Base Crusader, Tenea, Corinthia System

The Imperial guns launched the first volley of the pre-assault barrage. Batteries of Basilisk siege cannons fired their colossal 'earthshaker' warheads in teeth-chattering thunderclaps. Interspersed with the thunderous booms came the shrieking whistle of Manticore rocket launches. Low altitude bombers shrilled past, their jet wakes tugging at every scrap of unsecured gear. Rippling vibrations shook the legs of cots and made cups spill and stacked rifles topple. Sleeping men grumbled and scraped for things to plug their ears. Those up and about looked up to watch the planes and shells whip across the morning sky before returning to their work with exasperated grimaces. It became clear within minutes that this was no ordinary barrage. There was a greater purpose in this barrage, a stronger undertone. That could only mean one thing.

General Galveteau was finally making a move to break the stalemate.

The campaign to pacify the xenos conclave on Tenea had begun nine months ago when a routine training flight stumbled upon an unregistered vox tower at the base of the Kylin mountain range. The subsequent investigation ended in disaster when the Tenean PDF scouts were ambushed by what their panicking vox operator described as 'snipers and demons.' The communication cut short before more could be ascertained, but a curious farm-flyer that had caught sight of the distant weapon flashes came forward with picts he took from his plane. To the ignorant and Emperor-fearing peasant, the enemies had appeared as tall men in strange armor. The Planetary Defense Force officers recognized it to be something else entirely. The attackers were not human at all, but warriors of the mysterious and deadly race known as the Eldar.

The Tenean Senate's response had been swift and uncompromising. Each of the ten city-states of Tenea mustered their levies and sent them to Iora, the city-state closest to the xenos. General Galveteau of the Sarmatan militia forces assumed command of the coalition forces and launched what rapidly turned into a bloody campaign to root out the xenos infestation. Initial assaults were met with overwhelming firepower as Eldar warriors, supplemented with thousands of human and other xenos mercenaries, decimated the Tenean soldiers. The campaign ground quickly to a halt as the Teneans found themselves unable to advance. The xenos forces did not attack either, seeming content to remain in the safety of the mountains. The situation devolved into a stalemate.

Seeing that his coalition was outmatched, General Galveteau made the wisest move available: he sent for the Imperial Guard. The initial request described little about the situation, and as various Guard commands replied the General revealed that the threat's origin. He could not have predicted the response he was to receive.

Five Imperial Guard regiments responded to the distress call within a month. When the various commands settled out their rank structures it came to that General Galveteau remained in charge, though the five Colonels retained the autonomy to operate within widely set bounds of command. Each Regiment was assigned to a different area on the front to minimize the chance of inter-unit rivalries from disrupting the overall plan. It was decided with little hesitation that the professional soldiers of the Imperial Guard would take the lead on this campaign. Their higher quality weapons, equipment and training gave them a great advantage over the beleaguered Tenean militiamen. And so the battered Tenean Planetary Defense Force were pulled off the front lines for refitting while the Guard regiments replaced them. In the first two months of fighting the Tenean forces had suffered thirty percent casualties.

Veterans though they were, the Guard regiments found little more success than the Teneans did. The xenos defenses grew stronger with each passing day, and the defenders' tactical maneuvering left many Imperial tacticians envious. They knew without a doubt that xenos witchery played a strong hand in the service of the enemy defenders.

As the Imperial portion of the campaign began to drag on into its second month many tacticians wondered why the xenos remained. Eldar were known for their ability to quietly disappear, but these ones had dug in and refused to leave. Some theorized that the Eldar must have a reason to be in the mountains; perhaps they were digging out some long lost xenos weapon. Others guessed that these xenos did not have a way off planet. Maybe their ship had crashed and they could not leave. The answer became known to General Galveteau and his staff when Commander Rettanen sent a confidential missive from his cruiser, Pride of Minerva,stationed in orbit over the battlefield. A courageous strike by the Pride of Minerva's atmospheric fighters had destroyed a suspected Eldar webway gate. Bereft of their mystical gate, the Eldar had nowhere to run. They were well and truly trapped.

The news spread like wildfire despite staff attempts to quell it. The first Inquisitors arrived less than two weeks after the report came out. More followed until over a dozen separate Inquisition teams assailed the General with demands for inclusion in the campaign. It was a rare day that such a large collection of the enigmatic Eldar race could be cornered. The Puritans sought to eradicate all traces of their existence with fire. The more liberal Inquisitors wanted prisoners, artifacts, and knowledge. Needless to say, that in and of itself caused tension as rival Inquisitors met face-to-face and camped beside each other.

The General, unused to such a rush of powerful figures, put a halt to all operations just so he could focus on dealing with the bureaucratic hellstorm that had slammed his command. Pleasing a single Inquisitor was a hard task, but pleasing so many had taken incredible political guile and weeks of maneuvering. Deals were made and unmade, meetings were held in both the middle of the day and the dead of night. Despite his best efforts, it took an entire month to sift through the mess until he had a semblance of order and control over the bickering Inquisitors. Maintaining the peace remained an issue, however. Fights broke out between Inquisitors as well as their henchmen. At least one Inquisitor had been killed by another in some argument gone out of control.

When things finally grew calm enough for General Galveteau to manage, he ordered the renewal of offensive operations. As he and his tacticians had feared, the battle for the Eldar positions grew only more costly. A whole month of calm had given the Eldar and their allies time to reinforce their defenses. Intricate trench networks filled the plains at the base of the mountains. Whole sections of forests had been cut down to give the defenders clear fields of fire against the advancing Imperials. Every cave held an emplaced weapon, and scans showed that kilometers of tunnels had been dug into the Kylins. The Imperial assaults quickly bogged down, and the next three months saw little progress. The Eldar held their ground with a ferocious determination that stymied the Guard at every point.

Throne knew they had tried just about everything to break through the xenos lines. Promethium bombs had burned down what forest remained. So many artillery rounds had struck the mountains that many of the facing slopes had fallen away or been pulverized into dust. Yet still the defenders fought on. They made the Guard pay in blood for every meter of ground. PDF units saw regular rotations off the front lines because of the severe number of casualties they suffered. Even the hardened Guard companies suffered atrocious amounts of dead and wounded battling through tree and rock. Any gaps in their lines were quickly sealed or turned into ambushes. General Galveteau's original unit, the 39th Sarmatan Mechanized, had been wiped out to a man after achieving what was thought to be a breakthrough only to drive their Chimeras straight into a killzone of anti-armor guns. Another time a company of Elysian Airborne attempted landing at the top of the mountain to fight their way down from behind the defenders' positions; three days later the survivors were evacuated under heavy fire after suffering seventy percent casualties. The Eldar were too fast on the draw, too prepared for the Imperial tactics.

For some time there was suspicion of a spy among the Imperial ranks. A thorough rooting through the staff by three Inquisitors and the Commissariat revealed no such travesty. Paranoia continued to mount until General Galveteau's sanctioned psyker aide finally detected the subtle current of Eldar warp magik snaking through the command tent. The witches were scrying them, listening in on their plans even as they were formed. Multiple solutions were rushed to the General and they quickly erected a shield to prevent further spying by the Eldar sorcerers.

That had been five days ago. For the past several months, Louk Shannegh had lounged with the rear echelon units and the rest of Inquisitor Helsing's staff. Those months had been nothing but sheer boredom interrupted by rare trips to the front lines to check on the status of the Eldar defenses. Even then they did little more than at-range flybys in Helsing's Valkyrie, well out of the combat zone. Hotheaded as Helsing was, he knew better than to risk his precious flyer to anti-aircraft missiles launched from the numerous batteries hidden on the mountainside.

The lack of action was getting to him. One time, just one flipping time, Helsing had pulled them out of camp and taken them into a nearby city to investigate a possible xenos sighting. The search had concluded quickly with little in the way of excitement, though he had managed to find a couple scraps along the way. Dredging the bottom of society's social ladder always invited unpleasant altercations. Shannegh may or may not have been responsible for a few entertaining but altogether unnecessary brawls. He would have been lying if he said he was sorry for the trouble it caused. Street-fighting came naturally to him. If he wasn't fighting he was itching.

Shannegh wasn't the only one to dive headfirst into a brawl either. Inquisitor Helsing loved a good fight just as much as he did. Once the punches started flying he could usually be found in the thick of it. Oftentimes there came much lecturing and about responsibility and avoiding trouble, but he hardly cared. There were some things in life worth starting fights over. Watching their prim and proper Praetorian lieutenant roll up her sleeves and go to work with that archaic martial arts form she swore by was one of those things. That woman had legs that just didn't quit.

Another volley rattled the cot. Shannegh cursed under his breath and rolled out onto his feet. There was no point in trying to sleep with those cannons going off just a kilometer away. Glancing around the tent, he took note of who was already up and about. Anna's cot stood empty, as he suspected it would. Eulogy and Jekel were snoring in their bunks, utterly oblivious to the torrent of noise raging outside. Gutterball's ragged pile of blankets shifted in time to his breathing. Dunk'er had wandered off somewhere, probably to watch the 'purdy lights' of the guns. Nicolai stood at the tent flap with Penance, both grimfaced and wearing their battle armor. That was all of the tent-dwellers accounted for.

"Morning" Shannegh muttered as he began shoving himself into his armor. They did not bother responding; their attention lay outside the tent.

Normally he would not have bothered, but Sergeant Nicolai never put his armor on unless he was preparing for battle. This was the first time since going into the city that he had donned his stuffy blue greatcoat and all the shiny paraphernalia that came with the Thracian battledress uniform. Shannegh had questioned more than once the wisdom of wearing such a heavy and cumbersome uniform into battle. It was not quite garish, but it definitely stuck out and the cumbersome weight meant put severe restrictions on the man's mobility. Not that Nicolai ever seemed to mind. Hiding wasn't his specialty anyways. Once the enemy came into sight he was all about search and destroy. And Throne, could he destroy.

The man's weapon of choice was the Merovech pattern assault lasgun. Its dual power pack slots and combat bayonet attachment gave the powerful ex-Guardsman the tools to rampage at both long and short range. Though short range was his favorite of the two. He and his Thracian Guardsmen could usually be found in the hairiest of the fighting where they could hack and stab and shoot to their heart's content. Needless to say, Shannegh preferred to stay away from them once the battle began.

When he finished donning his flak jacket and camo-cloak Shannegh joined the pair. Nodding once to Penance, he eased past them and took a gander outside. The camp was awash with activity. Orderlies and staff ran this way and that, delivering orders to unit commands. Important-looking men and women argued in small groups near various command tents. Their Inquisitor was nowhere to be seen.

"S'about time they got this war moving" Shannegh muttered, rubbing his jaw. He could still feel the sting from last night. Next time he found a mirror he would check for bruising. Reminder to self, he thought bitterly. Never insult Dunk'er's mother. Ever. "Boss about?"

"He has not come by this morning" Penance answered. Her lips pursed in a delicate frown that accentuated her button nose and knife-edged chin. "I believe we should rouse the others."

Shannegh stepped back inside the tent and went to fetch his weapons. He slung his lascarbine over his shoulder and began stuffing kit into his combat webbing. When he finished he spent a moment studying his sidearm. If they were going into frontline combat he would have little use for a stealthy autopistol. He considered leaving it behind, but two overriding factors made him snatch it up and slip it into the holster at his hip. One, never leave valuable gear behind, no matter the circumstances. Two, one can never have too much firepower. His serrated combat knife slipped easily into the scabbard over his boot. After giving everything a final patdown check he sat down on his cot and motioned for the others to relax. They didn't.

"If Boss wants us up he'll come get us. Besides, we've been here for months and the General hasn't let a single Inquisitor in on an assault. What makes you think this will be different?"

"The priests were about earlier. All of them" Penance murmured. She released the tent flap and sat down beside the entrance, adopting a cross-legged pose. The woman never relaxed except for when she was sleeping. Even then, she slept for a few hours at most, preferring to stand guard over the others. Shannegh did not know the entirety of her story, but he did know that she used to be a Sister. Her body was decorated with dozens of tattoo-removal scars and she carried herself like a machine. Whatever the reason for her departure from the Sisterhood, Shannegh understood that she was still a fierce warrior and loyal as an Astartes to the God-Emperor. She kept her head shaved except when on a mission, and then grew it out in a plaited braid which she shaved off at the conclusion of the job. Something like a trophy, or maybe a reminder of her past sins. Shannegh still did not know what to make of her. Her faith bordered on fanatical, even more so than Nicolai's. That combined with her short temper made for plenty of explosive encounters with less-than-honorable Imperial citizens. Like Shannegh himself, for example. They spent more time arguing than anything else. He could count the times things got so heated that the others had stepped in to break it up on both hands and then some. As he liked to point out whenever it happened, those were not the fights that he went looking for. Penance couldn't stand him, and nothing he said or did could ever change that short of neutering himself and joining a priesthood. Her trigger finger had an eternal itch, and the only thing that held it in check was Inquisitor Helsing.

Now she wore black Arbites-style carapace armor and carried an Accatran pattern Mk XI shotgun as well as a suppression shield. Her armor and her weapons bore numerous penitent seals and the grey shawl around her throat supposedly had been blessed at a Saint's grave. Her heavy armor and close quarters weapons, coupled with her unflagging zeal for the Golden Throne's glory, made her a human-sized tank on the battlefield. She could wade through the fiercest enemy fire, blasting a path with her shotgun as she went. Despite her fervor for closing in with and slaying the heretic and the xenos as quickly as possible, she possessed a keen tactical mind and had incredible control over her fury in battle. She also had the unsettling habit of singing hymns as she fought.

"Giving the morning blessings to all those fools who'll be dead in a few hours?" Shannegh chuckled. "Still has nothing to do with us."

"Maybe not" she said, shooting him a venomous glare at his lack of respect. "But maybe it will."

His response choked off into muttered cursing when Nicolai scooped up his lasgun and slammed the butt against the table. The dull clang reverberated against the sound-absorbent tentcloth, filling Shannegh's ears with an obnoxious buzz. Somehow, and this was a mystery Shannegh had resigned himself to never discovering the truth behind, that particular noise always woke the Praetorians. He couldn't understand how they slept through a Basilisk volley but woke up with the soft thump of a lasgun striking metal. But it worked every time. A stream of high-brow curses exploded from the sleeping officers as they roused from slumber. Their moving about woke Gutterball, who dragged himself out of his blankets with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner waking for his noose-day.

Shannegh rolled onto his side and looked on with an amused grin as the Praetorian soldiers slipped into their uniforms. Lieutenant Eulogy glared at Nicolai as she dressed, clearly put off by the unseemly awakening. She did not like to be woken early from her sleep. The highborn daughter of some noble family, Eulogy had the most mind-boggling standards about the most ordinary things. And she absolutely loathed the man or woman who made her fail those standards. This one being the demand for eight hours of sleep a night when in the rear lines, excepting emergencies. On seeing that there were no raving xenos warriors tearing into the tent, she adopted the air of a woman severely wronged. She took her time dressing, making each move with savage intent that emphasized her displeasure. It might have been a little intimidating from the front, especially the way her cold grey eyes could bear promise to spectacular pain, but from Shannegh's perspective behind her it only served to give him a tantalizing look at the way her supple body recoiled from her angry motions. That ass… damn.

Her senior noncommissioned officer, Sergeant Jekel, was much less lovely to stare at. Jekel was one of those mythological command sergeants that must have been farmed out of a laboratory. He couldn't speak softer than a loud whisper, his posture was always perfect, his sideburns perfectly trimmed, and his gaze never missed a thing. He and Shannegh got on like an Ork and a Valhallan at the best of times because Shannegh represented everything Jekel detested: a lazy, ill-disciplined, wisecracking mercenary.

When he was honest with himself he admitted that most of Helsing's team disliked him for those same reasons.

The Lieutenant and Sergeant came from a special branch of the Praetorian infantry. Called the "Praetorian Rifles," their unit lacked the typical parade-ground tactics that the rest of their Guardsmen were known for. These were the scouts, snipers, sentries and commandos. Instead of bright red and white battle dress they wore forest green jackets and pants. They fought in pairs as opposed to squads, and were some of the finest marksmen that Shannegh had ever seen. Every fourth man had a dedicated sniper rifle, but even their regular riflemen were crack shots. He had seen firsthand how effective their ambushing abilities were thanks to their almost mystical ability to coordinate fire without verbal communication.

The Praetorians had come under Inquisitor Helsing's command after he commandeered their platoon on the chase for an Ork Freebooter who had managed to find a pre-Heresy STC. Most of their unit had been killed over the course of the hunt, and those that survived were permanently reassigned to his staff. A squad's worth of them remained now, though they were stationed two tents over with the other Thracian Guardsmen. Ordinarily Nicolai, Eulogy and Jekel would have billeted with their soldiers, but Helsing had wanted his staff grouped together for easy access. It hardly bothered Shannegh, though he did prefer those special times when he could sleep by himself away from the others. Alone time was a very rare commodity on the campaign trail. Simple things like sleeping away from other human beings could be just as valuable as a month's supply of caf.

When Lieutenant Eulogy finished her angry posturing she turned about the tent to take stock of the situation. On seeing Shannegh's grin her expression soured even further. "Something on your mind, Reaper?"

Reaper. That was what they had taken to calling him. He liked the name, enjoyed the way it rolled off the tongue better than his own name. Not that it was a complimentary nickname; he knew better than to assume that. The blonde-haired Praetorian officer held a special disgust for him and Gutterball and he did not blame her. What were two hiveborn street rats compared to a distinguished and noble infantry officer such as herself? As far as she was concerned they should be honored to take the same air as her. But that wasn't the only reason. It still rankled her awfully that he had saved her life on more than one occasion. Each time he did was like a stain on her honor, and she loathed him the more for that.

"Nah," he rolled over onto his back and interlaced his hands under his head, "just waiting for this party to start."

"P-p-party?" Gutterball's head cocked to the side as he stood. The man's misshapen, rodent-like nose twitched nervously. The Praetorians both took unconscious steps backwards, away from the mutant's presence. "Oh T-T-Throne, are we g-g-going to attack tod-d-day?"

"Try to sound less excited." Shannegh chuckled. "Besides, if we go in you won't be the one taking the fire. It's these heroes that will be catching the lead. You and I will be chilling in the back, waiting it all to blow over."

Which was more or less true. The Thracian Guard and Praetorian Rifles handled the most intense combat, with Penance and Anna providing the special support. Helsing sure knew how to recruit a combat unit, that was for sure. While the Thracian advanced to close quarters with their combat shields locked in phalanx formation the Praetorians would provide suppressing fire with their scoped autoguns. Anna sniped the heavy weapons and leaders. Penance would creep in behind the Thracian formation and join the charge. All the while Dunk'er would sit back and lob grenades, missiles, or whatever support weapon he happened to come across. Shannegh and Gutterball would sit back with Helsing, waiting for the inevitable gap to appear that they could exploit. It was a tactic that they had ironed out over many battles, and it rarely failed.

Lieutenant Eulogy finished buckling her sword belt on and drew her power sword from its scabbard for a test swing. The magnificent saber-style blade hummed with energy as she put it through a simple practice form. She ended the test with a lightning-fast slash that stopped just millimeters from Shannegh's crotch. Again, he was unfazed by the intent. Giving her a lewd wink, he shifted around to get more comfortable and closed his eyes. She deactivated the weapon and returned it to its scabbard.

"I would be correct in assuming that you will be hiding in the rear lines while His Majesty's soldiers take the fight to the xenos?"

It was such an absurdly polite way to phrase the question that Shannegh had to stifle a laugh. He yawned obnoxiously.

"Hey, what I do takes a lot of work. I've got to save my energy for the big boys. Besides, it's done you some good to have me watching your lovely ass for you."

To her credit, the Lieutenant held in the horrified blanch that tried to mar her statuesque features. A subdued 'ah' noise slithered out of the depths of her throat and she turned on her heel, seeking a less embarrassing conversation. Her sergeant had less success. Sergeant Jekel stiffened as if Shannegh had just pissed on his father's grave. His hand was reaching for the parade baton clasped under his shoulder when Nicolai's voice cut through the tent.

"Clear the way. Anna's back."

Still glowering at Shannegh, Jekel lowered his hand and stepped aside. This was another reason why the two hated each other so much. Shannegh's unsubtle come-ons to his commanding officer drove the man to rages. The thought of a lowborn scum like himself entertaining such fantasies must have been punishable by death or some such on their homeworld.

The gentle whisper of the tent flap displacing alerted him to their covert specialist's return. Anna never made a sound when she moved, whether she was in a marble-floored hallway or in a leaf-covered forest. Her diminutive stature fooled many into thinking she was only a little girl, but one look at her dead eyes and the tally scratches on her long las stock dispelled any doubts as to her competence. The woman was a demon on the battlefield, just as comfortable with killing a man at a thousand yards as she could at arm's reach. He had seen her put a round through a Nob's nostril in the middle of a chaotic melee. And he had seen her strangle the life out of a rogue Skitarii Praetorian, the tech kind of course, with a garrote. She kept her charcoal-colored hair cropped at shoulder length, though she often slicked it back into a bun when on combat ops. Her entire jumpsuit had a coating of cameoline on it, rendering her nearly invisible whenever she stood still.

Anna was perhaps the most disturbing member of their team. She rarely spoke, and when she did her voice had the tone of a young child. Hearing that innocent-sounding voice for the first time moments after she blew the head off a pair of Ork Nobs had convinced Shannegh that Anna had serious psychological issues. She also talked to her rifle and garrote as if they were real people. Hell, she talked to them more than she talked to any real people.

"How's it looking out there" Nicolai asked her. Anna shuffled over to her cot and laid her long las down with the utmost care. She dug a pair of rabbits out of her haversack and tossed them onto the table. Everyone stared, noting how the animals had broken necks and no traces of laser scorches. Somehow Anna had caught them and killed them with her bare hands. Shannegh was not the only one who shuddered at the thought.

"The b-b-big one's mine" Gutterball stammered. He scrambled forward and snatched up the fatter of the two. Clutching it to his chest, he retreated back to his corner and started gnawing away at it raw. The Praetorians' disgust showed clearly, and they made their excuses before hurrying out of the tent. Soon the only sound in the tent was that of Gutterball's teeth ripping into the rabbit's flesh. Even Penance showed discomfort at the hideous noise.

"Well then, I'd take that as a good omen." Shannegh tried to force a laugh, but Anna turned and stared at him and the mirth choked in his throat. She held up one finger and pointed outside.

"It will be bloody soon" she said, her singsong voice giving the words an unholy echo. Shannegh wasn't sure if she spoke that way on purpose or if that was really the way she was. Either way, it freaked the hell out of people and generally made for a great conversation killer. That was what he was feeling at the moment, in every sense of the term, and he beat a hasty exit outside. Gutterball tailed after him, chewing absently on one of the rabbit's hind legs as he walked. The mutant had taken to him best out of the team. It made sense, considering they were both hiveborn and lacked the manners of the others. But damned if it wasn't a nuisance to have a freak like Gutterball shadowing his steps. Made it hard to get any game, and even harder when they ran into members of the Ecclesiarchy.

Penance's warning about the priests being about kept Shannegh from straying far. He chose to wander over to the middle tent, where Helsing slept. The Inquisitor wasn't in, of course, but he had carelessly left a bottle of spirits out on his planning table. It would have been a shame to let it air out in a brisk morning like this. He strode in without a care in the world, knowing that no eyes were watching, and took a swig to test its contents. Sweet and fiery, probably a local vintage. He drained most of the bottle before handing the rest to Gutterball, who greedily guzzled the remainder down. Liquid splashed down his throat and onto his ratty jacket, adding a new spattering of stains to the filthy outfit. Not that Gutterball noticed. He had worn the same jacket for nigh on three years now, and the only time it got cleaned was when someone became so sick of the stench that they tore it off the whining mutant and hurled it into a bucket of bleach.

"How's tricks, Gutter?"

"F-f-fine, Reaper." Gutterball pawed at his face and throat, wiping away the last drops of spirits from his fur-like skin. "But I am not l-l-looking for-r-rward to this battle. Too many guns."

"Bah, you've been through worse." Shannegh slapped the man on his back. Gutterball flinched and glanced about. Seeing a few unfamiliar officers wandering in their general direction, he pulled his hood up and tugged the edges forward to shelter his unnatural face. The move did not go unnoticed by Shannegh, and he casually steered the mutant around to the rear of the tents. They had a little more privacy here, in the alley between the tent rows. Just behind Inquisitor Helsing's tent stood the tent of Inquisitor someone-or-other's retinue. The only important thing Shannegh remembered about the man and his crew was that he had a Scintillan in his crew that had once been a body slave. And Throne did that woman give a good peepshow when she performed her morning ablutions. It looked like she had already gone off for the day though.

"Orks are easy" Gutterball complained. "They h-h-hardly notice me. Eldar, not so m-m-much. They're sh-sh-sharp."

"So are we." He nudged the mutant and waved his hand to encompass their surroundings. "Besides, they'll have a lot more targets to shoot at than lowly little you. By the time they realize you're a threat…" He drew a finger across his throat. "Game over, Gutter."

His words seemed to boost the mutant's confidence. A sly not-quite-grin stole across Gutterball's face and he patted the satchel at his hip. He was a masterful alchemist, and came up with the most bizarre but effective concoctions. In combat his specialty was disruption. Throw a blinding smoke grenade here, an acidic fireball there, or even a hallucinogenic bomb that would drive a man insane for several minutes. He coated his nearly infinite collection of daggers with those poisons too. Though not a fighter, Gutterball was one hell of an assassin. If only he had a bit more courage. And less mutation.

They stayed between the tents, chatting about this and that, until they heard movement in Helsing's tent. Taking that as their cue, they came back around and joined the others. Shannegh eased his way through the Thracian Guardsmen, taking care to not touch their precious lasguns that they regarded so jealously. The inner circle had formed up on either side of the planning table. Inquisitor Helsing stood behind it, hands resting on the table.

When Shannegh had first met Helsing, his initial impression had been that the man could have seduced a Sister Prioress and then singlehandedly obliterate the Warp-spawned abomination that would attend such an event. He was a devilishly handsome man, Shannegh felt entirely secure in saying that, with artificially pale yellow eyes and carefully mussed hair that highlighted the youthfulness of his face. He had to be at least two hundred years old, but rejuvenant treatments kept his appearance in his prime. The only sign of wear and tear on his body was a single scar stretching from his jaw to his throat, but that merely added to his strong form. His body had been honed over the centuries into a perfect level of fitness that would have left a Catachan drooling in envy. Steel-hard muscles bulged against his black bodyglove. For an operation like this he donned an ancient set of power armor, the kind that an ordinary man could bear, and fought with storm bolter and power fist. He would be a beacon of the Emperor's fury on the battlefield. Just as it should be.

"Now that everyone is here" he drawled, his rich hive accent making the words roll across the tent space. His right hand tapped the table for a moment, right where the bottle had been. No one else caught the look that passed between the men. Shannegh shrugged dismissively, not apologetic in the slightest.

Guardsmen like Lieutenant Eulogy could not fathom the regard that Helsing had for Shannegh. It confounded them to see such a high and mighty Imperial servant so willing to carouse with a lowborn scumbag like Shannegh. What they discounted, of course, was that Helsing had been an underhiver too. Those days were long, long gone, but Helsing's earliest years were spent scrounging in the shadowy streets of a hive, fighting in gang conflicts and thugging his way to a living. He understood Shannegh in a way that perhaps only Gutterball could. And he fully knew the capabilities and usefulness of a man with his skills. Shannegh was also pretty sure that Helsing secretly enjoyed watching him cause all the bickering and infighting with the team. They always needed a way to vent or blow off steam, and Shannegh often came through with just the right solution. It wasn't always the best solution, but he never failed to have an idea.

"Today marks the beginning of the end of this campaign, ladies and gentlemen." The Inquisitor indicated a point on the mountain closest to them. They knew it well. The Wailing Road, the only direct path to the Eldar conclave and the most heavily defended position in the Eldar defenses. To date it was the only point where the Imperials had made no advances. "General Galveteau has issued a general attack along the entire front. We will be throwing everything we have at the xenos, and more. Two days ago reinforcements arrived from Tenea's polar frontier. The 18th Ioran Companions are a full strength infantry regiment with dedicated mountain warfare experience. Most recently they battled the Orks on Armaggedon. So they are real combat troops, not like the useless PDF forces we have been working with. Their regiment will lead the assault on the Wailing Road, supported by the 85th and 414th Siege Companies. The Pride of Minerva is also lending a full ground assault wing to the attack."

Shannegh paid close attention, devouring the plan and considering the implications. A powerful assault with fresh troops against a position that had been drained for months by constant shelling and infantry assaults. The defenders' morale had to be close to rock bottom by now. Even with their success at repulsing so many Imperial assaults, they had no way to resupply or reinforce. The time-honored tactic of the Imperial Guard would have yet another victory. Throw enough bodies and shells at the enemy and eventually they will be crushed.

"The plan is simple" Helsing continued. He clasped his hands behind his back and began looking each team member in the eye. That habit earned him respect with the rank-and-file soldiers because it made them feel important. The whole thing was theatrical, but Shannegh understood the good it did.

"We will blow the position to hell, then rush it with so many bodies they can't hope to drive us back. The 18th Ioran will be supported by 142nd Company Maccabean Janissaries and the 97th Thracian Guard. In addition we will be one of four Inquisitorial strike forces following up the assault. Our task is to wait for a breakthrough, then expose and terminate their interior command. With their command out of operation the entire front should collapse."

Lieutenant Eulogy shifted from a parade-rest pose to at-attention. Seeing the subtle shift out of the corner of his eye, Inquisitor Helsing paused and looked at her. "Lieutenant."

"My lord, will ours be the only major assault?"

"This will be one of three objectives" he answered. "The Elysians have demanded another try at the top of the mountain, so they will be combat dropping onto the artillery batteries we have identified. Sucher's Gap is the other goal. A massive ground assault backed by Cadian armor will attempt to drive into the Gap and split their defensive line. Any one of these objectives will turn the tide of the war. If we capture two of them, the whole thing will be over inside of the month. If three…"

"Then we can all go take a vacation" Shannegh ventured. No one laughed.

"If all three objectives are taken" Helsing repeated, laying special emphasis on the individual words, "then any remaining resistance will be isolated and mopped up by the Teneans. Our interests lie here." He tapped the spot on the map where they had marked the Eldar conclave. "I know you all have been paying attention to the rumblings in camp; General Galveteau is of a mind to offer no quarter to the defenders. While his zeal for punishing the traitor men is admirable, I fear he is missing the greater opportunity. We need as many of these xenos alive as possible for study. Any working technologies are a priority too. The more we know about these xenos, the better we can counter them in the future. This is why we members of the Inquisition have petitioned so strongly to have a role in the assaults. We cannot allow the Guard to squander this treasure trove of knowledge."

The Praetorians shifted uneasily at his words. They were rabidly anti-xenos and considered any contact with xenos to be a defilement of their souls. It had been no secret that Helsing, along with other more liberal Inquisitors, had this planned from the start. Why else would they be here? But hearing the order naturally brought those uncomfortable thoughts to the forefront. If Praetorians had anything though, they had discipline. Not a one of them grumbled or cursed under their breaths.

"Once a breach is achieved, we will drive a wedge straight through to the conclave itself. Guard forces will shore up the breach behind us to prevent a repeat of the Sarmatan disaster. Consider us the spearpoint, and the Guard the shaft."

Gutterball snickered loudly. More than one person turned to glare at him, but he did not seem the least bit chagrined. Once he got over his crippling fears, he couldn't be shut up. He was a bully at heart, and one of the nastiest creatures Shannegh had ever met, aside from Anna. When Helsing needed someone broken, he sicced Gutterball on them. It would take a little while for him to warm up, but once he got going he could make a Death Cultist beg for mercy. Gutterball didn't have a lick of conscience or pity anywhere in that mutated form of his.

"I see you two are in high form today" Helsing said, singling out Shannegh and Gutterball. He gave the mutant a withering look that silenced the man as surely as if he had stuffed a gag in his mouth. The Inquisitor's powers over the crazy mob that formed his retinue were truly wondrous. "Moving on then. While we are advancing along the Wailing Road, the tacticians recommend that we avoid using the road itself. We have never detected their use of it and so assume it is mined. So we will attack on foot. This will not be over in a day either, so I want everyone loaded with enough gear for a three-day operation. Lieutenant Eulogy, Sergeant Nicolai, I trust you can handle the requisition for your troops."

"We will" the lieutenant answered for the both of them. Her eyes sparkled at the chance to prove herself to the Inquisitor. A colorful rumor had circulated for some time that she had a hard-on for the dashing agent, but of course a noble-born woman like herself would never stoop to something so degrading as an affair. Shannegh personally doubted those rumors. She had been bred to treat all superior officers with the utmost respect, and Helsing was about as superior to her as one could get. More than likely she just liked to please him for the sake of pleasing him. After all, it wasn't like she had a hope of returning to a Praetorian unit and advancing that way anymore.

"Good. As for the rest of you, I want you to procure your own provisions and supplies, but for Throne's sake do it through the proper channels. That means you, Shannegh. The last thing I need hounding this operation is some pompous quartermaster whining at my door."

He took the order quietly, though it gave him a little kick to see the irritation seeping through Helsing's voice. As well as they got along, Shannegh was a rogue and that was what he did best. Had the situation been reversed he was sure he would have responded the same way Helsing did. Thank the Throne for that.

"The ground assault will begin tomorrow morning at dawn. General Galveteau has issued a thirty-hour bombardment to soften up the defenses. With luck, there won't be anyone left to shoot at on the lines when they finally go in." The Inquisitor stepped back from the table and crossed his arms. He shot Shannegh a subtle look before continuing. "This is going to be a loud and long day, ladies and gentlemen. I suggest you make the most of it. If you have questions stay behind. Otherwise, dismissed."

The Guardsmen dispersed immediately, moving to their tent to take accountability and receive orders. Dunk'er approached the Inquisitor to ask what "wreck-a-sit-on" meant, earning muffled chuckles from those in hearing range. It took Helsing a few minutes of patient explaining to make Dunk'er understand. When the Ogryn was finally satisfied, he lumbered off with a big grin on his face muttering about wrecking a missile launcher. Shannegh waited patiently for the others to ask their questions and leave. When they were alone in the tent he approached the table and stared at Helsing, waiting for his orders.

"No matter what happens out there" Helsing began, "I want Eldar prisoners. Two of the other Inquisitors are of a like mind, but the fourth is a Puritanical simpleton. If he gets to them first, he will kill them all. I want you to beat him there."

"How?" Shannegh studied the map. He had spent whole weeks poring over the information available, seeking weaknesses in their defenses. It did not surprise him that Helsing wanted this. Their minds ran on similar tracks.

"As I said, this won't over in a day. Despite the shelling and our manpower, they are so thoroughly dug in that it will take some time to root out the defenders. I want you to sneak through their lines at nightfall and mark the places where you find the xenos and their technology."

"Are you expecting me to make prisoners?" Shannegh frowned as he considered the option. It would certainly be hard, if not impossible, for him to do it by himself.

"No. I want you to remain out of sight. A little chaos would be fine, but the critical objective is to spot targets of value. Inquisitors Drux, Farragut, and myself will set about securing those sites before the Guard sweep through and wipe out the remaining defenders."

"By myself?"

"I assume you were thinking of bringing Anna along. While she would undoubtedly be effective at the hidden part of this task, I have my doubts as to whether or not she could be trusted with keeping xenos alive. She is rather… vicious , after all."

"So by myself." He crunched the numbers in his head. Infiltrate a defensive line that has held back an Imperial army for months, stay out of sight of the mindreading xenos inhabitants, and surreptitiously mark targets for non-destruction while keeping an eye out for potential opportunities. Not exactly a cakewalk. "What should I expect?"

"Hopefully, panic." They shared bitter smiles. "More than likely, the xenos will have created a series of defensive positions that you will have to bypass. Your lack of a uniform should make it easier for you. You will use this to mark locations." He handed Shannegh a pair of cans with spray nubs. "A simple 'I' will suffice."

"Because no one will notice an Inquisitorial mark" He mused. "How about we use an 'SH' instead."

"SH?"

"SH for Shoot Here."

The Inquisitor laughed and gave Shannegh a wink. "You will do marvelously, friend. A word of warning: the other Inquisitors may have similar plans. Keep a sharp eye out for their own people inside the xenos lines."

"I might just have to go visit around" he muttered. "Get to know some of their faces."

"See that you do. It would be rather awkward if I had to explain why my henchman gutted another henchman."

"Throne forbid the Inquisition does an awkward" he said with mock horror. "Next thing you know we'll be inconveniencing people."

Again, the Inquisitor chuckled. "How was my bottle?"

"Had better" he admitted. As if Helsing could do anything about it. "Local, right?"

"It was a gift from the governor for removing that xenos-tech from the palace."

"Well, at least it didn't go to waste." The mercenary tapped his chest. "Gave some to Gutterball too. Figured he needed some liquid courage to prep for this."

Something akin to a groan slipped out of the Inquisitor's mouth. "Feck's sake, you are absolutely shameless. I'd have better luck training Dunk'er how to spell than teaching you some proper manners."

"What the hell'd I want proper manners for?"

That gave the man some pause, and he made a show of thinking through his reply. When he found no reasonable excuse he sighed. "Good point. You're much more useful as a scandalous scallywag."

"Ladies love a bad boy" he said with a beaming smile.

"Unlike officers" he noted shrewdly. "Your badgering of Madam Eulogy continues unabated, I take it."

"One of the best ways to pass the time."

"Maybe so, but see to it that you don't distract her from her duties. I need Madam Eulogy fully concentrated for this mission. Her Praetorian Rifles will be key in this upcoming battle."

"I distract her" he asked with false astonishment. "Hot damn, I guess she's coming around then."

"Give it another two hundred years and she might even shake your hand" the Inquisitor joked. He checked his chrono and frowned. "Duty calls, Reaper. Come by around dusk, I might have some special gear for you to aid in your task."

"I like the sound of that." Shannegh bobbed his head respectfully and slunk out of the tent. First order of business: find some grub. He was pretty sure the Staff kitchen would be nearly empty by now. If he was fast he could snatch the leftovers before they tossed it to the cattle.