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+++ 03.17 hrs. {Sys. Local – Knossos}
+++Tempestus Seg. #1669/H
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45th Parallel – Vidal – 92.06 x 45.44
Fac. Name = Observatorium_Primus
Region = Vidal_Mtn. [N/NW]
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Wind howled around the serried rooftops of Observatorium Primus, and sheets of rain pummeled the men and women that patrolled the stormy highland night. Teams of olive-suited PDF troops, those that called the facility home, kept watch with Imperial Guard riflemen wrapped in their standard-issue ponchos. The guardsmen were squatters here, scattered refugees grateful for their hosts' hospitality. In the months following full planetary rebellion they had retreated to the mountains, the routed rifle platoons and support elements scrambling to escape overwhelming enemy forces. Now, through bleary and sleep-deprived eyes and frustratingly inadequate night optics, they joined their PDF brethren in scanning the rainy blackness for signs of danger. Every swaying pine could be concealing an enemy combatant, every roll of thunder masking the sound of approaching engines. These fears could have been dismissed as irrational, had they not become a reality time and time again.
Tonight however, one man was undeterred by the rigors of the night watch. Father Patraeus, Ministorum preacher and facility chaplain prior to the rebellion, made it his sacred duty to check in on the soaking and miserable souls that found themselves on the wrong end of the guard rotation. A kind word and sympathetic ear could lift even the most dampened spirits, and honor demanded he forego his more ecumenical duties to assure the well-being of these troops. To this end, he had discarded his traditional vestments in exchange for the olive drab legwear and spit-shined boots of the PDF, a thick utility tunic, and a well-used poncho – courtesy of a dearly departed Guardsman. This evening, he abandoned his warm bed in the rectory wing and took to the roofs and halls of Observatorium Primus, with a battered shotcannon in hand. He cradled the blocky weapon beneath his poncho; it had seen him through many a ferocious firefight, and had been his killing tool of choice in martial days long-past. Few original components remained, and even the wooden stock was beginning to split after he had used it to cave in a traitor's skull the week prior. Presently, he stepped lightly from a flak-board bridge and down the parapet of the command building. Small explosions of water splashed around his boots as he landed, and he made his way toward the closest heavy stubber emplacement.
"Good evening, gentlemen – ah, and lady." He said, keeping his voice at a conversational volume. He gave a short bow as he approached a pair of male PDF troops, seated at a sandbag barrier beside a poncho-clad guardswoman. The trio turned quickly:
"Good evening, Father." They said together. Sergeant Jura, the wiry blonde Guardsman that had proven a fearsome sharpshooter since arriving at the facility, took a step back from the heavy gunner team.
"Rather late for a stroll don't you think, Father?" She asked, adjusting the soft cover beneath the hood of her poncho before reaching out to shake his hand. Patraeus smiled warmly, and returned the gesture with rain falling from his short, greying beard. While his burly and weathered hand dwarfed hers, the strength of her grasp was impressive.
"Ah but my soul cannot rest, knowing that you and your guardsmen are shivering out here in defense of my sorry old hide," He joked. Jura's stoic demeanor softened a bit at the preacher's words.
"True enough – I appreciate you checkin' in, of course. How's our fearless leader?" She asked, referring to the de facto commander of Observatorium Primus. It seemed his nightly rounds, after conferring with Warrant Officer Curran, had become a welcome addition to everyone's routine.
"Holding strong, as always – taking a long-deserved rest about now, I'd wager. Thought I'd have to cuff him to his cot." He said, turning with her to face out over the courtyard. A blackened Chimera squatted before a length of pulverized fence, with scattered heaps of bodies still half sunk into the muddy ground around it. The khaki tiger-stripe uniforms and brown flak plates blended with the mud, partly camouflaging the corpses of the latest of attackers. Sergeant Jura scoffed:
"Well, no need to rub it in. Can barely feel my damn fingers, out here." she said. She wrung her gloved hands together, cold rain dripping from the leather. Father Patraeus indulged himself a raspy chuckle. Jura shifted the weight of the long-las in her grasp, wiping the rainwater from her weapon's optics. He then shrugged, letting out a tired sigh.
"Never my intention to-" he began, but was cut short as something landed at his feet with a wet thud.
He felt a hand at his arm, yanking him to the side before he was dragged to the ground, flat on his back. The air whooshed from his lungs as Jura threw herself over him, shielding him from the imminent blast of a frag grenade. Long moments passed, steeped in the sudden grip of mortal terror. The night remained silent. After a time, he watched Jura's head rise from his chest and turn quizzically about.
"Was it a dud?" she whispered.
"No, it's- it's..." One of PDF troopers, crouched over the thing, stammered in the darkness.
"It's frakking what? She hissed, climbing off of Patraeus and helping him to his feet. The trooper leapt up, taking several horrified steps back from the thing on the ground and pointing at it with a shaky finger.
"Sergeant, i-it's Tomlin," he whispered, scarcely able to form the words. Patraeus and Jura exchanged worried glances, and made their way back to the gun emplacement. They crouched on the rooftop, beneath winds that swept across the parapet with renewed fury. Father Patraeus grimaced as he saw what lay before him.
The severed head of Guardsman Tomlin, a hellgun specialist from one of the weapons platoons, stared back at him through eyeless sockets. His mouth, stretched open in a silent ghastly scream, was missing its tongue and most of its teeth. The mutilated remains stunned Patraeus for a moment; Tomlin was the last man he had spoken to, before he left with a team down the mountainside nearly four Solar days ago. The facility's deep-space transmitters were damaged in earlier attacks, and more materials needed to be scavenged in order to repair their last line of communication with the Imperium proper. Sorrow settled in his chest, as the fate of the salvage team was suddenly made clear.
"Emperor's bones. Eyes front, and spool up," Jura leapt into action, shoving the horrified gunner back to his post and bringing her long-las to the ready.
All around them, more wet thuds echoed across the rooftops, drawing cries of disgust and shock from the other troops. The gory diversion was working to perfection. Hundreds of yards away in the dark forests that surrounded the facility, a chorus of savage howls erupted from the trees. Terror sheared down Patraeus's spine as he scanned the darkness: the shapes of men in mud-colored cloaks came streaming out of the woods, shouting and firing their lasguns with wild abandon. The advance guard, those responsible for the grisly terror tactics, sprinted along the perimeter fence, moving toward the gap torn by the dead Chimera. Floodlights snapped on within the Observatorium's buildings, attempting to blind the invaders with their harsh glare. Disjointed snaps of lasguns echoed around the rooftops as the troops made of sterner stuff took to the defense.
"Emperor damn you Lexio, open fire, frakking open fire!" Jura screamed at the shaky trooper, who now sat behind the long, blocky stubber. She ran to his side, laying her long-las against the sandbags for support and taking aim at the traitors. The others were still reeling as a storm of las fire slashed upwards, toward the rooftop emplacements. Patraeus dipped into a low crouch, his heart hammering against his ribs as he cursed himself a fool, for his attachment to a close-quarters weapon like his shotcannon. He moved toward the gunners, determined to borrow one of their lasguns while they tended to the stubber. As he approached, a cluster of angry red las-beams sliced over the parapet, knocking the top layer of sandbags apart. Jura let out a loud curse as a blast of super-heated grit scattered across her, and she dipped behind the barrier. Lexio's body lurched as a stray beam struck him below the nose, exploding his head in a shower of blood and bone fragments. His comrade shrieked in alarm, watching as Lexio's body was flung back, sizzling gore spilling from the ragged stump of his neck.
"Father, on me!" Jura shouted. Patraeus responded without thinking, scurrying along the roof toward the heavy stubber. She grabbed a fistful of Lexio's uniform and hauled him unceremoniously away from the emplacement. She then planted her backside on the rooftop, braced one foot against the sandbags, and racked the weapon in one fluid motion. She angled the stubber downwards, centering on one group of traitor savages that thought themselves safe behind the armored bulk of the disabled Chimera. Patraeus rushed to the other PDF trooper, who still knelt beside his dead comrade in a state of shock. Patraeus picked up the lasgun on the ground, and shoved it against the trooper's chest.
"They have sent him to the Emperor's side – now we send them to the Warp." He looked straight through the trooper's eyes and into the back of his skull, his words even-toned and maddeningly calm. After a moment of soul-searching, the trooper steeled himself. He nodded grimly, took the lasgun, and rose to his feet. He took up a firing position against the sandbags as Jura opened up with the stubber. The roar of the weapon was deafening, and even as he stood behind it Patraeus felt the power of its discharge deep in his chest. A hail of solid rounds ripped through the air, and the team of traitors behind the Chimera cried out as they were torn to bloody shreds. She traversed to the right, gritted her teeth, and delivered more deadly bursts of gunfire toward their would-be killers.
A familiar calm settled over Patraeus, returning with worrying swiftness as his old instincts returned by degrees. He stooped down, retrieving Lexio's lasgun from beside the body and laying his shotcannon against the parapet. He strode over to Jura's side, skidding on the tinkling rain of brass ejecting from the stubber before lending his weapon to the defense. Beneath him, he felt the stomach-turning blast of a breaching charge rip through the façade of the command building. A vast plume of dust and smoke surged upwards, obscuring the battlefield. Patraeus choked on the hot and smoky air, spitting away grit and dust.
As the smoke began to clear, Patraeus hastily took aim. A long column of traitor guardsmen was converging on the entrance of Observatorium Primus, serrated bayonets glinting in the floodlights. Through the trees, another pair of Chimeras burst through the foliage, their vast treads churning up the grassy earth. Hull-mounted flamers lit up the night with long gouts blazing promethium, while their turrets opened fire on the defenders. Rain swept the rooftop as Patraeus pressed himself against the sandbags, firing wildly into the advancing troops while Jura delivered long bursts of stubber fire, punctuated with withering torrents of profanity. The Chimeras' autocannons tore ugly gashes in the brick façade of the command building, chewing the parapet into hunks of rubble.
Patraeus watched as the mechanized company tore through the perimeter fence, widening the opening for the invaders. He ducked behind his rapidly crumbling cover, tracer rounds arcing over his head and out into the night. He reached into his tunic, clutching at the gilded aquila strung about his neck. Over the ear-splitting roar of Jura's stubber, the staccato of las-fire, and the stuttering blast of autocannons, he whispered a hasty prayer to the Emperor.
He prayed that help would arrive soon.
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+++ 03.36 hrs. {Sys. Local – Knossos}
+++ Tempestus Seg. #1669/H
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Designation – AdMech.0321Variant Ryza's_Wrath
Report# = 02-0093
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#### WARP TRANSLATION: COMPLETE####
[03.36] Launching satellite constellation; beginning preliminary reconnaissance procedures.
Stand by…
…
[04.29] Initial Assessment: #1669/H in possession of robust orbital and terrestrial defense assets.
Allegiance of orbital assets: Unknown. Presumed hostile. **ELIMINATE ON SIGHT**
Allegiance of terrestrial assets: Hostile. Elimination required for follow-on tasking.
####GndOps restricted, pending removal of hostile orbital assets. ####
Projected risk to proprietary resources: Moderate. Estimate 17% loss of assets/personnel.
Direct-Action operations not advised.
Unit Remarks
On-board weapon systems insufficient for successful NavOps and elimination of terrestrial assets.
Await arrival of Nav_Grp Designation: Lambda.
Hostile NavOps: Inevitable.
Recommend activation of Astra_Mil/SpecOp resources, following escalation and successful NavOps.
/End of report/
Deus Est Machina.