With a strange noise like a thousand rugs being ripped apart in a combine harvester, we arrived in a room I recognized, not without some foreboding. The walls were metal, stained and segmented by unpainted seams, held together with rivets the size of a fist. Brass skulls leered at me from the corners, and massive aquilas were carved into the metal walls, giving the impression of holding up the ceiling. It could have been any one of a billion rooms across the Empire, but I had a sick feeling in my stomach that I knew which one it was.
The echoing clang of something metal walking down the hallway reached our ears, and my stomach clenched, knowing that it was either an Inquisitor or a tech-priest who would make a noise like that. And I had a pretty good bet which one it would be.
Mahud, on the other hand, reacted even more strongly than I did. His face went white as a sheet, and from somewhere within the strange suit he wore he produced a knife, its whitish, jagged edge looking almost like a…tooth.
I was about to ask what the Throne he was doing, but Inquisitor Gallu chose that exact moment to stride through the door. He looked insufferably smug, a thought I did my best to squash.
"Congratulations, Guardsman." He said as he clunked closer. "I have recently received an astropathic message that the Ork forces on Pugnatus Prime have fallen into a rout and Imperial forces will soon begin cleaning them up. It seems the machine suffered some damage, but you seem to have survived unscathed. In fact, you seem to have picked up a passenger." His iron gaze fell on Mahud. "Who are you, my young friend?"
Mahud was still holding the knife. "Are you a cymek?" he demanded of the Inquisitor.
"I am not what you call a 'cymek'. The Inquisitor stated. "I am Gallu of the Holy order of the Empire's Inquisition. Threaten me with a knife again, boy, and you will die several painful deaths." He did not move a muscle, but Mahud gasped and dropped the knife from shaking hands.
"Better." Gallu mused. "You are not of this universe, are you? I will have to investigate this more fully at a later time. For now, we have more pressing concerns. This facility is under attack."
The same red-hooded cyborgs that had previously repaired me appear once again as the Inquisitor leads my Commander and the man called Mahud out of the room. Unlike the last time we were in this facility, I now can track my Commander's movements and conversation with the small comm-bead he now wears. For now, the Inquisitor is leading my Commander along several very long hallways, explaining to Mahud the nature of a species known as the 'Tyranids'.
The silent, red-robed cyborgs are as inefficient as they were perviously, though the length of chanting and praying has decreased by 9.76% since last time, which I can only hope bodes well for the future. My modifications cause much consternation, and they tut and fuss over the new Orkish contraptions, muttering amongst themselves of "the defilement of the Xenos" and all other such stuff and nonsense, but it would seem they have no idea how to restore my systems to their previous state. In the end, the conversation reaches the Inquisitor, who instructs them in firm tones to repair all the systems, the heresy can be debated at a later date. Cowed, the red robes scurry about, and prayer length increases by 19.72%. Were I human, I would have sighed in resignation. As it is, I can only watch as the chainsaw's teeth are cleaned with 'blessed' oils and other such nonsense.
In the time since my absence, they have at least worked out a way to create new shells for my Hellbore and auto-cannon systems, allowing them to be fully reloaded at last. I have my doubts about how effective they may be, but it is far better than nothing. While they were loading the shells, the cyborgs uncovered a large number of containers containing a great quantity of some unknown orange-brown powder, secreted away in the empty ammunition compartments. One cyborg took a small sample of the stuff, and began spasming and muttering. He was taken away by his fellows, who left the strange substance in a handy corridor within me and studiously avoided it. Meanwhile, the Inquisitor has led my Commander out onto the battlements. Through the comm-button, I am also able to look out on the horde below.
The ground itself appears to be a single, undulating mass of insect flesh. I see the numerous turrets along the battlements as they frantically blaze away at the enemy, scything down hundreds every second. Still more mount over the bodies, flowing in an endless tide towards the keep. The sound is stupendous. A keening shriek, like a million fingernails against the proverbial blackboard.
"As you can see," Gallu is explaining, "We are holding the xenos off for now, but it is a matter of time before we are finally overrun. Ammunition levels have fallen far below acceptable parameters, and it is a matter of time at this point before we run out entirely."
"You need N- myself and the tank to open an avenue of escape, my lord?" My commander asks.
"No." Gallu folds his arms. "I want you to destroy the Tyranid force in its entirety. I have reserved some remaining machines for your return, and your tank will lead the others in sweeping the Xenos filth from this planet. Do you have any questions, Guardsman?"
He swallows. "I have none, my lord."
"Good." Gallu begins walking once more, and gestures for my Commander to follow. "The units will assemble in the courtyard."
Back in the room, one of the walls folds upward, revealing a long, grease-stained concrete ramp. My Commander climbs back inside, accompanied by Mahud. "Alright, Nika. Take us out." He instructs as he buckles in.
"Mahud, think you can take the engine compartment?" I ask him.
"Shouldn't be a problem." He replies, sliding down the hatchway. I hear a clunk and then a muttered "Shai-hulud!" as he stubs his toe on something, but I leave him be. On the pict-screens in the command compartment, the keep's courtyard is coming into sight. As with everything in this place, it is a massive affair, with enough room to graze a whole herd of grox, but right now it is full to the bursting.
My eyes widen as I see the mass of armor accumulated inside the courtyard. Baneblades, every last one. There must be a hundred of them at least, fifty idling on either side of the path as Nika trundles down it. The commanders are all standing at attention in their cupolas, watching as Nika rumbles past. It's at times like this I realize how much my perception of scale has changed. Before, I would have said that a Baneblade, short of anything but a Titan, was the final say when it came to overwhelming force. Now, well- Nika dwarfs even these titans like a bull grox dwarfs a sheepdog. We rumble ahead, dead slow down the column, the huge chain links of the Orkish chainsaw system clanking menacingly.
"Nika, can you hook us in to the vox net?" I ask.
There is a crackle from an unseen speaker, then Nika announces, "Done."
I clear my throat; I'm not the best at making speeches. "Alright, men." I say, drawing on what I remember generals and commissars saying before a battle. "It doesn't look good out there. They've got us surrounded on three sides, with the mountains to our backs. There's nowhere to run, no place to hide. But that's alright, because we're not going to do either. We're the Imperial Guard, and we're damn well going to show those xenos what that means! Follow me, we're going to tear those monsters a new asshole!"
Then, to Nika, I murmur, "Drive straight at the gate. Don't slow down."
With an electric shriek of engines, we lurched back into motion, picking up speed at an alarming rate. Seeing what we intended, the massive gate on the other side of the courtyard began to creak open. Not fast enough. The distance narrowed as the gate widened, but Nika was no speeder bike. She needed a good eighteen meters of horizontal clearance. I would say the gate was maybe at sixteen meters when we hit. There was a colossal clanging noise as the gate dented, crumpling outward as Nika slammed through it, sending the multi-ton doors swinging wide, the gears within shedding teeth in a shower of sparks. Behind us, the baneblades were thundering along behind us, roaring through the gate two at a time. The tyranids spotted us immediately, and I gave Nika the order to open fire, conservatively.
The Hellbore turrets thumped away, and small hills of corpses went flying in all directions as the shells struck at a significant fraction of the speed of light, and vast clouds of dust and smoke roiled up over the landscape.
It must have been quite a sight as we formed up into a flying wedge and charged the Xeno horde. A massive tank, the scarred and pitted remains of an Imperial eagle still showing on its glacis, dozens of guns blazing away on all sides. On either side, fifty of the Imperial Guard's largest tanks, rumbling across the plains behind the behemoth. On all sides, the Tyranids rushed in, a seething, chittering horde of shrieking claws and bone and acid, only to be blown apart by the cleansing fury of a hundred Battle Cannons.
Nika told me later that according to her calculations, over seven tons of ordnance was launched every second for the first five minutes of the battle. For those first five minutes, the weight of lead was such that even the Tyranids were forced to give ground. The sheer force of the shells were pushing those that survived backwards with nothing but raw physical force.
"Forward!" I ordered Nika. "Target the larger creatures, and the smaller ones will be less effective!"
The Baneblade commanders were veterans all, and they needed no real instruction from me. A Bio-titan loomed on the horizon, but a pair of Hellebore shells blew it back into a pulpy mass of purplish flesh. But even as it toppled, two more appeared. The first Baneblade fell, shattered like an old ration carton as a slimy bullet the size of a Leman Russ slammed into it. Nika's Hellebore turret shredded the organic artillery that had killed it, but now others were coming over the low hills around the keep, firing their own massive shells.
"Evasive maneuvers!" I ordered. "Follow me!" and then, to Nika: "We need to find their staging areas and destroy them there!"
"Aye, Commander." She replied. "Switching on close-in melee defense system." The massive teeth arrayed around Nika's skirting began to rotate now, whirling around faster and faster. There was an electric whine as Nika's drive motors picked up speed, ramming Nika's blunt front into the foremost lines of tyranids, which promptly disintegrated into purple-red mist. Those that survived leaped at her tracks, attempting to tangle them at the expense of their own bodies. But it was to no avail, as Nika's new systems shredded them to pulp before they could ever reach their goal. The Baneblades had other strategies, using their massive sponson guns to shred the monsters in the hundreds. Two more Baneblades went down nonetheless, their unfortunate crews unable to prevent their tracks from becoming clogged. They fell behind, and moments later were being covered in swarms of Tyranids.
These monstrous creatures are unlike any foe I have ever faced, and given my experiences over the last few weeks, I feel no hesitation to say I may have faced some of the strangest foes in the history of the Dinochrome Brigade. Given the number of foes listed in my databanks, the statement seems absurd even to me, yet it also may be true. These Tyranids are unlike any foe ever encountered before. They throw themselves at me with total disregard for their own lives, no doubt controlled by some form of hive mind. They exercise mass assault tactics that no sane human commander would ever attempt. They are partially successful. Our advance is being slowed. At the cost of millions of lives, it is simply impossible to punch through to their staging areas. I wait for my Commander to devise some new, clever strategy to circumvent this obstacle, but he does not speak. He has seen the outside cameras as well, and I see his face change as he reaches the same conclusion. There is no escape, not this time.