Prologue
" The worst policy is to attack cities…. Attack cities only when there is no alternative. "
-Sun Tzu, The Art of War
The planet of Praetor IV sat on the very rim of the fluctuating border of what is known as Imperial Space. Located in the far south of the galaxy it hung like a green jewel streaked with blue veins, covered in verdant forests on 90 percent of its landmass, excepting at the extreme poles. Rivers the size of small seas flowed sluggishly from both poles to feed the ever-thirsty flora and fauna in-between, shrinking slightly during the short, wet winters, and swelling dangerously during the spring. Their banks eroded quickly, chewing away meters of shore a year, creating an ever-shifting geography that made initial surveying quite a frustrating affair. Rare was the day that there was no form of precipitation falling from the skies, the abundant planetary water flowing through the cycles of evaporation, condensation and precipitation rapidly.
All of this changed, indeed, had to change if the valuable mineral resources that were constantly dredged from the soil by the rivers were to be harvested and refined before heading out to other more industrialized planets to become whatever was necessary, be it bolter rounds or vox caster circuitry. Imposing its collective will upon the planet the Imperium of Man landed great ships filled with earth-movers and other mechanized equipment, which immediately went to work re-diverting, damming, or channeling the rivers so that a stable base for the buildings that were to follow would not be swept away or destroyed by floods. This monumental task took years to complete, but eventually the waterways were tamed, several of them spanned with massive hydroelectric dams that would provide much of the power needed for the growing industry.
With stable areas of land to deal with the workers began a massive deforestation, slashing and burning huge swathes of forest, not only to allow for the immediate building of structures, but enough to allow for space to grow for generations to come. In the wake of their deforestation they also treated the land with a cocktail of herbicidal chemicals, insuring that all of the work they had completed would not be un-done in the span of a decade, leaving hundreds of square kilometers of the planet's surface barren of anything but the hardiest of grasses and ferns. Praetor wood was practically useless for anything but burning, far too soft and wet to be crafted into anything worth while, mile-long ridges of cut logs simply allowed to rot on the edges of the cleared land.
Construction of what would become the true destiny of this once wild and beautiful world began in earnest during its twelfth year of development, the planetary overseers desperate to start paying back the labor and materials already used to develop Praetor IV. Battalions of workers, both those of the skilled, paid variety and those who, for whatever reason, were condemned to live the rest of their lives in forced labor camps all across the Imperium, arrived, living in sprawling shanty towns and pre-fab buildings for much of the initial construction. Miles of razor wire, electrified fencing and twisting mazes of cage tunnels and gates made escape unlikely, while the addition of the 1st Praetorian Protectors, the Imperial Guard regiment assigned to the planet, made escape a possibly lethal proposition. This is not to say that the indigenous carnivores, their traditional hunting grounds violated and made inaccessible, did not feast on their share of escapees, making life in the camps only a hair-breadth worse than freedom outside them.
With metal, plastic, glass and concrete the building of the power relay stations, factories, refineries, housing complexes and administrative offices began, springing up rapidly from the poisoned earth like a forest of grey, thick trees. Tunnels for power, water and sewage were dug in the moist soil, the water table having retreated only enough to allow a single sub-level to exist, the rest having to be built in ever-ascending levels, criss-crossed with catwalks, bridges, support cables, pipes and braces. It was said, amongst the workers in those days, that one could not drop a tool from any level above the first and have it hit ground, so thick and pervasive were the connections between buildings. Like a dreary hedge maze the industrial zones were constructed in twisting, parallel rows, the ground level little more than a dizzying array of access roads, railways and streets for massive transport vehicles to wind their way to their destinations. Drainage was important, as was quickly found out, the torrential rains of spring and summer often flooding the ground level and sub-level for hours at a time, gigantic water pumps flushing it out to concrete floodways that eventually terminated into a river far from the industrialized zones.
The construction from that point on was constant and almost frenzied, expanding out into the fields where only the hardy grass grew, followed by an impenetrable sheet of asphalt. The planet's population began to grow exponentially as well as the facilities already built needed to be staffed, supervised, and maintained. It wasn't long into the fourteenth year of development that the planet finally began to ship raw and refined ores off-world, much to the relief of the Planetary Governor Adna who was beginning to come under some intense scrutiny from the Administratum of Terra who sat millions of light years away, but whose reach could still easily be felt if they wished it so. The Masters and Prefects of the incalculably immense bureaucratic network cared little about the specific ills that troubled him and his efforts, their eyes firmly on the bottom line and the list of those waiting to see if perhaps they could do a better job.
Things did run relatively smoothly, thought the addition of three more regiments of Imperial Guard to police the citizens and act as guards for the prison camps did certainly help when the forced labor camps erupted into riots that summer. The rioters were ruthlessly purged, needless to say, and any and all suspected leaders were summarily executed as well after brief interrogations to see if they knew of any more instigators. This was to be only the beginning of such riots and their lethal suppressions, as more would-be leaders, really little more than malcontents with illusions of grandeur, rose to replace the old ones.
Barely two decades into the development of Praetor IV saw the refineries and factories bustling with activity, huge trails of inky smoke gushing from the various pipes and exhaust vents located on the roofs while the twisting serpent of new development continued to swallow up cleared land. Despite the occasional riot, and machinery failure things ran with a satisfactory smoothness, the pressure put on the governor easing as the stream of ore and, with the addition of oil pumps scattered amongst the yet-to-be-tamed northlands, crude petroleum shipped off-world was well within the expected limits. The Guardsmen assigned to the planet, still only four regiments strong for the whole world, became listless and undisciplined despite the efforts of the commissars, relegated either to mind-numbing prison duty or breaking up fights in public bars between workers. Field exercises, drill and target shooting could only do so much to hold this in check, the regimental commanders beginning to grow uneasy about this ever-increasing problem, wondering if perhaps rotating the troops between it and other worlds in the galactic region would break the monotony of duty for them.
It was not until the static-laced and frantic communication of one of the freighter ships reached the space port that it was discovered that the monotony would soon be at an end, as would a great many other things. An Ork Rok, flung far away from a winding-down Waaghh in a neighboring sector had become caught in the planet's gravitational pull, the Rok's defensive batteries of weapons the cause of the freighter's demise. An immediate distress call was halted as Governor Adna argued with his military counterparts as to the true extent of the threat the Rok posed them, or if they could crush them utterly without outside help. One less inconvenience for the Adminitratum to associate with his record as a planetary governor and one more feather in the caps for the regimental commanders, holding off an Orkish invasion with only the forces on site to work with. While it was agreed that the planetary defenders could use something to focus their attention on, and that they very well may be able to crush the Orkish forces, there was upwards of three million civilians and billions of credits of Imperium money invested on the planet to consider, and at the very least they should muster their forces as quickly as possible near the landing sites for the green menace and have the astropaths send out a broad message to all nearby ships and stations notifying them of the Ork presence and to stand by for further information regarding its strength and if assistance was needed.
It was decided, with some misgivings, that three full regiments would be scrambled to the ork landing zone as soon as the planetary sensors detected their orbital entry, while the last one would remain in the city of Gallahar in case the unthinkable happened and somehow the other three regiments were wiped out or the Orks somehow managed to slip by them. A fleet of amphibious Chimera would deliver the Guardsmen to the landing site, escorted by sixteen Catachan-pattern Sentinels suited for combat amongst thick forests. When at last the invasion began, drop ships streaking through the atmosphere followed by smoky plumes it was with a defiant roar that the engines of the Chimeras and the troops within their armored bellies left the city of Gallahar to enact their pre-emptive strike upon the invading horde. In the name of the Immortal Emperor, victory would be theirs.
Initial engagements were very favorable, the Orks capitulating readily from the sudden and vicious onslaught of three regiments getting their first taste of real combat in years. Pushing further into the swampy lands the Orks had landed in the greenskins began to mount stiffer and stiffer resistance, becoming more organized and better equipped as the Guardsmen approached the actual drop zone, closer to the center of Orkish power and organization, the Warboss. By the time the Guardsmen had approached to within four miles of the approximated drop zone the fighting was at a standstill, Orks and Guardsmen trading fire amongst massive trees, waist-deep in mud and vegetation. Just when it seemed like that Guardsmen were once again pushing forward explosions rocked their rear flank, no less than four Sentinels ripped apart by ordinance from a yet unknown source.
Confusion began to reign as Stormboyz dropped through the canopy above and set to work with pistol and axe on the command platoons, while the Kommandos who had rigged the Sentinels with their Tankbusta bombs slipped back into the jungle shadows. With the regimental commanders attention focused on the Orks that were cutting their way towards them the front line of Guardsmen began to waver, Killa Kans and Orky Dreadnoughts appearing through the thick gloom and, while their movement was slowed by the water-drenched terrain, they pressed ever closer like a stomping, shouting, shooting wall of metal plates and guns belching fire.
One commander was dead by the time the Stormboyz had been dealt with and some order restored to the chain of command, vox-transmitted orders slipping in amongst the crackling lasgun fire and the dull roar of flamers at work. The regiments held for a time, slowly withdrawing as the heavily armored mekz drew to within melee range, every Guardsmen's eyes on the scything saw blades and massive axes each Kan brought with it. Unsuited for anti-armor combat the Guardsmen saw even their massed laser fire doing little but scoring the metal of the armored behemoths as they began to cut their way through their lightly-armored ranks, unconcerned with the flamers of the Sentinels which continued to try and lend support to the infantry.
Eventually a call for a controlled retreat was ordered, the soldiers more than eager to give ground to the crudely fashioned metal killing machines already spattered with the blood of fellow Guardsmen. As more Orks from the landing site began to appear, automatic weapons chattering as bullets ripped through green foliage and uniform alike the retreat became a full and hasty one, the commissars shouting for order in the ranks but even a few prompt executions of those who turned their back on the enemy did nothing to slow the Guardsmen's flight, merely providing a wider variety of ways to die. The true horror of rout didn't become apparent until the Guard had traveled half a kilometer back from their previous location, when a squad was ripped apart with a thunderous roar and a huge gout of muddy water and debris. One more squad and another Sentinel shared the same fate before it was enough of a shock to the Guardsmen to stop their heedless running, to realize that Orks had filtered in behind their initial advance and mined their route back. Panic threatened to unhinge the survivors, trapped between the taunts and war cries of the approaching Orks and the silent but equally lethal booby traps laid out before them.
It was nearly an hour before the first ragged survivors exited the swamp, drenched in stagnant water with the screams of the dying filtering out of the canopy-shaded gloom behind them. What was to be a magnificent victory for the forces of Praetor IV had claimed more than three-quarters of the three regiments and all but five Sentinels. None of the commanders had survived the swamp either, picked out by the trailing Orkish mob and cut down with savage glee and surprising fore-thought for the usually simple and brutish greenskins. Demoralized and beaten the remaining Guardsmen grouped up into a large mass and made their way back to Gallahar, their pursuers breaking off once they had reached open ground.
There was only worried mutterings and looks of shock from the civilians as the remaining Guardsmen made it to the outskirts of Gallahar. They were met by the Fourth regiment of the Praetorian Protectors that had taken up fortified positions at the top of the massive highway that was used for ferrying personnel from the city to the vast industrial complex. Once the wounded were transported to the hospitals the last Regimental commander left alive, General Tal Dominik, and his officers began to file through the after-action reports the Guardsmen who survived were giving and preparing for the city's defense against what was now a vast superior force. The alert that had been issued prior to the rout was rapidly changed to a distress call and pushed to encompass a range that left many of the Astropaths exhausted to the point of collapse. The planet would fall to the Orkish invaders without outside aid…all that remained to be seen was how long the city could hold out.
Reluctant scouts were sent to monitor the Ork's progress while the city scrambled to establish defenses capable of holding the invaders at bay. Fortunately, some forethought had been taken into consideration when the primary city had been built, situated upon a large plateau with fortified perimeter walls and with only one land access, a slope that had been entirely paved into six lanes of road. Running right down the middle for transporting shifts of workers to the factories and refineries on the plains below was a single track rail system, long since shut down by the impending siege. Beneath the ground, though, a network of tunnels with more rail systems set up brought the refined ores and other manufactured goods into the city, entire rail cars transported up in freight elevators to be loaded upon one of the seven docks at the space port nestled at the heart of the city. It was with a firm hand that Commander Dominik declared that the tunnels would have to be sealed with explosives, a move that, if the city survived the assault, would take months to clear and repair. Governor Adna had to be restrained by his aides upon hearing this, made silent only by reminding him that it was his foolishness that had made such measures necessary. With tons of concrete, twisted metal and earth blocking the city's subterranean access whatever other explosives could be mustered were brought to the city causeway, turning the upper half of the broad highway into a minefield. Sand bags, giant land-moving machinery and traffic barricades were lined up along the crest of the slope, adding another layer to the city's defenses. Heavy weapons teams, automated Tarantula Sentry Guns and the remaining Sentinels that were still combat-ready took up positions at this barricade, ready to gun down any attempts to reach the city proper.
After tense days of preparing, the declaration of food rationing and a strict curfew every Emperor-fearing human on the planet was finally treated to some good news; like on so many seemingly doomed planets before it, salvation was coming in the form of the Emperor's finest warriors, Space Marines. The White Scars' battle barge Wings of War, which had been involved in opposing the original Waaghh these Orks had fled from, had heard the distress call. Their involvement in that conflict over, they would make a stop on Praetor IV before heading off to where-ever they were needed next. They would arrive in four days time, leaving, by the most reliable estimates, the defenders alone with the Ork forces at the fortifications for sixty-eight hours, give or take.
What follows is the tale of the liberation of Praetor IV from impending xeno conquest, beginning sixty-six hours into the siege of Gallahar.
