So.. here's "some" background info on ol' Gorsky. 'Some'.. hah..
And before you ask Gorskar, yes, I did feel it necessary to post
all of this.
It demonstrates the might of the entity known as Gorskar.Da.Lost.. and you should all rightly fear his character, for
his mighty plot armor is mega mighty(x15.2). Mwahaha.
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PART 1: The Invasion Begins
Day 1: Space above Rylus Majora
With a tortured shriek of twisted metal and rock, the space hulk StarKrusha lurched from the Warp, and entered real space once more. It slowed down, trying to relieve itself of some of the momentum of the journey through the Empyrean, and began to approach the planet before it. For a few seconds, Gorskar dared to hope that, just maybe, their luck had changed and his Waaagh! would find itself in orbit above Armageddon. Then Wurrmek spoke up, and the hope was shattered. They were above a human world, but not Armageddon. Now, normally it wouldn't matter whether the world was Armageddon or not, but ever since the StarKrusha had become hopelessy lost (the map grots grew ever more incompetent as the days rolled by) a good fight had become a rare treat for Gorskar and his ladz. Even on those rare occasions Wierdboy Skar had been able to direct them from warpspace into a nearby solar system, more often than not there was nothing to do there but burn a few isolated worlds devoid of anything more than basic animal life, barely worth the Speed Freeks' attention. In truth, Gorskar longed for a great battle, something that would be worth getting his snazzy trukks and wagons out for. He doubted he would get such a battle on this world; it wasn't Armageddon, and so wasn't where he wanted to be.
"Dere anyfing out dere for us ter kill?" he snarled hopefully at the Big Mek.
Before Wurrmek could reply, the hulk shook with the force of weapons impacts.
"Don't bovver asnwerin' dat, Wurrmek, I fink I can guess."
"Boss, da skannerz is pickin' up shootin' from dat planet over dere!"
"Hurr hurr, Looks like we got a fight on our hands, Boyz!" With a roar of glee, Gorskar picked up his favourite shoota (the one that had cost him nearly all of his old teef to buy), strapped on his power claw and lumbered towards the launch bays, barking orders at anyone that he happened to pass on his way there.
The human system ships put up a courageous fight, but they were ancient models, outdated and in need of refitting. One by one, they were either crippled or destroyed by the space hulk's gun batteries, the giant vessel simply too large for the humans to be able to defeat. Though the StarKrusha was battered by the ferocious defence, it emerged triumphant; only one of the system ships had escaped the fight.
Twenty minutes passed, and the space hulk was now in position. Swarms of fighta-bommas began their approach from the launch bays to the planet below, braving the anti-aircraft fire of the planet's defenders to get at their targets; the ground-to-orbit weapons attempting to destroy or drive off the orbiting hulk. Many planes were lost, but soon the greenskins' numbers began to tell, as the torpedo silos and planetary lasers went silent. Then the drop-ships and landing craft began their descent; the Waaagh! had begun.
The Imperial forces, although taken by surprise, were not idle as the greenskins prepared to land. On the planet's surface, tanks rumbled out of their repair depots, artillery pieces were deployed in combat readiness and the streets of the cities trembled with the thunder of thousands of marching feet as the Planetary Defence regiments began to emerge from their barracks to defend their home world. War had come to Rylus Majora. The Imperial Governor hoped only that Rylus' destruction had not come with it.
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Day 36: Surface of Rylus Majora
The war had raged incessantly on Rylus' surface for just over a month. The greenskins had roared out of their crude dropships in their tanks and had fought a blitzkrieg campaign against the beleaguered PDF, smashing through several key defensive lines and scattering the defenders with comet-like force. Once through, the warbands would often attack the PDF's supply routes, cutting off the precious ammo and materiel that the humans needed to hold out. The first major blow to Imperial morale was the fall of Rylus' primary space-port, captured in the first two weeks by a war-horde of buggies and trukks led by the Warboss himself, seated comfortably in his favourite battlewagon. Though the fighting in the spaceport complexes was brutal and costly for both sides, the defenders were outmatched. Gorskar now had the facilities to begin landing his heaviest weapons; the ramifications for the Imperial forces were grim, to say the least.
Inside the Imperial palace, the Imperial Governor's Telepathic Choir began speaking of messages incoming; reinforcements were on their way. The Imperials redoubled their efforts, denying several hive-cities to the rampaging xenos forces, but it was clear that they could not hold out for much longer; the Waaagh! was too strong. The aid promised by the Telepaths would have to arrive soon, or they would find themselves facing an invasion of an ork-held world.
her
Gorskar was delighted. Finally, after all that time wasted trying to find his way to Armageddon, here was a real fight. He loved it. His Ladz were doing extremely well; they now had a spaceport to land all of their biggest kit for when it was time to attack the human cities, and the humans themselves were in disarray, trying to plug the gaps in their lines even as the speed freeks streamed through. in the areas where the fighting was fiercest, Leman Russ battle tanks and ork battlewagons clashed while all around them the gutted hulls of their comrades burned. Yes, this was definitely worth getting lost for.
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Day 68: Hive Corinthia and Hive Styx
Hive Corinthia was the first to fall. For weeks previously, the orks had blown gaps in it's defensive wall and attempted to break through, only to be hurled back by the efforts of the PDF, though with each attack more and more guardsmen went down, never to get back up again. Even so, the Hive was holding, with the orks unable to gain a firm foothold within the city. The end came in the form of one of Gorskar's secret weapons, if "secret" can be applied to something as noisy as a Gargant mob. The great metallic monsters pulverised the defences of Corinthia with their cannons and missiles, before levelling parts of the city nearest to the huge holes. The surviving defenders mounted a desperate last stand amidst the ruins of their city, but it was in vain. Within the day, the hive belonged to the orks.
At Hive Styx, a similar situation developed. Once again, the application of Gorskar's Gargants had all but destroyed the city's defences, and the PDF troopers still alive were preparing to sell their lives as best they could against such odds. However, even as the tanks of the orks began their charge, everything changed. The skies filled with the roaring forms of Valkyrie gunships, and platoon upon platoon of drop-troopers began landing, strengthening the Imperial troopers and throwing back the orks amidst bloody fighting. Reinforcements had arrived.
Even so, the Gargants would have swung the battle back in the favour of the greenskins, had another development not occured. The first thing the orks knew of it was the earth beginning to shake; from the south, great armoured forms could be seen, striding towards the hive. With their vox-grilles howling, the gargants turned to face this new challenge. Hive Styx could wait; here were Imperial Titans, foes worthy of their attention.
The casualties were high on both sides; many of the massive war machines needed extensive repairs. Some would never fight again. The PDF, Drop-troopers and their ork opponents fought furiously, and the death toll on both sides was enormous. But Hive Styx did not fall. The orks had lost their first major engagement, and the humans began to hope that the tide was about to trun.
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Day 92: The Imperial Palace, Hive Athena
The Imperial Governor, Marcus Caecilius, gasped a heartfelt sigh of relief. The Imperium had come to their aid, and in time too. Seated with him were the Commander of the PDF, the Head Arbites Judge and the Administratum representative for Rylus. Each of them gratefully greeted the new arrivals; the Regimental commanders of no less than five of the Imperial Guard's finest. With them, represented via hologram, was the Princeps Prime of a demi-legion of the Legio Titanica.
"Thank the God-Emperor, we were sorely pressed. The xenos have all but decimated our forward regiments, and we are running dangerously low on ammunition and medical gear."
The most senior commander, General Abel of the Elysian 112th, nodded politely, and smiled reassuringly at Marcus.
"Not to worry, sir, we are just the first wave. More regiments are being shipped here even as we speak, and I have received confirmation that three Astartes chapters have pledged forces to aid us in removing the greenskin threat from your system. It will be bloody, but we will crush the invaders, you have my word."
Marcus nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. All the horrors of the last few months had taken their toll on the governor; whereas once he had been a tall, fairly content looking individual, he now looked anything but. Many sleepless nights had formed bags under his eyes, and his cheeks were hollower than before. Stress had put him on medication for elevated blood pressure. In short, he was exhausted.
"Thank the Emperor," He muttered again, before carefully sitting down. "Thank the Emperor."
PART 2: The Imperium retaliates
Day 119: Hive Hephaistos
Hive Hephaistos was a vital industrial hive, home to some of the most important maufactorums on the planet. Here, the tanks of the Rylus PDF and their sister regiment the Rylus Dragoons were constructed, ready to fight in the Emperor's service both at home and across the galaxy. Here, the lasguns, mortars, armour and equipment for these two regiments was rolled out from huge factories and put in transports bound for the front line. In short, it was a huge tactical asset to whichever side owned it, and both the High Command of the Imperial forces and Gorskar knew it. It was late summer, at the height of the western continent's dry season, when Gorskar decided to make his move. Racing towards the Hive's outer defences at the head of a column of his speed freeks, Gorskar unleashed the second of his "secret" weapons. He ordered his new fleet (constructed from the wrecks of several Imperial vessels the StarKrusha had crippled in the last few months) to bombard the hive's wall and anything on it. The effects were mixed at best, but nevertheless, the job had been done; the surviving speed freeks now had a way into the city.
Even so, the hive is not without it's defences; though many of the guardsmen are killed by the extensive (if inaccurate) bombardment, many more have survived. As the speed freeks hurtled into the city, it is these men and women who put up the fiercest resistance. Trukks and their occupants were destroyed by home-made explosives rigged just moments before, rampaging mobs of orks were ambushed at every corner by fire teams, and snipers reaped a grim tally of boyz foolish enough to stray into the open for too long. In retaliation, the orks act with bloody-minded fury, charging fearlessly into the most desperate firefights without a heed for their safety and attacking everything that so much as twitches in the rubble and shadows. Slowly, the greenskins pushed their way into the city, hampered by the efforts of the PDF troopers and even citizens who have taken up arms in the defence of their homes. The casualties were incredible. Corpses were scattered everywhere, and the buildings burned with the ferocity of the fighting. So furious was the fighting in some areas that the streets and doorways were covered in the blood of the fallen. Still the two sides fought on.
Finally, the battle reached it's violent climax, at the centre of the industrial complexes of the hive. Here the defences of the PDF were so great, the orks could no longer make headway; each charge was flung back by the dug-in guardsmen. Gorskar looked at the scene, and knew it was time to act. Gathering his 'ardest Skarboyz, Gorskar led the final charge. This was it, death or glory. Behind the defensive lines, the then colonel of the PDF 12th, Julius Stern, saw what was happening, and in panic ordered all units to concentrate their fire on the approaching horde. Though the weight of fire felled many of the screaming Nobz, it was not enough. Breaking through the barriers with a hate-filled scream, Gorskar seized the colonel and, in front of the remaining PDF troopers, tore out the man's thorat with his power klaw. The sound of their leader's hideously broken death-rattle was too much for many of the troopers; they turned to flee, only to be caught and slaughtered by the frenzied Nobz who had followed Gorskar into the breach. The defence lines, only moments ago holding out, began to crumble in the face of the ork's newly restored resolve, and as more and more of the greenskins began storming the barricades in imitation of their boss, the remaining few troopers knew it was over. The new commanding officer, Ssgt. Nicholas, decided upon the only course of action left available to them. While his men bought him the time he needed with their lives, he ran for the ammo dump he knew to be nearby, a desperate plan forming in his head.
The first the orks knew of this plan was when the dump unexpectedly detonated, taking with it several nearby factories in a devastating chain reaction. Many of the greenskins were incinerated by the explosions, with many more horrendouly wounded. Gorskar himself lost an eye to a flying chunk of masonry, and his Waaagh! banner gained a few new shrapnel holes. The damage done, though extensive, was by no means disastrous. Many of the Manufactorums were still unharmed or needing only light repairs from the blast, and the majority of the ork force had escaped the brunt of Stern's final strategy.
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Day 140: Rylus Spaceport Complex
The orks had held the spaceport complex since the early days of the war, using it to land the Gargants they had deployed at Hives Corinthia and Styx. The Imperial generals knew this had to change. Without the spaceport, landing reinforcements would be difficult and slow, something that could prove fatal against an enemy capable of striking with shocking swiftness. Therefore, they decided that it must be retaken, and began drawing up plans to use the Elysian regiments and any available Titans to attack the port. Remembering the "surprises" that Gorskar had used to capture the Hives of Corinthia and Hephaistos, the generals planned to unleash some surprises of their own.
At first, the battle swung in the orks' favour; their Gargants outnumbered the Titans two to one, and the orks themselves fought with a berserk fury, using any available advantage to cast the guardsmen back. The Elysians were gaining no ground; worse, they were being pushed back due to the fury of their greenskin adversaries. Suddenly, all of that changed. The first the orks knew of the danger they were in was the sudden appearance of fiery meteors, hurtling towards their positions. The Space Wolves had arrived, and were making planetfall.
Leading the initial wave was Old Haakon, a venerable dreadnought who had served with the 11th Grand Company for three millenia. Howling great war-oaths through his vox-grilles, he laid about him with his adamantine talons, carving apart the greenskins surrounding him. From behind, he could hear the berserker-screams of the Blood Claws as they gave vent to their fury in the swirling melee, and in front of him, the fiery veterans of the Wolf Guard led by example, plunging into the fray courageously, trusting their terminator armour to protect them from the blows of their enemies. Slowly, but surely, the tide began to turn. Though the orks fought on, often to the death, the Imperial forces had outmanoeuvred them, and were now pressing home their advantage. Even then, it was a costly victory for the humans. All but three of the Titans fighting there were crippled, and would need months of repairs just to return to service. The Elysians were reduced to just over half strength, even after the intervention of the Space Wolves, and the sons of Fenris themselves had lost many a brave warrior to the fury of the enemy. However, the mission's objectives had been achieved; for the first time since the start of the war, Imperial forces had control over the spaceport. It was the victory the Imperials needed.
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Day 180: Hive Corinthia
It fell to the warriors of the Space Wolves to once again lead the charge against the orks. Wolf Priest Ulf Longmane swore that he would take back the city and free it's people or die in the attempt, an oath his battle-brothers of the Wolf Guard echoed with a roar.
Acting immediately, Ulf redeployed his men into their two Thunderhawks, and led a lightning strike into the heart of the city, where he knew the beast that led the horde would be. If he could slay it, he reasoned, he would be able to destabilise the horde and end the Waaagh! then and there. The Space Wolves struck, deploying in good order and quickly securing a landing zone, before opening fire on the Ork units emerging from the nearby buildings. Initially the greenskins were caught completely by surprise, and put up a disorganised and poor resistance; the Space Wolves pressed the advantage, Ulf at their head, and forced their way into the warbosses command chambers. There, they found their target.
Gorskar snarled, furious at the interruption of what had been a very promising squig-fight. Glaring at the Astartes with his new bionic eye, he decided that this was unforgivable, and with a bellow of anger he gathered his Nobz and charged. The resulting brawl was deafening, as the Space Wolves attacked with a roar of their own. In the centre of the swirling battle, Ulf and Gorskar fought, each combatant's rage eclipsing everything but the need to kill their opponent. Despite the courage of the Space Wolves, the Nobz were holding their own via sheer bloody-minded determination. Finally, the end came. Ulf launched forward, and brought his Crozius crashing down onto Gorskar's shoulder, the impact crushing the iron plate and part of the muscle and bone underneath. In reply, Gorskar howled, and with a single brutal motion, lifted Ulf high above his head and brought him sharply down onto his knee, breaking the Wolf Priest's spine with a sickening crack, before throwing him to the floor and crushing his skull with a vicious stomp. The remaining Space Wolves fought fiercely, but the horrific death of their leader had galvanised the Nobz of Gorskar's bodyguard into a frenzy of violence; not a single member of the twenty Astartes emerged alive. Even so, the Warboss' wounds were serious, and some of the larger Nobz were surreptitiously sizing him up. There would be trouble with challengers to his throne for many weeks to come, something that would buy the Imperial forces the time they needed to gather their forces for the next phase of the Imperial campaign: nothing less than to drive the greenskins completely off Rylus Majora and out of the system.
PART 3: Retribution
Day 200: The Imperial Palace, Hive Athena.
General Gregory Abel mopped his brow, and slowly reached for his glass of water, the stifling atmosphere in the palace beginning to get to him. It was now the middle of summer on Rylus Majora, and the heat wasn't helping things; if anything, it made the pressure of the past few months seem even worse. He knew their position, though better than it had been, was still very dangerous. Though the invading greenskins had been beaten back at the spaceport, and now seemed to be interested in tearing each other apart, Gregory knew from experience that the xenos were by no means defeated. Once a leader had emerged from the rabble, they were sure to go back on the offensive, and Gregory was not sure that the tattered Imperial forces would be able to withstand a new wave of assaults, even with the presence of the Space Wolves. Gregory looked across the table, to where their representative sat, and felt some of his fears die. The warrior, who had introduced himself with a garrulous smile as Jarek the Grey, took up an impressive amount of space at the war council's table. Clad in full Astartes plate, Jarek stood head and shoulders above even the tallest human in the room. With his strange tribal trophies, ash-coloured hair and grizzled features, Jarek would have been considered an intimidating sight, were it not for his surprisingly friendly nature. Gregory remembered meeting him for the first time. He had saluted, only to have the veteran Astartes slap him on the back (the bruises from that were almost faded now) and laugh, calling him Brother and asking him his name. After Gregory had told him, Jarek had smiled at him (God-Emperor, those teeth!) asked if he wanted a drink, "to loosen those nerves of yours. You look like you haven't had a good ale in ages!"
Yes, Gregory thought, whatever happens, at least we have them with us. He looked at the other members of the war council. To the left of him was Princeps-Prime Alain, once again represented via hologram. His demi-legio had been mauled heavily by the enemy; he had refused to leave the front line so as to be ready to throw back a surprise assault with the firepower of his Titan, an ancient Warlord-Class machine. Gregory admired the man's courage, if not his attitude, for the Princeps was a terrible pessimist, always predicting the worst and preparing for it in what Gregory suspected to be a case of mild paranoia. From what he could see of the Princep's face due to the hologram, he was paler than he had been, a sign of the exhaustion and stress he was under. Gregory sympathised with him; with a fresh Imperial counter-attack only a matter of days away, the Princeps would soon find himself in the thick of it again. A slight movement drew Gregory's attention to the others in the chamber, and once again Gregory's fears were calmed slightly. Seated to his right were the three generals of the recently arrived reinforcements, hailing from Krieg, Athonos and Vostroya. In addition, beyond them he could see his companions, the commanders who had joined him here to aid this world. Elias and Jansen were Elysians, commanders of the 231st and 223rd respectively. Colonel Bromhead was new to him, but still a solid, dependable man. His regiment, the Harlech 12th, were responsible for guarding the capital hive, a duty Bromhead took very seriously indeed. The final two commanders of the off-world regiments were more of a mystery to Gregory. Both hailed from the same world, a snow-covered planet in the galactic south-west called Kursk, but neither had been around long enough for him to get to know them properly. The senior of the two, Field Marshal Vashenko, was in general calm and composed, providing a pronounced contrast with his junior, Commander Pavilov, whose laughter rivalled that of Jarek.
"Gentlemen, if I could have your attention?"
It was General Voltimand of the Rylus PDF who spoke. He was the most senior officer at the table, having made his career in the Rylus Dragoons before retiring to take command of his home world's defence force.
"As you all know, we have been granted a window of opportunity by the actions of our comrades. My condolences for your loss, by the way, Brother Jarek."
Jarek nodded ruefully in acknowledgement.
"Aye, we shall miss the warriors of the Longmane. They died well, however, buying us time with their lives, so let us remember them for that."
"yes, of course, time we must not waste. Our intelligence reports that the actions of Wolf Priest Ulf have destabilised the enemy's chain of command; the savages are fighting amongst themselves to determine who has the right to lead the horde. We don't yet know if the original leader of the greenskins is still at large, but at this stage it makes little difference. We must strike now, before they have a chance to reorganise."
Voltimand paused, gathering his thoughts, before continuing.
"It may interest you to know we are not to undertake this struggle alone. Gentlemen, if you would consult your datapads? You may be pleased at the news."
There was a moment of silence, as each member of the council digested what was in front of them, before Alain spoke up, his voice distorted with static.
"Is this confirmed?"
"It most certainly is, Princeps-Prime. They are making planetfall as we speak. With them come the replacement God-machines you requested, as well as the supplies of ammunition, weapons, armour and medical equipment we need if this next phase of our war effort is to be successful. Make no mistake, we will not fail, not with three of the Emperor's most lauded chapters of Astartes fighting with us. Brother Jarek, have you heard anything from them?"
Jarek stood, and stroked his beard. Once again Gregory thought how terrifying it must be to to face him in combat; Jarek was alarming even when he was joking with the soldiers.
"We have, friend, we have. As I understand it, our lord will be receiving Brother-Captain Agatone sometime around now, whereas Brother-Captain Aditrus will be making planetfall in the next twenty minutes. With them come 100 warriors of the Salamanders and 60 of the Obsidian Tears, though the Tears have sent their finest to this world's aid."
"Wonderful news, comrade, but the real question is, what is our directive?"
It was the calm voice of Vashenko now which rang out.
"That will be answered in the next few hours, commander. I would suggest you take notes, for it requires a great deal of co-ordination."
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Day 215: Hive Corinthia, Warboss Gorskar's chambers
Ugrodd yelled, and brought his axed down onto the back of his rival's skull, crushing it with a satisfyingly gruesome noise. The fighting in the throne room and beyond had raged for several days now, and showed no signs of stopping. Led by Taugrek, Gorskar's former second-in-command, a part of the kult of speed had rebelled against the Warboss, no doubt due to his injuries. The nobz still loyal to Gorskar had fought back, and thus the entire war effort had been put on hold as the leadership struggle played out. Ugrodd was a loyalist; that is to say, he believed Gorskar was the boss who could lead them to victory on this planet, not Taugrek. Snarling, and with his axe dripping gore and brain tissue, he stalked forward, taking the opportunity to see what was going on downstairs. What he saw made him angry. Although the fight on the balcony was going well, down below in the main hall things were going to hell in a hand-basket. Taugrek himself had joined the fight, and Ugrodd was astounded at how much he'd changed. The former Nob was now huge, his muscular frame now truly looking worthy of a leader of the Waaagh! He was no slouch in combat, either. Ugrodd watched, impressed, as he cut a Stormboy in half with a well-placed chainaxe blow, and began to wonder if he'd made a mistake in his choice of side. After all, here was Taugrek, putting his life on the line as true orks should, and where was Gorskar? Ugrodd didn't know, but he knew it wasn't here, and that was all that mattered. Maybe Taugrek was a good leader after all, maybe Gorskar really was too weak to rule.
Just as that thought entered his head, Ugrodd was suddenly and dramatically proved very wrong.
"YOUUUUU! I'M GONNA EAT YER 'EAD!"
Bursting out of the doors behind the throne like an out-of-control juggernaut, Gorskar made his entrance. He seized the nearest rebel, and with a brutal motion tore him apart with a yank of his power klaw.
"I'M
DA BOSS 'ROUND THESE PARTS, RUNT!"
If Ugrodd was surprised, Taugrek looked like he had just been punched in the face and couldn't quite figure out how. He was astounded to learn that Gorskar wasn't a cripple, and it was this astonishment that cost him his life. The enraged Warboss swang his power klaw into his rival's chest, and Ugrodd distinctly heard the crack of hardened ribs. Taugrek wheezed, but recuperated long enough to launch a blow of his own, directly at Gorskar's spitting face. The blow never landed. With a backhand, Gorskar deflected the swing, and to the delight of Ugrodd, there followed another loud snap as Taugrek's arm broke under the force. It was at this point that Ugrodd realised that nobody was trying to kill him; a quick look around confirmed this. Every ork in the building had stopped fighting, and all eyes were on the duelling pair.
The end came soon. Taugrek had fought well, but he was no match for the Warboss. Gorskar finished the would-be usurper off in a distinctly gory fashion; by grabbing hold of his opponent's head and crushing, the power klaw's shears making short work of Taugrek's skull.
Ugrodd knew he had backed a winner all along, of course, as did every other ork in the building, quite conveniently. Gorskar was back in power.
PART 4, CHAPTER I: Counterattack
Day 223: Hive Hephaistos
Captain "Ace" Jansen gritted his teeth and leapt.
The wind hit him like a truck as he left the Valkyrie's rear ramp, plucking at his fatigues and tossing him around like a puppet. Below him, he could see the landing zone, far away now but rushing up to meet him with deadly speed. Jansen began to count in his head; "Ten...Nine...Eight..."
The ground was much closer now, and he estimated there to be maybe forty or so metres to go.
"...Three...Two...One..."
Not ten metres above the earth, Jansen activated his grav-chute, slowing his murderous descent to a safe speed within seconds. He hit the ground, rolled, and immediately sprung up, scaning the area for threats. A few hundred metres away, he could see one of the Kursk squadrons engaging the enemy; their austere grey-green uniform a stark contrast to the bright arterial reds of the greenskins. The rest of Platoon Alpha finished the descent a mere second later, landing as smoothly as Jensen had. Immediately, two squads got into a firing position, snapping off quick shots into the mob of orks attacking the Kursk guardsmen. Some of the savages broke off, alerted by the lasfire to this new opponent, and began to charge up the hill towards the threat.
"Bravo, Charlie, light 'em up!"
The two squads obeyed Jansen's order, turning to face the onrushing orks in good order. With a loud crack, both squads opened fire, the shots slashing into the enemy. Several greenskins went down, clean headshots stopping them in their tracks, but many more carried on running, intent on tearing squads Bravo and Charlie apart.
"Squad Echo, NOW! Send them to Hell!"
The heavy bolter squad responded with gusto. Unlike the lasguns of Bravo and Charlie, these were the bruisers of the anti-infantry weapons used by the Elysians; each bolt fired was as big as a man's fist, and the damage they could wreak on lightly-armoured infantry was extreme. The guns shredded the lead orks, blowing them apart or severing limbs with the ferocity of their firepower. The next wave fared no better. By the time the heavy bolters had ran out of bolts to fire, half of the charging greenskins were dead. Even so, the remaining half managed to make it up the hill and began evening the score with the Elysians. Blood flew as the axes of the orcs fell, cleaving apart the Elysian troops. Jansen knew it was time to act.
"Elysians, combat knives! CHARGE!"
The next few minutes were the most brutal and hectic of Jansen's career. Thumbing the activation button on his chainsword, he charged into the melee, his soldiers following him with yelled battle-cries and screams of rage. A crude blade slashed out at him, forcing him to step back in order to avoid disembowelment. Even so, it tore at his flak armour, cutting into the skin beneath. He snarled, the cut hurting like hell, and retaliated, burying the whirring teeth of his chainsword in the ork's guts. For a moment, the creature looked surprised, as if it couldn't believe what had just happened to it, then it kicked out, it's foot slamming into Jansen's chest, knocking him to the floor. He rolled out of the way as it's cleaver came down again, narrowly missing his head, and rammed his chainsword into it's face. Once again, the teeth tore the ork to ribbons. This time, however, it collapsed to the floor, a ragged hole where it's mouth and nose had been. Jansen picked himself up. Around him, all was chaos. Men lay dying from bloody wounds caused by the ferocious enemy, while the three surviving greenskins fought to the death in the centre of a crowd of Elysians. He gathered himself, then strode towards the centre of the brawl. Now only one ork was left, a huge brute of a creature, fully half as tall again as Jansen was. The beast had it's back turned to him, busying itself with beating a guardsman to death with his own severed leg. Jansen paused, spotting something he could use on the ground, and picked it up, blowing the dust of the Rylian plains from it.
"Hey!"
The ork paused, and turned around, confused noises coming from it's throat.
Jansen shot it with the squad's meltagun.
For the next five hours, the combined efforts of the Kursk Red Troopers and the Elysian Drop Troops kept the orks at bay, throwing back every bloody assault aimed at clearing them from the drop site. Things were starting to look desperate. Ammunition was running low; many Red Troopers were forced to scavenge for energy packs amongst the bodies of their fallen comrades. Jansen had been wounded three times now. The second wound was fairly superficial, a mere cut across his arm, but the third was agony. A stray bullet from an ork machine-gun had clipped his shoulder, tearing through the flak armour and ripping off a large part of the muscle. he supressed another groan of pain as Medic Irvine began seeing to the wound.
"How bad is it?"
"You were lucky, sir. Another few inches to the left and you'd have lost your arm. As it is, this is gonna be a nasty problem, but it's fixable. You'll have one hell of a scar to show off to the ladies."
Jansen chuckled weakly.
"Bloody hell, doc, remind me to buy you a drink when this is all over. That's the best news I've heard in a long time!"
Irvine smiled, and carried on tending to the wound.
The ground began to shake.
"What?- Henricks! What the hell is going on?"
Trooper Hendricks came running over.
"Sir, vehicle movement. It's coming from the direction of the hive."
So this is it, Jansen thought to himself. The final stand. He'd known it would happen, of course; known it the day he'd signed up. A captain's life was often short, depending on where he was sent. In many cases, a potentially great career would be suddenly and violently terminated, either by the bullets or the blades of the enemy. Jansen sighed. He knew it would come to this, but he still found himself wishing it hadn't.
"Very well, tell the men to be ready for them. Fire when ready."
A movement from the east suddenly caught Jansen's eye. Something in the dust cloud there...
There it was again. A brief flash, a glimmer of metal, and it was gone. He strained his eyes, desperately trying to pick out the damn thing.
The rumbling of the vehicles was getting louder. It was now too loud to ignore.
Jensen looked towards the hive, and saw them. A huge crowd of crude red buggies and trucks, all swerving and careening towards the drop zone. Not the largest warband he had ever seen, but more than enough to crush the remaining guardsmen preparing to defend this place. From the mound to his right, the missile teams of both regiments fired, scything towards the oncoming fleet. The effects, though destructive, were pitiful, claiming only a handful of the vehicles. Limping up next to him, Captain Satyev surveyed the scene.
"It is bad, isn't it, comrade?"
"Yep. I'd say so."
"Drink?"
Jensen laughed despite himself, and accepted. He had only just met the Kursk man, but already liked him.
"Ah well, a guy's gotta go sometime. I just wish it wasn't today."
That glimmer from the East again. Jansen swore, surprising his new companion, and glanced over there one more time. What he saw froze him to the spot.
The speed freek warband never made it to the drop zone.
The Iratus Deus strode from the dust cloud and opened fire , the sound of it's weapons, distant though they were, hurting Jansen's ears. The explosions came next; dazzling displays of pyrotechnics that blew apart the suddenly disorganised ork vehicles, making the missiles of the Guard seem pathetic by comparison. It's carapace weapons finished firing, and for a second, everything seemed calm. Then the main guns opened fire. The damage was horrendous, reducing what was left of the warband to it's component atoms. Finally, Jansen could move.
"YES! By the Emperor, they're here!"
The vox operator shouted across the zone.
"Sir! Reinforcements inbound! We've got six companies of our boys plus Alain's Titan supporting the attack!"
Jansen turned to Satyev, who was speaking into his Comlink. He looked up at the Elysian and grinned.
"Our tanks will be here within the minute, comrade."
Above them both, the sky filled with the shapes of Valkyrie gunships, making for the drop zone. The attack had begun in earnest.
PART 4: CHAPTER II
Inside the Hive:
Big Mek Kogg frowned at the news he was being told. The humans had got their act together, and were finally showing some backbone, attacking the ork's new main factory with a surprising amount of recklessness. Once his faithful messenger grot had finished squeaking out the tale, Kogg paused, and considered what to do next. Now, if the Boss Mekanik, Wurrmek, were here, he'd come up with some ridiculous and probably un-orky plan involving silly maneuvers, a suspiciously human-like lighting raid or two, before using a unnecessarily complex plan that involved outflanking, huge amounts of unit co-ordination and probably some new-fangled technological wotsit that Wurrmek had knocked together just that morning. Kogg sneered at such daftness. He often thought that the only reason Wurrmek was top and not him was because he had the sheer luck to come up with radical new Tellyporta designs before Kogg could improve on the older, more reliable versions. Yes, that was it.
At heart, Kogg was something of a traditionalist (inasmuch as the term could ever apply to an ork) and could not understand the success of Wurrmek's human-based designs and light fighting vehicles. Kogg believed in the key tenets of good old fashioned greenskin war machines; armour plating and big gunz always came out on top, no matter how much speed and manoeuvrability (which Kogg had always felt was a pointy-ear thing, rather than something befitting the boyz) were touted as being the future. Ever since the Warboss had put him in charge of this nice big war factory, he had strived to build newer and more powerful fighting machines that stayed true to this belief, and he felt he had done a fine job.
Now was the time to test this. It was no coincidence that the units he had positioned out as the first wave of defence were those which held allegiance to Wurrmek. He wanted them out of the way, the better to showcase his new designs and prove his superiority to the radical upstart. With a grin, Kogg turned to the messenger grot.
"Nibbla, get down to da hangers and tell Kaptin Skargrim to get mounted up and rollin'. Then foot it double-quick to da special hangers, and get Kaptin Urgor's brigade ready. You get all dat?"
The grot saluted.
"Yes, boss! Want me to get da Big Hitta started as well, yer Greatness?"
Kogg halted in his tracks.
"Yerr, YERR! Get Grokkit to get da Big Hitta runnin', and prime all it's gunz!"
Kogg hurried now, a new urgency in his step, as the thought of the coming battle filled his mind. He thought back to what Nibbla had told him about the human Gargant attacking the factory.
"We'll see just how tuff yer are pretty soon."
Kogg grinned again, and walked faster.
Twenty minutes later, hangar doors all over the city began to creak open, groaning in protest due to corrosion. Then, with a thunderous rumble, the tanks came rolling out. They now barely resembled the Leman Russes they had once been. Upgunned and with new armour plates everywhere, the Kill-wagons of Big Mek Kogg began their ponderous advance to the frontline. But even these metal-skinned monsters were just a prelude to what would come from the biggest hangars. Roaring like the wrath of the gods, great red leviathans trundled from their colossal hangars, guns the size of small buildings for arms, and eagerly waddled towards the fight. At their head was Kogg's pride and joy, a beast so large it dwarfed it's compatriots and the buildings around it. Indeed, many of the metal mines in the south of the city had been exausted and the human slaves worked to death to find enough material to build it. It's guns had the capability to level entire cities, and atop it's robust frame, a large, ugly command centre constructed to resemble a snarling orkish visage sat, glaring out at the plains of Rylus.
This was the Big Hitta, a war-machine the Imperium classified as a Great Gargant. Kogg, on the other hand, classified it as "da reason I'm a better mek than that idjit Wurrmek."
With a shout through it's vox-grilles, Kogg led his Gargant brigade to war.
PART 4, CHAPTER III: Thunder and Steel
On the Hephaistan plains, outside the hive.
Princeps Prime Edward Alain frowned, a small throbbing in his head indicating the weapons impacts on the void shields, and began to move the Iratus Deus forward, further into the fight.
"Moderati Chekov! Prepare to fire the Turbolasers, target the centre of the horde!"
"Aye, Princeps."
On the Titan's viewing screens, Alain saw the explosions a moment later; great white clouds of energy bursting forth from where the lasers impacted. The destruction must have been impressive, thought Alain. Inwardly, he sneered. There was nothing in this enemy force that could truly threaten his war machine, nothing that would count as a challenge to kill.
"Princeps, our scanners are registering massive heat signatures from the hive city!"
Alain started.
"How big?"
"Super-heavy size, at least. There's also a crowd of smaller signatures."
Alain began to turn the Titan towards the city. What he saw there startled him into silence.
Out of the city, great moving fortresses were waddling towards the Imperial positions, each one festooned with guns and what appeared to be clan banners. At their feet, a host of smaller, but still impressively sized tanks charged towards the Kursk defence line, and with a sick feeling in his stomach Alain recognised them as former Leman Russ battle tanks. And then he saw the beast leading this new threat. His throat seemed to clamp shut and sweat beaded his brow.
"Spirit of the Omnissiah... a Great Gargant."
And then the panic was over, Alain's will clamping down on the unwelcome feeling.
"Moderati! Both of you! Open fire with all carapace weapons, and give me control of the two main weapons! Take it's shields down!"
The moderati responded, and moments later the turbolasers fired again, targeting the behemoth. It's shields flickered and several collapsed, but there were still enough left to shield the Gargant from harm. It responded immediately, turning to face the Iratus Deus, and opening fire with the massive cannons on it's chest and arms. Alain flinched and swore, as several of the void-shields collapsed and caused a stinging sensation in his head. As it receded, he saw that the massive war machine was advancing towards him, and he snarled.
"Right, if that's the way they want to play it!"
He began to make the Iratus Deus move towards the Gargant in turn, watching as it's smaller brethren began to tear apart the guard defensive lines. Four hundred metres to go. Alain powered up the Titan's chainfist. Three hundred metres. The Gargant saw what was happening, and fired again. This time, Alain felt real pain. The shots had breached the void shields of the Titan, and it had taken damage; Alain felt the residual trauma of this, and cursed, the fiery pain in his chest causing his control to falter for a second. He recovered, kept going. Two hundred metres. The need to tear the ork war machine to shreds now clouded Alain's mind, blocking out everything else except his target. One hundred metres. The Gargant span,and powered up it's own chainfist.
The Iratus Deus' combat weapon swung, tearing a great gouge from the Gargant's chest and removing several of the smaller cannons there. In response, the ork mostrosity smashed it's claw into the chest of Alain's Titan, knocking it backwards and buckling the armour. It's shoulder cannon barked, and Alain screamed as a part of the chest carapace of the Titan was blown free. He fought to keep the Deusstanding, and in that moment he knew. This was to be his last battle, his last contribution to the Imperium. Were the Deus at full battle capacity, this would be an even fight, but the war on Rylus Majora had taken it's toll on the god-machine and the enemy machine, fresh from the forges of it's birth, was more than a match for Alain's battered Warlord Titan. Aalin made his peace with the Omnissiah and the God-Emperor, and prepared to sell his life as dearly as he could.
.....................................................................................................................................................................................................
Captain Satyev looked out from his command bunker, and privately despaired. Even though the dust cloud produced by the attacking orks was enormous, he could clearly see the forms of the Iratus Deus duelling the big ork monster, and he could see that it was a one-way battle. The Titan was fighting bravely, but the beast had it overpowered, and knew it.
In front of him, the earth heaved up as another shell from the ork tanks hit the trenches, killing a score of his men and wounding many more.
"Missile teams! Take out the enemy armour!"
The two remaining missile squads responded, their shots slashing out at the tanks approaching and blowing several to scrap. Satyev knew it would not be enough. He steeled himself, and prepared to meet the charge of the greenskins, ordering his squad's heavy bolter to man the firing slit of the bunker. A roar got his attention. Behind the immediate carnage, he saw the final stages of the duel being played out. The Great Gargant had smashed apart the shoulder weapons of it's rival, and was closing in for the kill, seeking to punch it's claw through the torso of the Warlord Titan. Satyev briefly muttered a prayer for Alain's soul.
He needn't have done.
The only warning the orks had of their doom was of the sky beginning to burn; groups of meteors seemed to punch through the clouds, streaking towards the battle. Then they impacted, releasing their cargo. The Space Marines had arrived.
Aboard the Big Hitta, Kogg snarled, his face a mask of concentration and fierce joy. He was ripping the human Gargant to shreds; one more blow and he would have got the biggest kill of all, showing that Wurrmek who was top ork once and for all. The blow never landed.
A bright blue light suddenly balsted forth from the centre of the Gargant's control room, blinding both Kogg and his gretchin assistants. When it had abated a moment later, he found himself staring at a group of immensely armoured giants, their armour painted black, except for one shoulder pad, on which there were three tears of obsidian.
"What da -"
Kogg's words were drowned out as the giants opened fire, shredding the control room and it's occupants. One stepped up to the command chair, and before Kogg could pull his slugga, drove a blade wrapped in amber fire into his chest, twisting and ripping it out before slicing Kogg's head in two.
Brother-Sergeant Eisel Grimm of the Obsidian Tears 1st company voxed the Iratus Deus.
"The target is neutralised, Princeps. Fire your Volcano Cannon in three seconds."
The Terminators teleported away from the Gargant, and a second later the Warlord's main gun delivered the killing shot, tearing through the helpless war machine's reactor and detonating it with immense force.
Aboard his Titan, Alain smiled, and spat out a mouthful of blood.
"Better late than never, I guess. Now get into the damn fight, we've got a battle to win here."
PART 4, CHAPTER IV: The Art of War
Inside Hive Hephaistos
Part I
The drop-pod rumbled and groaned, the force of atmospheric entry still shaking it's frame, and Haarek muttered another war-oath. He disliked these drops from space. Much better to have your feet on solid ground and risk the fire of the enemy, in his opinion, than risk these madcap dives. There was no honour in being blown out of the sky before you'd had a chance to get to grips with the foe. The altimeter above his head chimed, and he looked up. Three hundred metres to go. Haarek loaded his storm-bolter, and let his voice drown out the scream of the jets activating.
"Brothers, look to your weapons! Glory awaits!"
The rest of the Wolf Guard yelled back, war-cries and oaths of courage mingling as one.
The drop-pod slammed into the floor, the jets slowing it down just enough for it to survive the impact, and it's doors folded open. The harnesses of the Terminators released their grip.
"For Russ and the Allfather!"
Haarek charged out of the pod, and opened fire. The nearby greenskins were caught completely off-guard, not expecting such an audacious attack, and their hesitation was what killed them. Haarek's bolt rounds struck three orks, their heads and chests exploding as the ammunition detonated inside them. The rest turned, and began to fire back. Their shots were nowhere near as impressive, most of them missing. The few that did hit Haarek simply bounced off his armour, the suit protecting him from their fury. Brother Heimdall stepped forward, the barrels of his assault cannon rotating faster and faster. A second later, he pressed the trigger, and the gun spat forth a hail of bullets, shredding the greenskins to the left of their position. The rest of the Wolf Guard now joined the fight, and for the next few minutes, the air was alive with bullets and shells of all kinds as the two forces engaged each other in a bloody firefight.
Bloody, but short-lived.
Of the Wolf Guard, only Haarek and Jorim had been hurt, Haarek suffering a minor flesh wound due to a lucky shot into his arm, between the shoulder plate and the torso. Jorim had been hit in the leg by a high-calibre round, but was able to continue fighting, the armour more or less soaking up most of the damage. The orks had been wiped out, refusing to flee from the fight, and the large balcony the drop-pod had landed on was now empty. Nearby, the sounds of war still rang out, and Haarek knew the rest of his brothers were now engaging the enemy.
"With me, brothers! Be wary, these are close surroundings, the enemy may use that to their advantage!"
"Acknowledged, brother."
The Wolf Guard began to advance, scanning the area ahead for threats. After a few metres, the weak daylight gave way, replaced by a neon gloom as the Terminators entered the hive itself. Here, the surroundings were close, and the warriors found themselves hampered by the narrow streets and tight corners, around which an enemy could be waiting, unseen. The fighting sounded closer, now; Haarek guessed it could be no more than fifty metres away, though he thought it more likely to be forty, due to his enhanced senses. He could smell the cordite from the crude ork firearms in the air. Rounding the corner, he found his guess was right.
The street opened out ahead into a large square, clearly intended to be some sort of resting area originally. Now the trees and bushes had been destroyed, and the square was the scene of a vicious brawl. On one side, nearest to Haarek, the orks had thrown up barricades and gun nests of all kinds, and were using these to their advantage, setting up a murderous field of fire. Beyond that, Haarek could see the rest of the attack force, the Grey Hunters fighting valiantly but unable to close with the gun nests under such heavy resistance. With them, Brother Alric, a Battle Leader the Wolf-Lord himself had chosen for this mission, urged his men onwards, howling great cries of defiance and hate. Haarek answered his roars with a battle cry of his own, and began to charge into the unprotected rear of the ork lines.
"Aim for the gun nests, they're the key to the defences!"
Some of the greenskins turned, their attention drawn by the rumble of the Terminator's heavy advance, and having seen this new threat began to run at the Wolf Guard, their chunky handguns barking as they charged. Haarek felt the shots strike, scattering off his torso and legs, and activated his frost axe. The ancient weapon hummed, and sheathed itself in ice-blue fire. Behind him, he heard the telltale whirring of Heimdall's chainfist, and the deeper, bass hum of Jorim's thunder hammer.
"Fire at will! Bring them down!"
The Terminators fired at the advancing greenskins. Many went down, bolt rounds smashing apart limbs or removing heads. It was not enough. The orks charged on, and Haarek could see that they were going to reach him. He snarled. The orks would get more than they bargained for.
"Attack! Cut them down, brothers! For the Allfather!"
The Wolf Guard leapt forward, their combined weight shaking the ground as they moved, and ploughed into the charging orks. Haarek's blade lashed out, and a greenskin warrior crumpled, his torso sheared in half. A powerful blow slammed into his chest, and Haarek was forced back, the massive greenskin preparing for another strike. He parried the monster's next blow, sending it wide, and kicked it in the leg, feeling it's knee break with the impact. The ork dropped, howling, only to be silenced as Haarek put a bolter round through it's skull. The greenskins surrounded him, their axes and blades slicing down at his form only to be defeated by his armour. A sharp pain flared in Haarek's side; a lucky blow had caught in the gap of his armour's torso joint. He swang his frost axe, feeling the hint of resistance as it sliced through an orkish neck, and tried to maneuver himself back into the Terminator squad. He had been cut off; between him and Heimdall stood most of the greenskins who had attacked them. He could see Heimdall's chainfist punch through another enemy's ribcage, the whine of the blades only just audible over the battle. Another blow, this time in the shoulder joint. Haarek swore, and fired at point-blank range, the bolts carving through the surrounding foes. At this range, they did not have time to detonate, but their calibre ensured at least a few greenskins went down. A huge ork leader stepped from the crowd of warriors, and bellowed in challenge, his powered claw hissing as it flexed. Haarek howled in reply, and threw himself at the creature. His first axe-stroke went awry, deflected by the intervention of the beast's subordinates. The creature punched him with it's claw, and Haarek's breath was driven from his body by the force of the blow. He staggered backwards, narrowly avoiding the slicing stroke of those pneumatic talons, and attacked again, this time aiming for the shoulder of the giant warrior. The blade cleaved through the ork's flesh, tearing free a great portion of the muscle and narrowly missing the bone. The ork howled in pain, and kicked out, the blow striking ineffectually at Haarek's thigh. Sensing victory, he closed, and punched the greenskin in the face as it tried to attack again, feeing it's nose break.
"Die, you swine!"
With a yell, Haarek beheaded the ork sergeant.
Seeing the intervention of the Wolf Guard, Alric leapt up.
"Look, brothers! The mightiest of our kin have joined us! See how they crush the enemy!"
His warriors roared, their spirits bolstered by the bulky forms of the veteran Terminators.
"Now is our time! Up, brothers! Up! For Russ and the Allfather! Glory awaits!"
The Grey Hunters needed no more telling. As one, they rose, unsheathing chainswords and bolt pistols, and began to run at the enemy, oaths and curses filling the air. The orks on the barricades fired into the charge, but with a great many of their number busy stemming the Wolf Guard, they could not hope to stop the Grey Hunters from reaching their lines. Though warriors fell, their helmets breached by orkish bullets, the majority of the attack force remained on their feet.
Clambering over the barriers, the Space Wolves brought the fight to the enemy.
The orks surrounding Haarek wavered, torn between killing him and attacking this new foe, and Haarek seized his chance. With the servos in his armour groaning, he slammed his body into the tide of greenskins, cracking bones with the force of his tackle, and began to force a path towards Heimdall and Jorim. His frost axe sang as it sliced, shearing apart any greenskin brave enough to stand in his path. The blades of his enemies bounced off his armour, some shattering with the force of the swing. Haarek fought on. The skull of the ork next to him imploded, crushed in the grip of a powerfist, and Alric joined him in the fight. With him came the Grey Hunters.
The orks fought bravely, and many fought to the death. By the end, Haarek was breathing fairly heavily, his arms burning with the exertion of the fight. Not a single greenskin survived.
Alric clapped him on the shoulder guard.
"Well met, Haarek! You timed that nicely, would've had a hell of a time getting through that many of the buggers otherwise."
Haarek smiled.
"That so? Well, you can repay me with a pint or two after we finish this. Emperor knows I could do with a drink."
Alric laughed, and strode off, seeing to his squad. Haarek turned and found Jorim waiting for him.
"How far are we from the objective, brother?"
Jorim checked his auspex.
"Not too far now, lad. I'd say maybe a few minutes away, if you'd shift your arse faster."
Haarek laughed. The greybeard had a sardonic sense of humour, and Haarek liked this.
"All right, old man. Brothers, let's go, before Jorim's impatience gets the better of him."
The attack force set off, towards the centre of the hive, and the central manufactorum control.
PART 4, CHAPTER V: Die with Honour
Haarek checked his ammunition. He was running low; the orks were many in number, and he had expended a great deal of bolts in the fighting. His Terminator armour was chipped and in some places small amounts of the armour plating had been torn away. He had switched to his Frost Axe now, if only to conserve his ammo for when he needed it. Beside, him, Jorim lumbered, flexing his arms and giving his thunder hammer test swings.
"Bloody hell, it's been a while since we've had to fight so many at once."
Haarek smiled.
"We'll have earned our mead tonight, eh? Garulf, how far now?"
Garulf consulted his in-helmet auspex.
"Three hundred metres to the target, brother."
The Wolf Guard strode on, passing through darkened corridors towards the greenskin central control room. Here, the lights were weak and flickering, as the orks diverted power to their command hub, no doubt powering the communications network or some other piece of strategic equipment. It mattered little; Haarek knew his mission, and would not fail in it. Besides, he thought with a slight glow of pride, the senses of the Space Wolves combined with the auto-senses of their helmets made a mockery of the gloom.
At the head of the squad, Snarri halted, and held up a fist. Haarek contacted him over the inter-squad vox.
"What is it?"
"Movement ahead, eighty metres. Corridor opens up there into another one of them courtyards."
Haarek tensed.
"Brothers, enemy near! Advance!"
The Wolf Guard began to move faster now, powering up their combat weapons. They knew the corridors and courtyards of this place were enclosed, and made close assaults easy to pull off. It was best to be prepared. They broke into a run.
Forty metres away, Haarek saw what they were moving towards.
There were eight huge orks in the courtyard, and by the looks of them, they had been expecting trouble. Each one was clad in a massive exoskeleton, all steel and looted ceramite. Their armour dwarfed that of the Terminators, and Haarek saw that their arms ended in wide-bore guns and huge power shears. This would be brutal.
The first of the MegaNobz saw the Terminators and opened fire.
Haarek swore as the shots whipped past their target and smashed into him, the force nearly knocking him off his feet. He recovered, and ran faster, snapping off shots with his storm-bolter. Jorim and Heimdall followed him, Heimdall beginning to power up his chainfist. To Haarek's left, Garulf and Beorn unsheathed their Wolf Claws and charged forward, their war-howls echoing around the corridors.
The groups met, and all hell broke loose.
The first of the MegaNobz reached Haarek, and swung at him with a blow that would have crushed his torso to pulp. Haarek jerked out of the way, the shears of his enemy tearing across his breastplate and obliterating the aquila there. He snarled, his rage stoked, and hacked out at the beast, feeling his Frost Axe bite into flesh. The ork howled, it's gun arm nothing more than a shredded ruin, and flinched backwards. It was a fatal mistake. A mechanical roar blasted forth, and the ork's head was torn apart, shells flying at a stupendous speed from Heimdall's assault cannon disintegrating it's cranium. From the other side, Haarek heard Garulf's scream of rage. He turned, in time to see Garulf smash headlong into another massive ork, his claws raking across the chest and stomach of his opponent. The ork staggered, but recovered well, and punched forward, bellowing. Haarek could do nothing but watch as the massive blades were rammed through Garulf's chest, tearing through his internal organs and slicing through his spine.
Heimdall roared in fury and grief, and opened up on the nearest MegaNob, forcing the creature back with the force of the cannon's shots. Haarek parried as a third ork attempted to disembowel him. The strength behind the blow was staggering, and Haarek felt the servos in his armour strain to contain it. He responded quickly, retaliating with an underhand swing and ripping open his opponent's throat. The ork gargled, blood spraying from the gouge, and desperately tried to fend Haarek off, shoulder-barging him to the floor. He knew he had to get up; on the floor, he was immobile, and the ork could crush him easily even with the mortal wound in it's neck. Even as he struggled, he knew it would be too late. The beast stood above him, and rasped, an expression of agonised triumph written on it's ugly face, before raising it's shears for one last blow. The swing never landed; Jorim's thunder hammer smashed apart the ork's upper body.
"Bloody hell, young 'un, do I have to do all of your fighting?"
"Enough! get back in the fight!"
Haarek snarled, and rose to his feet, charging into the melee as Beorn and Heimdall held back the remainnig MegaNobz. Beorn's claws hacked apart another greenskin even as Heimdall pulled off the head of another with his chainfist. The last three enemies realised the game was up. They could not hope to stop the Wolf Guard from passing through to the control room, and they knew it. Even as Haarek realised their intent, the orks charged. Beorn was caught completely by surprise. He lashed out, scoring the face of one of his attackers and drawing a howl of pain from the victim, but it was not enough. The other Nobz tore him limb from limb. Haarek screamed a denial, and smashed into the rightmost ork, toppling him forward before burying his Frost Axe in the creature's back. Jorim blocked a frenzied punch with his storm shield, the claws slamming against the localised force field created by the relic. The old veteran responded quickly, crushing the attacker's chest with a snake-fast blow.
Now, there was only one left. Even as Haarek and Jorim had stemmed the counter-attack, Heimdall had used his superior firepower to good effect, tearing through the armour of yet another ork at point-blank range. The last MegaNob braced itself, and bellowed what seemed to be a challenge. Haarek accepted. He strode forward, an ugly grimace on his face. The ork bellowed again, focussing on the advancing terminator. It snarled, then, unexpectedly, began speaking in crude Gothic.
"Runt, I iz gonner Tear yer 'ead from yer body and eat it!"
"You'll be dead before you even take the swing."
"O Yerrr? Who say-"
The ork never finished his sentence. Haarek's Frost axe carved his skull in two.
"Move on, brothers, the objective is near."
PART 4, CHAPTER VI: Necessary Sacrifice
The gunfire and roars outside the control room had stopped now, and Skargrim chuckled, an ugly grin on his face. He secretly hoped that the enemy had managed to win through. That would mean they were tough indeed, and therefore a worthy fight. Skargrim could do with a worthy fight. It was very dull monitoring the comms and telling units what to do. The mountainous ork flexed, warming up, and chucked again. It was a good job he'd got Mek Kogg to make Skargrim's mega-armour specially customised, otherwise he might have been slightly concerned about the approaching foe. Behind him, he could hear his 'ardboyz suiting up, preparing to defend the area even as the sounds of armoured footsteps drew closer. This was going to be good. The ugly grin got wider.
The first thing Haarek noticed about the control room was it's size. It was cavernous, filled to the brim with computers, tactical displays and communication booths. At that moment, he spotted the target. The ork leader was huge, far larger than any Haarek had faced before, and it was wearing the same bulky exoskeleton as it's subordinates had been. Haarek bared his teeth. It didn't matter how big the greenskin was, he would die all the same.
"Brothers, the enemy is here! By Russ, attack!"
The ork just grinned as the Wolf Guard began to charge.
"Get 'em, Ladz!"
The orks behind him howled and whooped, running at the terminators. These ones were more heavily armoured than the previous rank-and-file troopers Haarek had encountered, but that didn't matter; their armour was of no use against his Frost Axe. He raised his stormbolter and fired into the approaching horde. A few orks fell, but not enough. Heimdall added his own gunfire to the effort. Not even the addtitional armour plating worn by the greenskins could stop the rounds of the assault cannon, and the orks fell in droves. Beside him, Haarek heard Jorim curse and plant his feet, realising that no matter how much the Wolf Guard fired upon their foes, they would be charged.
The orks reached the terminators, and the slaughter began.
The first beast to reach Haarek swung at him with a clumsy overhead slash. He parried the blow, and flung the ork's arm wide, forcing it to step back. Before it could attack again, Haarek shot it in the face. A blow smashed against his helmet, and Haarek stumbled, temporarily wrong-footed by the force of the strike. Another blow, this one slamming against the back of his knees, nearly knocked him over. Haarek lashed out, and felt the impact as his axe cut through a few of his attackers. Making use of the newly created space, Haarek followed up, shoulder tackling one of his attackers to the floor before bringing his foot down on the creature's neck, breaking it with a loud snap. Nearby, Heimdall bisected a greenskin with a particularly vicious overhand swing of his chainfist. Furthest away, separated by a sea of orks, Jorim crushed attacker after attacker, his enraged insults carrying over even the din of battle.
Haarek began to move towards his brothers, his axe carving a path to them through the bodies of the enemy.
He had only taken three steps when a blow sent him toppling to the floor.
"Geddup, 'uminn, I wantz a fight, not a slumber party!"
The giant ork leader loomed over Haarek, a toothy snarl spread across it's face, and punched downwards. Haarek managed to roll to one side, but even so, the blow caught the edge of his shoulder guard, pulverising it with the tremendous force of the hit. However, the ork's blow had resulted in it's fist getting caught in the ground. As it heaved itself free, Haarek caught hold of the creature's gun arm, allowing it to pull him to his feet with it's momentum.
"What da - You cheatin' skumbag!"
The beast roared in indignation, and raised it's gun for a shot. Haarek had a fleeting impression of brilliant light before the gun discharged a massive energy bolt, missing Haarek by inches and instead blowing apart one of the last few 'ardboyz still standing. The boss swore, and instead took a swing at Haarek, it's massive steel claws buzzing with a crude energy field. Haarek parried, and the blades met with a thunderclap. With a metallic screech, several of the servos in Haarek's suit snapped trying to contain the strength of the ork's attack, and his arm was jerked back, his counterblow only just deflecting the massive shears from his torso. The ork smiled, displaying it's huge yellow tusks, knowing what had happened.
"Gonna be hard to do dat agin, 'uminn!"
Haarek responded with a swing of his own, aiming for the shoulder gap on the ork's claw arm. Caught in the middle of it's boast, the ork responded slowly, jerking awkwardly away from the blade. The Frost Axe instead struck the edge of the creature's shoulder, tearing it and ripping free some of the plating. Now it was the ork's turn to stumble.
The roar of an assault echoed from the walls, and shots struck the huge greenskin, forcing it further back. Haarek turned, and saw that between them Jorim and Heimdall had disposed of their attackers. He smiled. Things would now be even. He turned around, just in time to see the ork's headlong charge.
Ignoring the shots, Skargrim ran at the warrior with the big gun. He was furious now, his shoulder stung like hell and the armour he was wearing was costly to fix. Someone was gonna pay for this. The warrior tried to step away from his charge, but by then it was too late. With a roar of fury and battle-lust, Skargrim kicked the man to the floor, and swung downwards with his klaw. The human jerked and spasmed as each shear tore through his helmet, pulverising his skull and destroying his brain. He lifted the corpse and, with a yell of triumph, threw it at the other human, watching it knock the hammer-wielder to the floor.
Haarek could only scream a denial as Heimdall died. The ork moved fast; even as Jorim freed himself from his comrades' corpse, the creature was bearing down on him. Desperate to prevent his friend's death, Haarek opened fire on the beast, the shots causing it to flinch and miss it's target. Jorim, now on his feet, made the most of the opportunity. His hammer swung down, aiming for the ork's skull. The creature saw it coming, and seized his arm mid-swing. It wrenched; with a hideous tearing, Jorim's arm was pulled from it's socket. Jorim stumbled back, and Haarek heard him groan in agony over the squad comlink. Haarek advanced, knowing it was now or never. he had to kill the beast before it killed them.
Just as he reached it, the room filled with blinding light.
Haarek's stomach felt like it was dancing, and his head would not stop spinning.
The light stopped.
Haarek and Jorim were in a dark, ornately carved chamber. Built into the alcoves were various machines, each one monitored by a servitor. Haarek suddenly stiffened, his enhanced sight picking out warriors surrounding them. Each one wore black power armour, their helms shaped to resemble knights of old. On each of the astartes' left shoulderpad, three black teardrops were set against a background of purest white.
"What the hell? Why are we here?" Haarek snarled to the chamber at large.
One of the astartes stepped forward.
"Brother, be grateful. You have just been spared death."
Haarek bared his fangs, incensed at the percieved insult to his honour.
"We would have killed that greeskin had you not intervened, brother."
"I was not talking about that. Your team was taking too long to complete it's objective. We withdrew you all so as to conduct an orbital strike. The target has been neutralised, but your efforts shall be noted."
Haarek's in-helmet vox crackled quietly as Jorim grumbled.
"Smug b*stard."
Haarek voxed an agreement. The leader of these warriors would hear of this in no uncertain terms.
"Welcome, brothers of Fenris, to the strike cruiser Faithful Heart. We will take you to the Thunderhawk bay and transport you back to your ship now. "
The Obsidian Tears space marines turned, and as one, led Haarek and Jorim away.
Soon, all was silent in the chamber again.
...................................................................
Skargrim's first thought was to wonder what he had been drinking. Then he remembered the explosions. He cursed, realising he could not move, and looked up. His lower body was buried in a huge pile of rubble. The only thing stopping it from being crushed was his mega-armour; he was glad he had paid so much for it now. Luckily for Skargrim, the control room had just about withstood the punishment of the barrage, thanks in part to it's positioning deep within the hive. Even so, he could see that it was near to collapse. The humans had tricked him; they were just distracting him so their mates could drop the roof in on his head, just as they got clean away. He cursed.
"Dem zoggin' runts, can't fight proper like what I can, I dunno what dem 'uminns is comin' to dese days..."
With a therapeutic grumble, Skargrim began to dig himself free.
PART 4, CHAPTER VII: Hammer of the Emperor
Jansen was bleeding. A piece of shrapnel had cut into his leg. He was lucky, it was a minor wound, and he could still fight. Others were not so lucky.
He dragged himself to his feet, ears ringing, and forced himself to look over what was left of the barricade. His men were dying. The huge orkish tanks, though crude, were smashing through the imperial defensive line, crushing scores of soldiers and killing more with thunderous blasts from their guns. Jansen's own position had taken a direct hit. If it weren't for the dug-in position, he thought, they would all be dead. Still time for that, he admitted to himself.
As powerful as the metal behemoths were, they were meeting some resistance. Heavy weapon teams, realising the danger, had managed to destroy several, and were even now trying to stop the vehicles from overrunning their comrades-in-arms. Some Guardsmen, choosing to risk the danger of crushing, were running up to the tanks and attempting to put grenades in the tank's smoke stacks.
Coughing, Jansen limped over to the comms-man. Hershey was lying down, covered in dust, and speaking furiously into the vox.
"How bad is it, son?"
"Very bad, sir. The Kursk regiment is holding, but Captain Satyev reports that they are low on ammo. Princeps Alain is attempting to hold off those gargants, but he's being overrun. In short, sir, we could use some reinforcements."
"Hah, you don't say? Get me General Abel."
PART 4, CHAPTER VIII: Tears of Stone
The Thunderhawk's frame shuddered. Ciaphas ignored the tremors, and continued to softly intone a prayer, chanting as he prepared himself for the fight ahead. He checked his boltgun's ammunition counter, before gently affixing a purity seal to it and applying holy oil to the wax seal atop the piece of scripture. It was a ritual he had acted out a thousand times; it had always given him comfort before a battle in the past. Today, the stakes were higher. On the main front, the regiments of Imperial Guard and their green-skinned opponents were locked in a bloody stalemate. Their ferocious allies, the wolves of Fenris, had struck at the core of the enemy-held city, very nearly interfering with the plans of the Obsidian Tears. Ciaphas had heard that Captain Adritus had been incensed at the Space Wolves' apparent recklessness. Personally, he thought the attack to be a foolish but undeniably brave act, one that he could at least admire for it's audacity if not it's timing. Now, it fell to the Obsidian Tears to even the balance of the battle. Their directive was to attack from the rear of the Ork forces, and apply enough pressure to fracture the horde. Three minutes ago, the First Company Terminators had begun their assault on the factory district of Hive Hephaistos. In one minute, it would be their turn; the regular troops of the First, the veterans of the chapter. Ciaphas was one such veteran. He and his squad had made a name for themselves as close-quarter and city-fighting specialists over the decades they had been together, and it was now that their skills would come in handy. Ciaphas checked to his left. Brother Beo stood there, quietly loading his flamer with a promethium tank. He nodded when he spotted the sergeant looking at him.
"Near to target zone, Brother-Sergeant?"
"Aye. Ready yourselves, we go in hot."
The Thunderhawk shook as, from below, weapons impacts slammed into it's hull. It's own guns returned fire, and Ciaphas knew it was time. He hefted his boltgun, attached his chainsword in it's sheath to his back, and stepped towards the assault ramp.
"Squad Virtus, prepare to disembark! Look to your boltguns!"
The squad affirmed the command, and moved into position.
The Thunderhawk touched down, and the assault ramp slammed downwards. In an instant, Squad Virtus was moving.
"GO GO GO!"
The Astartes immediately moved out, hugging cover to avoid the majority of the fire aimed at them. The moment they were clear, the Thuderhawk took off again. Brothers Daedalus and Orestes covered the rest of the squad with controlled bursts of fire; the percussive bark of their bolters echoing across the landing zone. Ciaphas got behind one of the more ungainly piles of rubble and took stock of the area. They had landed on an outthrust landing pad, on one of the higher levels of the hive's western sector. Before them, the orks had set up barriers of sandbags and torn-down panels of plasteel, fortified with razorwire. Clearly they had thought to guard the Hive's landing zones well. Ciaphas looked around, seeking for a way to overcome the barrier. There. To the right. An exposed venting duct, large enough to fit his bulky frame, was visible. It would do. He signalled to Beo and Decius.
"Ventilation duct, far right. use it to outflank the xenos, and burn them."
The two Astartes confirmed, and began to make their way across the landing zone, making use of any available cover.
"Squad, cover fire! Keep the b*stards' heads down!"
Squad Victus opened fire as one, buying time for Beo and Decius with a storm of bolt rounds. Behind the barrier, some of the orks ducked, trying to avoid the incoming fire. Others, either bravely or stupidly, ignored the danger and carried on firing their own crude machine-guns; many of them were struck by the shots of the Astartes, and did not get back up. Ciaphas ducked back behind his piece of cover, and looked over at the vent. the two warriors he had sent were gone; Ciaphas counted maybe twenty seconds since he'd last seen them. He reloaded his boltgun, and leaned over the rubble, aiming at the most prominent ork he could see. A large, ivory-tusked individual caught his eye. The beast was sporting a large automatic weapon, and was firing it carelessly in the direction of Squad Victus. Ciaphas focussed. His vision homed in on the snarling, dirty face of the ork. He squeezed the trigger. The greenskin jerked backwards, gun firing with it's death spasm as it's brains exploded out of the back of it's helmet. All that was left of the ork's skull was splattered across it's comrades, bits of bone sticking out of their armour and flesh. Several of the nearby warriors flinched, surprised at the gory death of their companion. It was the opening that Squad Victus needed. Taking advantage of the hesitation, the Astartes managed to pick off several more orks before the rest ducked. Ciaphas cursed. Now the greenskins would be much harder to oust from their position. He only hoped that -
A roar sounded, as a massive tongue of flame shot out from a vent next to the ork barrier. Mere seconds later, it was joined by another. The orks screamed and bellowed in agony as the flames consumed them. Some tried to leap the barrier to escape the conflagration, only to be gunned down by Squad Victus. The stench of burning flesh was near overwhelming. The orks didn't stand a chance.
Ciaphas began to walk over to the barricade, moving briskly. After the reappearance of Beo and Decius, the fight had been a great deal easier; the barriers set up by the greenskins were of no protection against the flamer-wielding Astartes who had outflanked their position. Here and there, a scorched ork corpse could be seen, arms out-thrust in it's death throes. Ciaphas knew they had to move fast. He knew well that the other veteran squads would have touched down by now and would be taking the fight to the enemy, but even so the orks outnumbered them ten to one. They must keep moving, and isolate the enemy; one by one they would fall, if necessary. He began to climb over the barrier. Squad Victus followed his example.
...................................................................................................................
Twenty minutes had passed. Tearing apart any isolated units of orks they came across, Squad Victus had slowly made their way to the greenskins' new command post; a huge tower, once the outpost of the Adeptus Mechanicum, now a gun-studded ork fortress. The greenskins had prepared surprisingly well for the Imperial attack, Ciaphas thought. Perhaps they were not as simple-minded as most believed. Certainly they had enough sense to have a backup command centre. Ciaphas halted, and signalled to the squad to move up. Brother Janus came up to him, careful to stay in the shadows.
"Brother-Sergeant, what is your plan?"
"We cannot assault the command post directly. That would be foolhardy, the place will be too well-guarded for just ten of us to handle. However... see those fuel tanks over there? Attached to the side of the tower?"
"Aye, Brother-Sergeant. Sabotage, is it?"
Ciaphas chuckled.
"Well, if they are stupid enough to put such things there..."
Squad Victus began to advance, moving slowly so as not to attract undue attention. The orks filling the square in front of them were too busy to notice them, however; the elite Terminators had turned up, and were attacking along one flank of the greenskins' lines, forcing them to throw their troops at the hulking Astartes warriors, with the hope of driving them off. It was the distraction Squad Victus needed. All that separated them from their target was a gantry running across the battleground. Ciaphas thought fast.
"Dante, Ignaitus, Orestes, Daedalus! Cover fire on my mark! The rest of you, run like hell 'til you get to the target!"
Squad Victus slowly edged across the gantry. The orks did not notice.
"Now, Brothers! Kill for the Emperor!"
Four of the Astartes halted and opened fire on the orks below, causing havoc and throwing confusion amongst the already embattled greenskins. The rest of the squad sprinted across the gantry to the platform and the fuel tanks, following Ciaphas' lead. Shots whistled past them as they ran. Some found a mark. Charon fell, a bullet punching through the eye-piece of his helm, his body crashing to the floor, shockingly loud. Ciaphas had known the man for almost a century now, had seen him best many enemies single-handed. This was not the death he would have expected for him. They carried on running. Ciaphas pulled out a krak grenade.
"Wire them round the base, and get ready to run when I give the order."
For a few terrible minutes, the Astartes worked, bullets flashing and skimming all around them. It was heartstopping. Several times, a bullet ricocheted off Ciaphas' helm, causing a prayer of supplication to spill from his lips. Finally, it was done.
"GO, brothers, GO! Run, for the Emperor's sake!"
The Astartes ran, trading shots with the greenskins below. Seeing their brothers returning at some speed, the four on the gantry too began to retreat. They only just made it.
With a deafening bang, and a filthy cloud of smog, the wall of the command centre blew outwards. The structure groaned, weakened by the massive punishment inflicted, but remained standing. Many of the orks below were not so lucky. The blast threw many of them to the floor, and crushed yet more to a pulp with flying masonry. Those closest to the blast were simply annihilated by the explosion. All around, orks lay stunned, easy targets for the newly galvanised Terminators.
Looking up, Ciaphas snarled.
"That was for Charon, you b*stards."
The rest of the squad picked themselves up. They were dust-covered, and grim, but unbroken.
"Squad, move out. Secondary target is within 800 metres."
Squad Victus passed into the shadows once more.
The vox-man nodded, and contacted the Elysian general.
[Echo One, this is High Command. What is the problem?]
"High command, Echo One here. We're under heavy attack, situation critical. Reinforcements requested at this time."
[Request acknowledged, Echo One. We'll send a few squadrons down, should help you out. Over and out.]
Jansen put down the receiver and grunted.
"Better get here soon, or there won't be much to reinforce."
When the Vendettas of Eagle Squadron began their strafing run, things were almost desperate. The Elysians had been pushed back, and had formed a defensive circle Many were dead, shrapnel cutting through limbs and arteries, or crushed under the mass of their attackers. The tanks of the greenskins pushed forward, knowing that victory was in their grasp. The first few lascannon shots changed all that. The massive vehicles, utterly unprepared for the speed of the attack, were slow to respond. Even as the beasts moved to track the new threat, more were reduced to burning wrecks.
The tanks returned fire, driving their attackers off, but by then it was too late. The momentum of their charge had been broken, and they were vulnerable to counter-attack.
Jansen did not hesitate.
"Heavy weapon teams, focus your fire! Wreck these b*stards!"
The guardsmen immediately responded, pounding their shots into the now-exposed flanks of the enemy. Once again, the foe tried to turn to present their thick front armour to the threat, but by this time the Vendettas had swept around and were coming in for another run. Shells began whistling as the tanks attempted to fight off both attacks.
Behind Jansen, a shell impacted on Bravo Squadron's position. Screams and the smell of burnt flesh immediately reached Jansen, and he grimaced. Yet more men to avenge. More mothers to comfort with tales of heroism. He swore, and turned to the nearby squads.
"Prepare to advance! I want everyone carrying a weapon that can hurt these things with me!"
Jansen clambered and slid down the slope, towards the vehicles. His men followed. The tanks were by now hopelessly disorganised, trying to fend off two attacks at once, and only a few thought to target the approaching soldiers. Their turrets roared, and Jansen scolded himself for thinking of them as "a few." Men were blown into the air or cut into ribbons, and the Elysians quickened their pace. Looking up, he saw that the Vendettas were now engaging crude flying vehicles, each piloted by a whooping greenskin, and knew that they had moments at best to get to the tanks.
Then they were there. The behemoths were intimidating from a distance, but up close they were utterly terrifying. Jansen swallowed, and hefted a meltagun. The trooper carrying it had been killed in the last few moments; Jansen would make sure he hadn't died in vain. He aimed at the nearest vehicle, a huge, smog-belching monster covered in glyphs and bolted-on armour plates, and pulled the trigger. The effects were impressive. The shot punched through the side of the tank, molten metal running like water, and detonated something inside. The tank screeched to a halt as thick black smoke shot out of the hole made by Jansen's shot, and promptly burst into flames. he knew the crew must be dead; nothing could survive such a conflagration. Nearby, more tanks fell to the fury of the Elysians. Grenade launchers destroyed engine stacks, hatches were torn open and flamers used to burn interiors, and when all else failed lasfire was poured through the top hatch in the hope a stray shot would kill someone important. Jansen roared with excitement and fury, all of his fears thrust away as his body dumped adrenaline into his system. They could do it!
One of the tanks began to bear down on him. It's driver had seen what Jansen's gun could do, and was in no mood to have it happen to him.
"Shiiiit...." Jansen span and fired. The gun melted through the front armour, but did not stop the tank. He could feel it's advance make the ground shake. He desperately tried to scramble out of it's way, sweat streaming down his brow as he panicked. It's shadow covered him, and he screamed a prayer, closing his eyes and waiting for the inevitable.
A massive crumpling of metal reached his ears, making him flinch and cover his ears in pain.
He looked up.
A grey-green tank had smashed into the side of the orkish vehicle, ploughing it aside as it's battle-cannon targeted another greenskin machine. Jansen laughed hysterically, tears of gratitude running down his cheeks, and spluttered his thanks, as if the Leman Russ could hear him. Nearby, more of the imperial tanks were beginning to assault their rivals. Atop one, a red flag flew, with a black aquila set in a yellow star in it's centre. The Kursk Red Guard were counter-attacking. The day could still be theirs.
Jansen picked himself up, and stumbled back into the fight. He would do his duty. His men followed him.
The tide had turned.
PART 4, CHAPTER IX: Resolve of Obsidian
Thick black smoke billowed into the air as the command post burned. Inside, panicking grot fire-crews attempted to halt the fires caused by the Obsidian Tears' sabotage. They needn't have bothered. Outside, the last of the post's defenders were being wiped out; soon, the corpses of the gretchin were amongst those of the other defenders.
Brother-Sergeant Barbatio stepped across the body of a huge ork leader, and scanned the area for any more attackers. What he saw answered his question; the havoc wreaked by the guns of Squad Lacertus had slaughered the pitiful remnants of the greenskin command staff. To his left, Brother Menelaus signalled him to come over.
"What is it, Brother?"
Menelaus pointed to a slightly singed but still active view-screen.
"I believe we need to contact the Princeps..."
What Barbatio saw made a shiver run up his spine, even with his long experience seeing the horrors of war.
"Princeps Alain? This is Brother-Sergeant Barbatio. You need to hear this..."
....................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
Brother-Sergeant Ciaphas moved fast, careful to stick to the shadows where the darkness of his armour would camouflage him best. Beyond them, separated from the squad by a maze of smog-stained gantries, was their target; a landing pad, used by the greenskins to fly in supplies. It would be down to squad Victus to capture it. Behind him, Beo swiftly reloaded his flamer, and checked the nozzle. Ciaphas nodded in approval; if things got too hot, they'd need the flamers to hold back the horde.
As they reached the edge of the surrounding buildings, Ciaphas signalled a halt. Before them lay the landing area. It was sparsely manned, with just two small groups of ork warriors in the vicinity of the pad. Ciaphas studied them closer. These ones were better armed and armoured than the greenskins they had previously encountered, with large suits of of what looked like ill-fitting salvaged tank armour plates. Clearly the orks had seen fit to re-use these tracks to protect themselves better. Not that it mattered; Ciaphas had great faith in the abilities of Squad Victus. He knew they would come out on top.
The squad began to move as one, encircling the pad and it's current owners.
Grotzeg yawned, and scratched himself. He wasn't sure why the Boss had made them stay here when there were human fighters to be killed elsewhere. The Boss' only explanation had been to punch Groff in the face after he'd questioned it. That was good enough for Grotzeg. Beside him, Zagwurr belched. The stench was foul.
"Oi, keep it down!"
Zagwurr raised a finger.
"Zog dat, you grot. What'
sa matter, too soft ter handle it?"
"I'll have yer gutted for that!!"
Zagwurr got up, a belligerent look on his features. He took two steps towards Grotzeg, snarling.
And with a whistling sound, his head expoded.
Grotzeg barely had time to register this before shots began to slam against his armour. He roared, and opened fire in the general direction of the shooting. Looks like looting the human tanks was a good thing. He ran towards the rest of his mob, who were already shooting in every direction they could. He felt more secure here; no enemy could beat him and his mates, they were too strong. This would be over soon.
A small rattling near his feet caught his attention, and he looked down. Before he could even swear, the grenade went off.
Ciaphas blew apart another ork's head with a round from his boltgun, keeping them distracted as Beo, Dante and Daedalus advanced from behind. Though the plating the greenskins wore was strong, it was weak around the face, and Ciaphas wasted no time in taking advantage of this.
At the rate Ciaphas and his squadmates were killing their foe, they would not be done in time for the second phase of the plan. Fortunately, Beo and his Brothers would solve that.
As their grenades began to detonate in between the tightly packed orks, Ciaphas suppressed a smile. One more victory for the Emperor.
Ten minutes later, a pair of thunderhawks streaked through the sky, aiming for the liberated pad. The new front was now open, and with the Obsidian Tears leading the attack, the momentum of the imperial war machine started to build.
For the first time in a very long time, the Imperial forces were on the cusp of a great victory.
Ravenous Angels 
Tomb Kings 
Protectorate of Menoth 
Waaagh! Gorskar = 2050pts
Iron Warriors VII Company = 1850pts
Fjälnir Ironfist's Great Company = 1800pts
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