"May your weapon be guarded against malfunction.
As your soul is guarded from impurity.
The Machine God watches over you.
Unleash the weapons of war.
Unleash the Deathdealer."
-Chant for the prevention of malfunction
::::
Directive: Nominal
::::
When the weapons of the Adeptus Mechanicus went to war, they brought with them noise. Noise came from the soft thump of Machine cultist's boots, to the unfathomable roar of the Ordinatus; from the clanking of vehicle tracks to the glorious sound of the god-machines walking. Noise was the companion of the Mechanicus. The great waves of sounds were almost living things. They flexed and rolled, shifted and bowed, squealed and groaned, brought to life by the iron will of their metal masters.
The sound Ortus Hasta heard the most was the sound of his own weaponised limb. His left arm was a bolter, beautifully crafted and a dull nickel-silver. When it spoke it roared with the deep bass voice of an angry alpha-male gorilla. It spat a metre of flame from its barrel and threw-up steaming hot copper shell casings.
Ortus Hasta, Tribune, skatarii veteran, was the master of the land-legions of Magos Dresdothe – senior Ommissiah representative on the planet. If Hasta could have understood what love was, he would have loved the sound of his weapon-limb. As he could not understand, nor accept, the concept of love, he 'credited its audio output at maximum value.'
The Tribune ran with his head-down and shoulders hunkered, to a ruined and overturned mag-tram. With his mind he recalibrated his auspex and sent out a wide transmit. His mind rang as the signal returned, each ping noting the position of his forces. One was unaccounted.
[Centurion Stellus, location?] he blurted in binary code over his internal vox.
[Tribune. Seventeen point eight two meters, two hundred fourteen degrees to your primary axis.] Stellus cant-voxed back.
[Confirmed. Notice: Local construction material decreasing radial auspex usage. Continue advance along this axis until you achieve confirmed position at the …] Hasta paused and scanned his internal map, the city's layout flashing behind his eyes, [… the southernmost platform of the mag-tram station.]
[Confirmed operational update. Praise be the Omnissiah.] replied Stellus.
Hasta looked around him, lurking near him were a dozen Skatarii. The fearsome bionic-augmented warriors of the Cult Mechanicus, the clinched fist of the Omnissiah.
Each skatarii was big and bulky and wore war-tattered robes the holy rust-red of Mars. Underneath the robes their bodies were reinforced with powerful bionics, augmented with tracking optics and targeting devices, and armed with fearsome weapon-limbs.
The weapon-limb was of particular importance to the Skatarii. The fused gunarm was powerfully symbolic; it represented the final step in the transformation from lowly Machine cultist to glorious techguard. It symbolized their advancement in the eyes of the Omnissiah.
~Prepare yourselves,~ Hasta canted in binary code through his voice augmiters. To the unenhanced it would have sounded like two pieces of metal being rubbed together quickly.
We advance through at eighteen degrees, full assault pace. ~Objective: the entry way. Tech-Sergeant to the fore.~
A particularly large skatarii in a scorched and tatty red robe lumbered forward, ~I serve, lord.~
~Joist, two-through-six will lay covering fire, while, eight, and ten –through-twelve will advance.~ Hasta canted orders to the members of his squad. Each had a numeric place in the ranks. Hasta was one. Joist was seven. Nine was dead.
~You will advance after they achieve positive access to the building. You will proceed to drive the enemy out of the building with your flamer. They will flee towards Stellus's team and be caught in crossfire between our two units.~
~And you, my lord,~ Joist asked.
~I will be leading the advance.~
::::
Five skatarii climbed up onto the ruined mag-tram, and six others slithered their way through the wreckage to get angles on the building. At a short code-burst shout from Hasta they opened fire with their weapons. The open pavement space blistered with lethal munitions.
After four seconds of sustained firing, five tech-guards raced from behind the wreckage, red robes flapping and bionics clanking. With their heavy metal limbs or big plasteel boots, it was not the swiftest advance, but they came on with the assuredness of an industrial steamroller.
Shots rang out from the mag-tram station, tearing up the ground around the rushing tech-guards or pinking off their integrated body armor. One techguard fell as a lasround pierced his neck. Another collapsed as his bionic leg was tripped up by a solid slug.
Hasta swept his gun-limb around, his targeter locked onto a flash-point. Quicker than a thought, he fired. Half a dozen bolter rounds tore a shooter apart. The stationary skatarii at the ruined mag-tram tracked the enemy shooters and retasked their weapons.
Their return fire was significant and deadly accurate.
The thumping team reached the steps leading into the mag-train station and thundered up them. From within the great dark space, weapon fire greeted them.
Hasta did not stop running when the shooting started; instead he swung his bolter around and spat out huge bolts, blowing out fist size chunks of the rockcrete walls and stairs.
Beside him Opz dropped to a knee, braced his weapon-limb with his other hand and blasted the entry-way with his fearsome hellgun-arm. The white beams of energy blinking into the space, the enemy fire slackened for a moment.
Kog, the quickest of them, had reached the top of the stairs when an enemy round punched straight through his nose and out the back of his skull. Brain, bone, metal shards, and tiny electronic relays showered the steps.
Tarx leap over the dead techguard's jerking and twisting body and threw himself into the room. Stubber rounds tore into his flesh arm and metal legs as he hit the stone floor. He mentally reassigned his shotgun-arm to rapid fire and unloaded a dozen buck-shot blasts in the span of few second.
Using Tarx's buck-shot shower to race forward Hasta was next in. His bolter still firing rapidly, vocal augmiters roared a fearsome oath in binaric code. He raced straight at the Arch-enemy.
When Torp and Opz rushed through the entry way, gunarms raised and ready, they found the shattered remains of a stubber nest. Half a dozen dead cultists littered around it, and Hasta standing over them. His two lens-eyes glowed an angry green, gunarm smoking, the huge gauntlet that covered his right hand crackled with electricity.
He waved the huge hand and the skatarii lumbered towards cover, weapons pointing in every direction, active-scanners roaming.
Hasta cant-voxed, [Joist, advance.]
A few moments later the huge skatarii thundered through the entryway, tracer rounds and las shots chasing after him. His flamer-arm's pilot light already lit.
They were in an antechamber. Outside, they could hear the other skatarii still dueling with the arch-enemy's forces. They could continue firing at their current rate for another three quarters of an hour. If anything could be said about Mechanicus forces, it was that they brought a great deal of ammunition with them.
Hasta arranged his skatarii force around the door his mind-map indicated would lead through to the west main chamber.
His raised his huge black fist, clinched it tightly and activated the power field. Electricity sparked and the air stank of ozone. He swung his power fist at the heavy door, splintering it easily. Opz stepped forwards and sprayed a hail of las-fire from his hellgun-arm in a tight figure-8 pattern. Opz moved aside and Joist stepped up and speared a great length of liquid flame through the demolished door.
All this was in accordance with the skatarii standard door clearance technique; gain entry, employ suppression fire, deliver scouring agents, aggressive unit advance.
The hallway was twenty-five meters long with towering blown out windows on one side and a long run of ruined oil painting on the other. They moved with Opz at the fore and Hasta directly behind him. Joist was in the middle, followed by the limping Tarx, and the rearguard Torp.
Their scanners where linked together and running at maximum sensitivity. The five techguard acted as one. They even stepped in unison, a ten-legged warmachine, to minimize possible disruption to the motion auspexi.
Once cleared of the hallway, they entered another antechamber, just in time to see a half dozen men rush away.
[Stellus, prepare yourself. They advance your way.] Hasta voxed.
[Steel abides longer then flesh, tribune, and I shall abide longer then the enemy.] Stellus replied quickly.
::::
Hasta had been correct. The foe had retreated from his location and raced straight into the massed arm-guns of Stellus and the second cohort. The slaughter would have been shamefully horrific, had the enemy not be the Arch-Enemy.
Hasta triangulated Stellus's position and set off to find him, his cohort with him. He located his subordinate talking with a man in brown-battle dress. An Imperial Guardsmen, by the look of him. Hasta active-scanned him uniform symbolism for information – his dress code and sleeve markings made him a senior officer in one of the Dion regiments. The hive-world regiments commanded this theatre of battle.
Hasta clomped up and listened to the conversation. The officer was obvious agitated and frustrated by his conversation with Stellus.
"All I'm asking is who are you with?" The officer asked.
~176.0802 OyM(4),~ Stellus canted at the officer.
The man made a face and mutter, "Frak mech-man, what was that? Can't you speak normal?"
From behind Hasta the big Tech-Sergeant Joist made to say just what he thought of normal talk, but Hasta canted first, ~Stop. Unmods cannot understand our cant. I will answer.~ Stellus stepped back to allow Hasta to come forward.
The tribune towered over the guard officer. He looked down at the man, scanning him.
With a light flick of one of his huge fingers he tipped the hood of his red robe back to reveal a dull-silver cranium dome, green glowing lens-eyes and T-shaped rebreather pod over where his month would be. With a pop and a hiss the rebreather pod slide forwards. The rebreather dropped down and dangled around his throat. Hasta had a strong jaw and a wide mouth, with ugly dead-grey flesh and dark blue, cracked lips.
He coughed softly and spoke in a surprising handsome voice, with only the slightest trace of augmentic modification, "We are the Skatarii of Adeptus Mechanicus Ordo Militant. Unmods call us Techguards. We march with Magos Dresothe. I am Tribune Ortus Hasta."
The officer nodded, looking slightly relieved to have final gotten an answer he could understand. He looked at his data-slate, "Which unit you with?"
"Unit?" Hasta asked.
"Regiment? Company?" the officer replied.
Stellus canted at Hasta, who canted back quickly. Joist added his cant to the interchange. After a few moments they laughed - an odd sound, like synchronized audio feedback. Hasta turned and smiled at the officer, showing his teeth; solid metal and lustrous silver in color. He said, "Our designation is far too complex for your standard operating procedures, therefore a representative assignment us a marker upon our arrival in this theatre of war. It noted us as the 84th Mars. When addressed by unmods we prefer being called the Triple Nickel."
The officer looked up at him confused, unsure if the Mechanicus had just made a joke.
Hasta stared back in silence until he realized the officer needed him to explain.
"Nickel is the twenty-eighth alchemical element on the holy table of the Omnissiah. Twenty-eight goes into eighty-four, three times. Ergo, Triple Nickel."
The officer nodded slowly, "Right … whatever. I've new deployment orders for you lot."
::::
The orders were from the Lord General of the campaign. However, and more important to Hasta, they were counter-authorized by his master, Magos Dresothe. They were simple. He was to load his legion unto transports and make for the chemical plant, Redmouth Refinery – an ancient heirloom and pride of the planet from an era long past. Once there, he was to dismantle the refinery in its entirety and transport it back to the starport at Tabpan. There was small note after the official orders, a message from Dresothe himself.
Printed in indecipherable binary code, it stated:
++Hasta. Dresothe. Do not let anything hinder your procedures. The fleshbags will not mention it, however, the Arch-Enemy's most probable attack approach on Tabpan is through the Red Valley. Putting the refinery, and its ancient machine-spirit in grave danger. It must not fall into enemy hands. You will not allow anything to stand in your way. Anything. Steel Abides.++
"And so I do," Tribune Ortus Hasta muttered softly.