewhere that the massacre of the Foleran forces over the preceding months had diverted over 85% of the enemy, and that, while the guardsmen had been wiped out, casualties on the enemy side were appalling. This was turning out to be more of a high-speed game of strategic conquest rather than a mindless slog of attrition. This made Melchoir feel rather better about where he was now.
The only thing that he found curious is that he was being attended by a small force of Dark Angels. They were of a marine chapter that Melchoir had just recently eked out a victory against. It appeared that, whatever the situation or circumstances, they seemed to have switched sides.
In addition to his night-vision system, he also had other toys from the inquisition. One of them was a sort of super-auspex. It was the size of a refrigeration unit, and required its own generator to function, but it had a complex array of various systems. One of them was a linkup with ships in orbit that allowed him to know where he was on a planet within a half a mile of accuracy. And without a map!
As the officer looked down at the display, he could see that he was getting close to his objective. He only had a few moments to ponder his position when suddenly the air erupted with the sound of gunfire forward and to the right. He knew he was close. If there was fighting, it was probably over the objective. He reached down and flicked on his vox.
"This is Melchoir," he spoke over the rattling of storm bolter fire in the near distance, "Move up to the tower ahead and prepare a right-facing turn on my mark, combat speed."
The vehicles picked up their speed in a low roar of engine exhaust. It didn't seem like stealth was
AS needed anymore.
Within a few moments, they came up to the edge of the complex that contained the landing pad.
"Mark," Melchoir commanded to his vehicles.
The officer peered forward into the complete blackness through the shifting green of his night vision.
He could see the objective in front of him. Outside of the compound there were more ruins across a narrow roadway. There were enemy there.
They were already engaged in a firefight with someone just out of view on the other side.
Behind him, his small Dark Angels allied group set up positions behind them. He had stopped bothering to give them orders, as they had maintained complete silence with him for their entire brief association.
Whether they heard him and refused to respond, or they couldn't hear, he didn't know. In any case, they always seemed to do the right thing anyways.
Melchoir looked around as his vehicle pool lined up and prepared for action.
"This is Melchoir," the officer said again, "Move forward, combat speed."
He had given strict orders to his drivers not to attempt any high-speed antics during their night attack. He didn't want a horrible traffic jam of burning wrecks before he even made it to his objective.
The chimera transports and fire tanks began to roll forward.
It was hard for Melchoir to see anything, but as they approached the landing pad, things seemed to be... deserted.
He could hear and see the gunfire from pretty close range, but whatever was doing the fighting appeared to be holding the entirety of the enemy's attention.
Unfortunately, in those few brief moments, it was also holding Melchoir's.
From out of the inky darkness, a threat emerged. It slowly unfolded its leathery wings, and brought itself up to full height.
The night shuddered as the great demon hefted its mighty sword into the air.
A sinking feeling came over Melchoir. He turned and looked to his right.
There it was.
He stood for a moment, trying to make out the shifting shape in the grainy green light. When he saw it, he was stunned for a moment.
"This is Melchoir enemy right!" he shouted into his vox at high speed, "Enemy THING to the right! Bring it down!"
The vehicles scrambled around at the officer's command. They were expressly forbidden to use searchlights, and everybody was still getting adjusted to the new optics. Some of the chimeras turned to the right, while others swiveled turrets in search of the enemy. Meltagun fire began to shoot out of the hatches but it was mostly very poorly aimed.
The fire tank to Melchoir's left opened up with its massive melta cannon. The shot howled through the air and slammed into the hulking demon. The night sky twisted and warped at the cannon fire, but the melta blast did nothing, as if whisked away by the demon throwing off a cloak.
The ground trembled under foot and tread as the demon charged forwards against the tank.
Melchoir reeled reflexively as the towering creature bounded right in front of him at a sprint. Within a moment, the demon was on top of the tank. With a massive swing of its sword, it crunched down into the turret of the vehicle. With a bound, it jumped on top of where his sword had struck. The officer watched in horror as the demon brought his blade up with both hands. In a flicker of violence, the blade slammed down into the massive fuel tank on the back of the vehicle. The steel groaned an buckled as the warp-fuelled weapon writhed and seared its way through and inch and a half of solid steel.
At last, the tank gave way and the sword plunged down into the promethium below.
The top of the fuel tank suddenly split open, and a massive explosion blasted into the night air. Melchoir flinched backwards and closed his eyes as his optics flared violently at the fire storm. A huge sheet of flame poured up over the demon through the rent fissure in the tank, splashing flaming fuel over onto everything around it.
The demon stood amidst the flames, drinking in the firey power. Taking in the shock and fear of the guardsmen around him, making it into his own being.
Melchoir ripped off his glasses and stared at the demon astride the fire tank. It was illuminated in the endless ripple of fire seething up from below. The creature turned to look at the officer.
Suddenly, from behind, the monster was sprayed with gunfinre. Melchoir's mind raced. Who was it?
The demon turned, distracted. Melchoir didn't allow himself the luxury.
"Take it down!" the officer ordered over his vox. Meltaguns were at the ready, sticking out of the nearby transports to form an invincible hedge of high-strength firepower. As Melchoir slid back on his night-vision goggles, they opened fire.
The demon was back-lit by the flames, but at this range, it was all but impossible to miss. Shots slammed into the demon and the tank below him. The fire tank collapsed under the burning weight, the massive demon, and the incoming fire from the meltaguns.
The hulk attempted to lift itself back onto its feet as meltaguns drained into it. Melchoir pulled out his sunpisol and began to add his own deadly plasma fire into the mix. There was nothing the beast could do to escape the pure slaughter of the guns arrayed in a line before him. The vehicular firing squad did its work. The demon began to dematerialize in a cloud of agony, eventually leaving nothing but the burning wreck of the fire tank in its wake.
The pistol glimmered with heat in the officer's hand, making his palm uncomfortably warm through the leather glove. He placed it next to the hatch to let it cool down.
His flickering green gaze swept around him, the bright burning vehicle obscuring his vision by overloading his optics. The one thing he could see for certain were some terminators on the other side of the blaze.
It was more Dark Angels.
The two stared at each other in the fire light.
"Melchoir!" came a shout over the vox, "There's more of them! They're coming!"
Melchoir snapped his head to the left. Whatever the enemy had been shooting at before they arrived was now cleared off. This left them free to turn their attention onto him and his tanks.
A tide of enemy surged forwards towards the landing pad against the armored column.
"This is Melchoir, form up! Wheel left! Incoming enemy, fire at will!"
The engines of the chimeras and fire tanks roared to life. The wall of steel quickly began to shift and to organize itself to face the enemy.
Within moments, the two sides were facing off against each other, as the horde of demons and traitor marines poured across the street towards them.
Melchoir strained to see the enemy as they came out onto the road, charging into the barbed wire. There were too many to count. This was a full-fledged assault, and they were already nearly upon him.
But the Foleran armor was on the other side. Almost at once, the chimeras started beating down a barrage of multilaser fire into the charging enemy. It was followed only a moment later by the remaining melta cannon and multimeltas.
The front rank of the enemy began to falter as it was ripped apart by the weight of fire. Those who made it across began to get entangled in the barbed wire. The hatches of the chimeras flung open, and once again out protruded the hedgehog of meltaguns, bristling for action.
As first one and then another made it through, they were hammered into by the veterans, their bodies exploding under the fantastic power of the anti-tank weapons.
A group of them made it up to the ruins on the right. The air began to hum and then shreik as sonic weapons began to shoot down at the vehicles. Melchoir reached for his pistol, and saw the terminators come up from the side and begin to pour fire into the windows against the enemy.
To the left, his optics flickered and washed out as his hellhound opened up with its inferno cannon. A tidal wave of liquid flame blasted forward, cascading over the enemy crossing the street. The huge wall of fire instantly incinerated a growing arc of the street, immolating anything caught nearby.
The horrific carnage didn't escape the enemy, though, and soon those who were just beginning to make their way forwards began to target the fire tank. Witchfire began to be slung back into it, demonic bolts of energy working their way into the armor. Soon, more sonic weapons were pointed at the tank. The heavy weapons fired a focused beam of sound that scarcely sounded more than a whisper to Melchoir, but hit the tank to his left with the force of an artillery shell, causing it to catastrophically collapse into itself.
From through the wall of fire, more enemy charged in.
They had breached the perimeter.
The Folerans desperately fired back, giving them everything they had. Melchoir leveled his pistol at the largest space marine in front and unloaded viciously, the plasma blasts ripping through power armor and flesh. His own chimera lit up with its heavy flamer, spraying more blinding light and death into the air.
On the left, the other chimera also fired its heavy flamer. The enemy was now stuck in a complete murder zone of flame. In the apocalyptic conflagration, the enemy burned and dematerialized. Meltaguns slammed into a monstrous creature attempting to make it through.
They poured in, a few enemy soldiers managing to make it mere feet from the vehicles before being gunned down under the awesome weight of Imperial Guard firepower.
But still more came in, undeterred by the slaughter in front of them. They rushed in at a sprint, wildly firing their weapons as the second wave charged across the street.
More fire surged through the air as heavy flamers and melta weapons blasted into the roadway. A hot air blew over them as the temperature on the road soared towards the melting point of power armor.
The pistol in Melchoir's hand began to overheat violently, and the officer was forced to recoil slightly from the immense heat.
Yet somehow, through the unsurvivable thermal devastation, a few were still making it forwards.
"Keep firing!" Melchoir shouted over the holocaust around him. The air was alight with cinders and a reeking cloud of ozone. The light and the heat and the noise were unbearable.
The chimera underneath him jerked and shook as the vehicle repositioned itself. The front arc of the heavy flamer reacquired a target. Once again, it blasted its flame thrower into the furnace.
Even this was too much. Melchoir ducked back into his chimera. The assault on the bare skin of his face lifted as he entered the darkness of the cabin. Only here did he have some respite from the apocalypse outside.
And then, with a loud squeak, the heavy flamer's valves closed. The multilaser on the turret stopped firing.
Melchoir looked up. Around him was a grainy green image of the inside of his chimera with his command staff at the ready with their meltaguns. Bright green and white light flickered in from outside the hatches.
And then he noticed it. The melta cannons went silent.
He uncrouched himself and peered out of the top hatch. A sucking breeze was blowing in from behind him, sending in more oxygen into the fires around and in front.
All of the guns were silent. There were no more enemy.
The noxious smoke blew up into the air in front of him, rising high up into the sky.
They had done it. They had taken the landing pad.
The fires burned fiercely in the night.
***
Melchoir jutted out his lower lip and blew air upwards onto his face. His skin there had actually gotten slightly burned by the heat. He had tried an unguent supplied by inquisitor Amns, but it didn't seem to do much more than make his face tingle. Blowing on it softly actually gave him a tiny bit of relief, regardless of how stupid it made him look.
"I believe that is all, Melchoir of the House of Theleos," inquisitor Druxus stated flatly. Melchoir stopped blowing on his face.
"Do you have any questions?"
Melchoir did have one.
"Well, Lord Druxus," the officer responded, "There were Dark Angels fighting by my side. I fought against them not a few weeks ago. Why did they turn? What's going on here?"
Druxus gave him a piercing stare.
"You will find, Theleos," the inquisitor intoned, choosing his words carefully, "That some times steadfast loyalty requires you to switch sides as times and circumstances necessitate."
That didn't much make sense to Melchoir.
"But why," he continued, wanting a real answer, "What is going on here?"
"What is "going on here", Theleos, is that you are an Imperial Guard officer. The kind that accepts and acts on orders without needing to know wherefore the same are given."
Melchoir tensed up inside briefly before standing and giving a salute. The inquisitor waved him off.
The officer walked quietly out of the room.
Once he was clear, he began to blow on his face again as he slowly walked down the hallway. He needed information, and clearly Druxus wasn't the one to give it to him. He had other ways, though.
And then it struck him. "House of Theleos". Melchoir chuckled involuntarily. Yes, look at how wealthy and noble he was. House of Theleos indeed. If he had been born to a different family, one of real standing, then he wouldn't have had to join the Imperial Guard, now would he? Instead, he could have been a chief accountant, or a cereals supervisor, or perhaps even a lesser minister. He could have lived out his life quietly as a civil servant, unglamorously, yet responsibly doing his part to grease the machine of governance. He'd grow fat and, time would tell, likely bald, and he'd have eight children and a pension, and some day, in some small way, he would have done something really important.
Instead, he was stuck on some Emperor-forsaken planet where no one would tell him anything, and his face was lightly singed.
But there was still hope for him yet. He had not yet begun to contrive...
***
I beg to dream and differ from these hollow lies 
5th Boudican Mechanised - 2300 points W:0 D:4 L:3
Iron Bloods - 4000 points W:1 D:5 L:6