Waaagh Games Chapter 7: What Goes Up, a warhammer fanfic

"Dose... dose barsterds! Dose zoggin' Humies. Dey… dey blew it up! Gork an' Mork, dey blew evreyfing up!"

Mordakka slams his fists into the ground, throwing his head back and howling with pain and rage.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!"

Then he seems to compose himself, still breathing heavily, and grabs his vox.

"Squigwood, we'ze takin' off. Let's show dose bloddy Humies dat wen you 'it an Ork, 'e 'its back!"

The torpedoes tore through the upper atmosphere, rocket engines screaming in a wailing chorus of doom. Their internal sensors, registering that the missiles had reached their optimum dispersal point, triggered a series of explosive bolts mounted around their warheads. As the panelling of their outer shells tore away, internal hydraulics within the missiles launched a series of unguided high-explosive rockets, leaving their now-lightened carriers to streak towards their target unhindered. There were now 4000 rocket-propelled projectiles plummeting towards the Kingdakka. In Katyushan gunnery circles, there was an informal nickname for swarm torpedoes; Doom Blossoms. The Orks were about to experience this firsthand.

As we rush back towards the ship, Squigwood's voice registers over the vox, calm and collected as ever.

"Boss, sensor controls are pickin up a lotta missiles heading this way. I'ze gonna activate th' antimissile system, yeah?"

"Do it!"

Dozens of small hatches in the hull of the Kingdakka swung open on ramshackle hydraulics, revealing a series airtight armourcrys bubbles. Within each bubble was a gretchin, and a long heavy lasrifle, its thick barrel protruding through an airtight slot in the transparent plating. The Gretchin, permanently and irrevocably addicted to Fightan Jooce, had one all-important idea drilled into their drug-addled brains: kill rokkitz, get da Jooce. Beady eyes peering through scopes, they searched the skies, firing at anything that looked vaguely like a missile or rocket. A simple light sensor on the scope registered the explosion of a destroyed missile, pumping a small dose of Fightan Jooce directly into the Gretchin's veins. The more missiles they destroyed, the more hyperactive they became, and the more efficient they became. It was a good system, but it wasn't enough.

A storm of missiles fell at well over the speed of sound, a pathetic few of their number picked out of the air by furious las fire.

"Yez fink yez can kill me wif rokkits? SUCK ME GUBBINZ', RUNTIE HUMIES! WAAAGHKANNON! BREAKAH! FIYAH!"

Though he has not called into his vox, or thumbed any triggers on his gear, the Kingdakka's second Waaaghkannon responds to his voice and fires.

DAKKA

But the gun behaves differently than usual. Instead of firing off a single massive fist of energy, its beam seems to diverge; suddenly the sky is an incandescent grid of green energy, thousands of beams of power connecting and annihilating every single missile that I can see. The air rumbles with the force of the detonation, but the Waaaghkannon isn't done yet; the tiny offshoot beams recoalese, the reformed fist of energy rising into the stratosphere and out of sight.

"Could it do that before?"

"N-no. I don't think so."

"Stop yer yappin an get onna bloody ship! Iz flyan time!"

Irohov and Nnoitra ran through the ruined city, leaping around (and, in one particularly harrowing case, over), the scattered groups of Edelweiss they came across. They didn't seem to be moving, or attempting to regroup; they just held their positions, as if they were waiting for something. Irohov was worried. His worry was only intensified as Nnoitra skidded to a halt, staring skywards, his multipartite mouth hanging open.

"Look."

"Apoli."

Drop pods. Thirty-five. Closing fast. And that circular shape...

"Nnoitra. We need to get under cover. Now."

And the air exploded.

They were called Hailstorm Pods for a reason; designed to both clear a landing zone and provide cover for drop-pod soldiers, the missile pods mounted to the outside of the drop-pods whirred to life. Spinning rapidly, they dispersed a wide spread of downwards-aimed rockets, the recoil serving to slow the pod enough that it would not get caught in the shockwave.

It rained ordinance, the frag rockets exploding with hollow pops , annihilating the abandoned structures around them with ease. The drop pods landed softly, on a field of rubble that was abandoned save for a single oddly organic-looking rock.

Nnoitra rose to his undersized feet, maw gaping as he retched. Leaning forwards, he spat a battered, ichor-coated Irohov onto the ground.

"Why-?"

"We will never speak of this again. Now. Our enemy approaches."

Stumbling to his feet, Irohov glanced at the grounded drop pods, in time to see their hatch doors pop open, and power-armoured troops pile forth. He knew that armour. That insignia. Those weapons. The Katyushan 2nd Sputnik Guard Support Army, Energia Division. His kinsmen. His friends. His allies. His... enemies?

"No. No. I can't do this. I can't."

"Then so be it. BLOOD!"

There were five Energias per pod, and three pods had landed nearby, meaning that the odds against Nnoitra were fifteen to one. He didn't seem to care. Leaping into the center of the group, he ignored the flamers levelled against them, the scorching promethium coursing over his stony skin. Two of his six arms reached out, snagging a pair of unfortunate Energias, and neatly sawed them in half. Balancing on the other two arms, Nnoitra did a wild horizontal flip, a lance of coagulated gore from his empty eye socket spattering the remains of the three remaining soldiers across the rubble-strewn ground. Then, turning to their drop-pod, he lifted it bodily, preparing to throw it and crush the next group. Which was when a barrage of rockets designed to destroy main battle tanks blew him to smithereens.

Rumbling out of the smoke came an Assault Shuvghovhod¸ two frontal omni-directional wheels mounted on thick hydraulic pylons pulling a massive armoured bunker mounted on a skimmer base. The two missile turrets on the spine of the bunker swivelled skywards, their tubes still smoking. As a ragged cheer went up from the surviving Katyushans, a thickly-accented voice boomed over the war machine's vox speaker.

"How are you liking me now, daemon?"

"Well played!"

With a horrific tearing noise, the destroyed bodies of the Katyushan soldiers were forced together into a pulpy mass, which slowly morphed into what appeared to be a stone statue of a lizard.

"It's going to take far more than pretty explosions to kill me!"

A shot from the Shuvghovhod's chin-mounted autocannon knocked him off his feet.

"Well how about that then, warpspawn?"

Conjuring a set of straps out of thin air, I firmly strap myself onto the crude stool that counts as a 'seat' on the Kingdakka's bridge. Mordakka drops into a larger, and much more comfortable-looking, command chair. Squigwood's in the piloting station and the thin, war paint-clad Atinboro is in the gunnery station, hands already quivering over several different triggers.

"Awright boyz! 'ERE WE GO! WAAAAAAGH!"

And out of the corner of my eye, I see five red points of light sink into the shadows behind a roof stanchion.

"Damage report! What in the Emperor's name just hit us?"

There were a few seconds of frantic silence as the officer consulted his readouts.

"Sir... I have no idea. It bypassed our shielding completely, penetrated the hull, and simultaneously knocked out all of our ground targeting stations. We're incapable of performing orbital bombardments of any kind. Hold on."

"Emergency stations! Full power to void shielding! Get damage control crews on task. I want orbital bombardment capabilities up now!"

"Sir... Incoming! Enemy cruiser, power readings similar to those we destroyed earlier! It's Orkish, sir!"

"Scramble fighters. Lascannons to full power, cycle for rapid-fire. Load torpedoes with penetrator warheads. Target and fire full barrage when ready."

"Oh Tzeentch. That thing's huge."

"Sod it. Atinb-"

"HA-SHWAAAAAAAAGH!"

The ship shook, the main display screen lighting up with dozens of railgun plasma contrails, flak bursts, and torpedo launches.

A quiet voice rang in my mind.

"Whelp, here I go. Good luck out there, eh?"

Lascannon Turret 17, Gunnery deck 12, aboard the Katyusha...

Crewman Weirov leaned over the coolant coil, wrench in hand.

"Now then, little vane, will you come free? Ah yes. Yes you will."

There was the slightest of noises behind him, and the screaming began. It lasted for several minutes. By the time his fellow crewmen had found him, Weirov had already gouged out his eyes with the wrench. He sat on the deck, humming tunelessly, and staring blindly at the words he had drawn on the deck.

we are

HERE.

By the time they noticed the five red dots suspended in shadow above them, it was too late.

Trading blows and insults, the Bloodletter and the Shuvghovhod danced back and forth. Every time Nnoitra got close enough to land a blow, fire from the war machine's many, many fire ports would push him back, although he seemed unphased by the damage. It was a stalemate in the truest sense of the word.

Irohov dropped to his knees as the team of Energias approached. Their armour was... unfamiliar. A newer design. Less plating, more flexibility, probably. But they all bore the emblem of the 2nd. The footsloggers, the best infantrymen Katyusha could field. As they drew closer, heavy Autostrela guns at the ready, Irohov saw that their leader bore the triple-ring insignia. He stopped suddenly, and Irohov heard a muffled gasp.

The following conversation was entirely in Katyushan, but I've taken the liberty of translating it.

"I-Irohvov. No. It can't be. This must be some Chaotic trick!"

It was the voice of Lexandar Nevski, Triarch of the Second. An old ally.

"It's me, Nevski. In the flesh."

Drawing closer, but still not lowering his weapon, Nevski crouched down a way away from him.

"Ivan... you died! The entire Thirteenth was killed when the Orks cracked Namaskar."

"Oh? So that's what you were told? I didn't die, Lexandar. I just... changed sides."

"You... a traitor? A heretic?"

Irohov smiled bitterly.

"Not by my own choosing. I would do anything to turn things back the way they were."

"You were loyal, steadfast... a servant of the Emperor tried and true! I can't believe this!"

"Lexandar, not even His Majesty can help me now. Make this easy and kill me now. Please. Before things just get worse."

"I-Ivan..."

"Exterminate."

As she rose from the mutilated corpse of another crewman, Shri Pfelnig cocked her head. She appeared to listen for a moment, then nodded slowly.

"Guess it's time for plan B there, huh?"

The Kingdakka rocks from the force of another vicious las barrage. A squadron of tiny lumpen fightercraft speed by the viewscreen, releasing a volley of rockets almost as large as they are.

"Boss, shieldin iz holdin'. We kan keep dis up fer a while."

"Roight! Atinboro! Keep firin'!"

The gunner's piercing war-shriek is muffled by Shri's voice in my mind.

"Sebell."

The next bit is Sebell thinking, not talking. Obviously. Because, I mean, if he was saying all this out loud, it would be really weird, even for Sebell. But I digress. Let's keep going.

" What's up?"

"I'm getting some signals from Irohov there, y'know? He's refusing to fight."

"So make him then."

"Well, you probed his mind for a reason."

"All right, Tzeentch's sakes. I got it. Technically I'm still your boss, y'know."

As the single word echoed through his mind, Irohov's vision suddenly blurred. The air was full of reddish-purple runes, little dancing motes of light... so... beautiful... NO! He screamed in agony, throwing his head forward and bruising his forehead on the rocky ground as a spike of psionic force drilled through his psyche.

"I'm trying to keep your mind stable. Stop resisting, or you'll make yourself go psychotic, and none of us want that."

There was a horrible snap, and Irohov went light-headed. It was as if he was watching someone else move for him. He rolled towards Nevski, unsheathing his hammer and landing a crashing blow across the surprised Triarch's face. He managed to regain control for long enough to scream two words.

"Kill me!"

Then he was forced away by an iron wall of thought. He spun away from the fire of the Energias with a speed that he wouldn't have thought possible. Extending a hand, his body surged with energy and a line of telekinetic forced crushed the skull of a trooper who was raising his flamer.

"See? Isn't that easier. Traitor."

Dashing past an Energia who was too slow to react, Irohov stuck a satchel charge in the exhaust port of one of his rocket launchers, shoving him towards his companions. With a roar, the rockets cooked off, killing several energies with a single blast. Ignoring the remaining Energias, he sprinted towards the Shuvghovhod. Then he felt the... thing controlling his mind stretch outwards, enveloping the minds of all those in the war machine.

"No!"

"YES!"

The sparks of life were crushed in an instant, but slowly enough that Irohov heard every last desperate thought. Then the controlling influence left him with one final thought.

"You're here to do a job. Get it done."

He stumbled and collapsed, vomiting.

"So someone broke into your mind and forced you to watch as you killed about fifty people. At least you're still sane."

Based on our knowledge of the internal systems of the Assault-variant Shuvghovhods, it was probably more like fifty-fiveish. But that's just quibbling.

"I-"

"Keep moving. Come on!"

Pulling him to his feet with one gore-soaked arm, Nnoitra forced Irohov into motion.

Multiple layers of shielding flickering under a near-constant las and missile assault, the Kingdakka thrust forwards, huge fusion engines propelling a hull that was shaking from the force of the firepower it was creating and absorbing.

"Boss, we need more dakka!"

"Atinbork, activate da Reeflectaz! Fyewshin lances activate!"

Hull plates slid open across the ship, deploying a series of parabolic mirrors on the end of long monofilament cables. Huge electromagnetic baffles dropped into place over the Kingdakka's engines, stopping its considerable thrust. Energy arcing across their corrugated surfaces, the lances recollected the waste plasma from the fusion engines, re-fusing it into a single pulse of radiation and light. The beam reflected off the network of parabolic dishes and spattered off the Katyusha's shields in a vast, unwavering bloom of light.

"Recharge, 'an keep firin!"

"Captain, massive energy bloom on starboard shields!

The bridge display hololith flared heat and radiation warnings, before being suddenly drowned out by a huge bloom of light. The ship rocked, a plume of debris wafting out of multiple cracks in the hull.

"Report!"

"Sir, hull breaches in outer plating... internal plating reads moderate fracturing, nothing critical. Despatching repair teams now."

"What just hit us?"

"Collating data now, Sir. Looks like some sort of fusion laser. Not very tight-beam, but there's a lot of radiation damage."

"Gunnery control, set main cannons to ripple fire, aim starboard. Overcharge when ready. Engineering, run coolant systems to 150%. Navigator, prepare for a warp micro jump on my command."

"My lord, I do not think that wise... the ways of the warp do not-"

"Just do it. I want to phase out then phase back in directly next to them."

"Captain, is that wise? We have more long-range firepower than they do. They might attempt to board if we get too close."

"Lieuteneant Commander, that ship just turned its engines into a fusion laser the size of a cruiser. I don't want to know what other tricks they can pull out of their apoli xenos hides. We end this now."

"Um... yessir."

"My lord, we are plotted for microjump. But I insist that-"

"Engage."

A huge rent in realspace emerged in front of the Katyusha, and, with a surge of energy, it disappeared, leaving its fighters and bombers stranded.

"Zoggit, did they'ze just run away?"

Then it reappeared at directly off the Kingdakka's port, angled to allow thirteen of its huge lascannons, power cells crackling with force, to fire at point-blank range. They did so, with extreme prejudice. The Orkish ship was blown sideways as a small sun's worth of energy overloaded its shield generators, blasting thirteen neat holes in its hull. Hull beams straining against tremendous torsional forces, it snapped in half lengthwise, the upper section blown towards Pyros' atmosphere by the force of the detonation of the reactors in the lower half.

The air is filled with creaking and groaning. There is no power, no lights, only the dim glow of charred, smouldering electronics, and the brightening atmospheric glow in the rents of the hull. I sit strapped to my seat in the center of a bubble of energy, leaning comfortably against the broad metal back of the TAchimera which huddles close behind me.

"How're you doing, Unit 9?"

"Not bad, Mister Vivat! If you want to teleport us to the surface, now would be a really, really good time!"

"Awww, suck it up you big wuss. We'll be fine."

Squigwood is dead. Atinbork is dead. Mordakka, gasping for breath and turning a worrying shade of brown, staggers over to a panel and pulls a heavy lever. With a thump, the power comes back on, and we begin to decelerate. Viewscreens shimmer back online, and, looking through them ,I see the upper half of the ruined Kingdakka falling away. Mordakka slumps into his command chair, inhaling the fresh air which gusts from vents, and seizing a pair of control sticks which rise from the armrests.

"So, Mordakka. I see you turned the bridge of your ship into an escape craft. Well done."

"Sod off."

Shri materializes behind me with a quiet pop, her veil of shadows melting away to reveal her pale, sickly frame.

"Whew. It's set."

"Great! So... that's the first bit done. Now, I guess we just have to get where we're going."

"Nicely done, Shri. C'mon. Make yourself comfortable. This ride is going to be... interesting. Also, good work with Irohov."

"It was a pleasure, y'know?"

A few minutes earlier, aboard the Katyusha.

"Damn damn DAMN!"

Shri Pfelnig flowed through the hallways of the gunnery block, killing everyone she came across and searching for working computer terminal. She'd been a bit overzealous, strangling that guy with his own intestines. His juices had shorted out an exposed circuit panel, and now half the damned power was out! She lazily waved a hand, a streamer of black light neatly eviscerating a trooper who hadn't seen her coming. There were still some survivors, but she'd spot-welded the doors so no-one was getting in or out of this block.

Ahead of her, she spied a glowing greenish cogitator screen.

"'Bout damn time, eh!"

Bustling over to the cogitator bank, she pulled out a small data chip from a side pocket, inserted it into the correct port, and typed the series of coded commands that would activate it. A small red light on its casing pulsed once, and the cogitator screen suddenly switched to a pixelated image of an apple tree. Hitting a single key, Pfelnig disappeared into the aether. There was a few seconds wait as the cogitator bank processed the data on the card. Then, with a quiet whining noise, every single computer bank on the ship went dormant as a highly advanced fuzzy-logic-based virus overwrote the ship's cogitating operation system. Try as they might, the techs could only get the screens to show one thing: a cartoon image of an apple with a wickedly grinning smile.

Triarch Mikhail Koshkin surveyed the scene with pride, breathing the fresh (if rather too warm for his tastes) evening air. The Katyushan position was essentially solidified, the dropships burrowing deep into the soil, defensive pods deploying into heavy rocket turrets and fortifications. They were in an ideal position, backs against the wall that was the Mechanicus base. The cogboys were being remarkably cooperative. What with their leader dead and what remained of their armed forces scattered over half the settlement, they had to be.

"Sir?"

"Ah. Drebin. Do we have confirmation?"

His aide nodded.

"Yessir. Nevski is not responding, but the other three on the ground are in agreement."

Koshkin gave a satisfied grunt.

"Well all right then. One-two punch it is. Tupolevs and a Muromets, then finish the bastard off with the Prypiat."

Ivan Kozhedub felt his Tupolev fighter-bomber shake as the pod carrying it began to decelerate. The needle-thing rocket fighter was held vertically in a gantry in the center of the pod, back-to-back with that of his wingman, Aleksa Pokryshkin. The vox unit on his console burbled, the sound distorted by the deep vibrations of the fighter drop pod's retrorockets.

"L-minus one minute. Systems reading green."

Kozhedub thumbed a switch, and felt an internal whirring as his augmetic cardiovascular system kicked in. All Katyushan pilots, especially those who flew Tupolevs, were highly augmented, as the g-forces from their powerful engines could literally mash an ordinary human. He booted the internal radar, which began to draw a feed from the pod's systems, giving him a clear picture of the outside airspace. The readout registered a clear sky, except for the distant radar contrails of several of the heavy lifters and command ships.

"Alpha 2, reading clear. Confirm?"

Pokryshkin's voice came back thinly, overlaid by the hissing of her augmetic lungs.

"Clear, Alpha 1. I'm checked out."

The flight controller's voice sounded once more.

"L-minus twenty... opening outer hatches. Charging catapults."

The outer hull of the bulbous pod slid away, leaving the two fighters buffeted by the roaring wind outside. With a low grinding buzz, their separate gantries swung outwards, until each ship was pointing at a steep angle relative to the pod. Clamps holding the rails of the magnetic launch catapults swung away, and two sets of heavily reinforced rail magnets extended outwards, streams of coolant creating two vertical contrails.

"L-minus ten, nine, fuel lines free, seven, six, main engines start, four, activating catapult, two, one... Launch!"

The catapults fired, accelerating the two fighters to several hundred kilometres per second and flinging them out of the frame of the pod, and into open air. Rear rockets flaring to fight the tremendous downwards momentum they'd accumulated, the fighters sped upwards, Alpha 2 swinging around to take formation on Kozhedub's right wingtip.

"We have cleared the pod. See you on the return flight, control."

"Roger that, Alpha 1. We'll have the landing pad laid out for you when you get back. Emperor-speed."

As the pod continued its descent to where it would deploy into a mobile airstrip, Kozhedub slowly gunned the throttle.

"Accelerate to cruise velocity, Alpha 2. Watch for the target."

"Confirmed, sir. Let's do this."

With a slight burst of power from its single engine the Tupolevs broke the sound barrier in unison, and continued to accelerate.

"Mach 1.5... 2... 2.5... 3... cruising at Mach 4."

"Sir, reading the Muromets coming in as expected."

The sun was blotted out as a huge shape pulled in overhead and matched speeds. The massive flattened triangle was a Muromets bomber, its three rocket engines straining to keep it at mach- level cruising speeds. Eight twin-linked autocannon turrets scanned the skies, and, from where he sat, Kozhedub could see its two huge belly-mounted rocket pods, each carrying enough unguided ordinance to destroy a smallish Titan.

"Alpha wing, this is Beta Solo, signing in."

"Welcome to the party, Beta Solo. You know the plan?"

"Of course, Alpha 1."

"Good. We're not expecting any bogeys aside from the target, which probably isn't armed anyways, so-"

"Contact! I have radar ranging on the target. Locked!"

At the same moment, Kozhedub's radar pinged, showing him a distant blob. Within a few seconds the targeting computer had acquired a lock.

"Got it. Beta Solo?"

"Confirmed. Whenever you're ready."

"Accelerate to strike velocity. Prepare HKIs to fire."

"We will burn the land and boil the seas, because they can't take the skies from us!"

That's the motto of the Katyushan Air Corps, by the way. It doesn't fare well in the translation, but you get the gist of it.

He pushed the throttle even farther forwards, and flicked a switch on the engine control panel. For a few seconds the rocket engine stuttered as fuel lines were diverted, but then he was pressed back into his seat as the four ramjets arranged around the base of the wings roared to life. His Tupolev shot forwards, riding a line of blue flame, and Alpha 2 followed shortly.

"Beta Solo accelerating to attack velocity now. We'll see you in a few minutes."

Behind him, the Muromets' ramjets activated. Though much larger than those of the fighters, they were still not enough to propel the massive bomber to a speed faster than Mach 5. The fighters were travelling at Mach 6.

"Visual contact on the target."

"Fire at will, Alpha 2."

Mordakka has the escape vehicle on a regular flight path, though we're still descending rapidly.

"So. Warboss. What's the plan?"

"We get down, we kill all da Humies, an' den we leave. Got dat?"

"Your Waaagh! is dead, Mordakka. You know you can't win."

He turns suddenly in his seat, and I see that he's foaming at the mouth, his eyes squinting redly.

"Dey killed me Waaagh. Dey killed me ship. Dey killed me WAAAGHBLASTA! DEY'ZE! ALL! DED! WAAAAGH!"

Heavy Kinetic Impactor weapons, or HKIs as they were more commonly known, were simple, effective, and deadly. Consisting of nothing but a compact ramjet with a wing attached, they would accelerate to tremendous speeds, moving at velocities similar to projectile of a Tau railgun, albeit with much, much more mass. Kozhedub thumbed the firing switch, and his fighter's four HKIs detached, their engines cycling on and sending them screaming away towards the distant flying blot on the horizon. By the time the projectiles arrived, their engines would have deteriorated literally to the point of melting, but they weren't designed to fly long distances. They were designed to travel fast and hit hard. Off to one side, he saw Alpha 2's HKIs tear away, and their powerful jet wash rocked his fighter for a moment.

"All ordinance away, Alpha 1."

"Roger. Beta Solo, you are cleared to commence bombing run."

"Moving to engage... Right. I've got a confirmed hit on two of the HKIs... target is still flying. Commence rocket saturation. Cruise missiles away."

The two rocket pods in the belly of the bomber let loose their ordinance, a volley of fifty unguided rockets with thermobaric warheads. They exploded around the distant blot, filling the air with a punishing cloud of acidic liquid explosive before detonating with a mighty rumble. Then the cruise missiles, launched from four tubes on the top of Beta Solos' hull hit, their high explosive payloads creating a burning secondary explosion.

"Target... apoli. Target is still flying."

"Good work on the shield charms, Root."

"It was a pleasure. Let's all try to get out of this alive, okay?"

"Attention all units. Clear the area. We have a Prypiat missile on the way. Get out of there now."

"Roger that, control. Alpha wing bugging out."

"Beta Solo is away."

A few minutes earlier, in the Katyushan base.

Koshkin stared through the fire-slit of the bunker as the large, remote-controlled launch vehicle rolled slowly into place, its huge treads grinding the rocky soil into dust. The missile that squatted on top of it like some sort of technological gargoyle was lumpy and irregular. The Prypiat was a weapon designed to take out high-value targets whatever the cost. Three highly unstable fission reactors, mounted around an overcharged fusion reactor in the missile's warhead would generate enough heat to melt through a target, then incinerate everything inside and heavily irradiate the area. They weren't commonly used weapons, given their tendency to permanently make an area inhospitable to all life.

The weapons tech next to him checked a few readouts, and then turned his vox relay to general broadcast.

"We're charging the reactors now. Everyone clear the area. Radiation shielding emplaced, commencing fuel injection."

No one ever worried about a Prypiat exploding. The could not, in fact, explode. What they could do extremely well was get hot. The place where the first test protoype had failed was now entombed under a cubic kilometre of lead-lined ferrocrete.

"Coolant check... Main turbines start."

The rocket began to judder on the launch pad, coolant puffing out of the vents around its massive engine.

"Calibrating ballistics..."

The rocket tilted slightly on its carrier, and the juddering grew more pronounced.

"Ballistics locked. Fire."

Without warning, the missile heaved into the air, and Koshkin was momentarily blinded by the billow of smoke, pressing his hands tightly over his ears, the roar of the liftoff loud even through the walls of the bunker.

"Missile away. All clear."

"Mister Vivat, I'm reading something big incoming!"

"Root, shields!"

"I'm trying, dammit, but-"

The missile hit the small ship at slightly under the speed of sound, knocking it out of the sky. A set of heavy grapnels deployed along its forward surfaces, permanently tying the two plummeting vehicles together. Then the reactors went to full power; the surface of the missile bubbled away, plumes of metal almost heated to gasification spewing away as a nuclear inferno, as hot as a sun, burned a hole through the ship's hull. Then the superheated ball of metallic death hit the ground, fusing the soil to glass and melting a massive pit. The last of the Kingdakka was no more.

"Sir, target destroyed."

"Excellent. Prep my Shuvghovhod. We're going to collect the Edelweiss."