Foreword: first and foremost, I wish to express my deepest condolences to my French and Lebanese readers out there for recent real-life events in Paris and Beirut.

In this chapter, we reach the conclusion of the "Battle Of Crimson EquinoX" story arc, and we will return to Middle Earth soon enough, but I would like to thank my readers for their support, reviews, and enthusiasm.

Chapter 12: Battle Brothers Part III

1km from Landing Zone
41km SW from Colony designated "Crimson EquinoX"
Northern Region, Main Continent,
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L0

Django had never fired a gun before to save his life, had never taken the life of another sapient being. But as he looked around him, at the dozens of dead bodies of those things lying about him, he had come to two disturbing realizations: (1) these creatures were so ugly and evil that he had actually enjoyed killing them, and (2) this would not be the last time he and the others would have to do this during their stay here on this cursed rock of a planet.

No, show some spine, man, he thought to himself, people are looking up to you, you know. He sighed and turned to his co-worker. "You guys okay?" he asked as he turned to face Saito and Alpers, who, like him, were also breathing heavily from the fight, their self-defense pistols still smoking. Saito at least said nothing and nodded, but he could see that she too must have been feeling the same way.

"Director Lombardi; Directress Saito," addressed VICI as he and the young native man named Valten approached, "my scanners indicate that all hostile life forms in the immediate area have been terminated. Your direct route to the designated landing zone is clear of any further obstructions." He then turned and spoke to Valten, in German. The youth nodded. VICI then turned back to Django: "Mister Valten will accompany you and provide any additional security if deemed necessary, though I must also commend the marksmanship shown by the two of you and Inspector Alpers."

"You're leaving us?" asked Saito.

"Affirmative," replied VICI, "I sense that my attributes are currently in most dire need back at the main battlefield." He paused. "That, and there is also one additional matter that must be attended to."

Django knew of what VICI was referring to, and nodded, not wishing to speak of it in front of anyone else. VICI acknowledge his response, and then turned and sprinted off back towards where the battle was unfolding, the smoke and flames visible above the trees behind them...

Brother Indryk (I)

"BURN the HERETIC!" shouted Brother Indryk Of Boreale as he rode his trusted steed right into the heat of the fray, bringing his hammer down into the nearest Beastman. "SMITE the ABOMINATION!" he continued as he brought his hammer back up, twisted about his waist, and smashed his blunt instrument into the gibbering creature on his other side. "AND suffer NOT the UNCLEAN to live!" he bellowed, concluding his little spiel.

"AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHH!" roared the knights around him as they followed his lead, charging straight into the mass of unholy Children Of Chaos, cutting and slashing and hacking away with their lances and their hammers and swords, whilst their horses trampled over and kicked anything in their way with steel-shod hooves. The Sigmarines were only men – they were neither Dwarves, with their squat but strong frame, nor Elves, with their agility and those thousand-year lifespans they could dedicate towards perfecting the arts of combat – but they were well armored and well trained men. And perhaps more importantly, they had blind faith in their cause, and zeal to keep them surging forward, even when faced by the great menagerie of horrors that lay before them.

"SIGMEHREENS, stay with ME!" commanded Indryk as his frenzied horse continued to gallop forward. Only a couple hundred of the men-at-arms of Father Luthor Huss' retinue had been mounted, but right now, all of them were falling upon the Warherd's flank like a hurricane (and as much as he hated to admit it, perhaps some of their effect now was owed to those Sky-People and how much those possibly heretical contraptions of theirs, like the horseless carriages and rapid-firing guns, had decimated the ungodly hordes. For now, they fought on the side of light and good, but who knows what blasphemous ideas and motivations they may secretly harbor within them? Brother Indryk decided that after this battle, he would keep a very close eye on these possible heathens).

The smaller Ungors, cowardly and wretched creatures as they are, began to panic and flee before the charge of the Sigmarines, but the larger Gors and Minotaurs stood their ground and put up a fight, and before long, many of Indryk's Battle Brothers began to fall one by one. Others fell to the ground as their mounts were killed, or else panicked – the noble horses of the Empire were usually accustomed, both by training and combat experience, to the sight and smell and noise of the Beastmen, but even then, sometimes there were simply far too many of the loathsome creatures in one place. Most of those dismounted to continued to fight on foot, courageous and defiant to the end, but the sheer numbers of the Beastmen were beginning to make itself felt by the rapidly dwindling party of knights.

Just then, there was a bright flash of light from above ... a blinding blue light that crackled like lightning. It struck one of the Battle Brothers, and he cried a most pained and horrified bloodcurdling scream as his body was consumed inside out and his armor slowly melted down by foul Warp energies.

"WE HAVE A SHAMAN!" shouted Indryk, "BRACE THYSELVES, BATTLE BROTHERS, WE MUST EXPUNGE THIS HERESEH FROM OUR PRESENCE AT ONCE!" He quickly muttered a short prayer to Sigmar and prepared himself to face a blasphemous user of the eldritch arts.

Another bolt of dark light struck the ground. This time, Indryk recognized it as a foul Carrion Viletide spell; at once, swarms of crawling, biting, stinging insects began to slither up from the ground around where the spell had struck. Two of the Sigmarines standing right next to it began to kick and smash their hammers at the ground, crushing many insects, but many more began crawling into their armor and biting away. The knights did their damnedest to keep fighting and never betray a sign of weakness, but Indryk could read it from the way they were moving that they were being eaten alive.

And then the caster of these loathsome spells landed on the ground. Indryk blinked in disbelief. Right before them stood ... Malagor himself, the Dark Omen, the Crowfather, the Despoiler Of The Sacred, the Harbinger Of Disaster, the Epitome Of Sin And Blasphemy (and a host of other epitaphs that the Church Of Sigmar had bestowed upon him over the years that Brother Indryk could not quite recall at that moment).

It was oft said that the sight alone of Malagor has caused stout defenders to abandon otherwise impregnable walls and the mightiest of warriors to fall to their knees in abject defeat, such is the sheer terror he could wreak. Perhaps. But Brother Indryk was a fanatic believer in Sigmar through and through, and at that moment, he felt only hatred and seething rage at this unholy abomination. He roared in rage, raised his hammer, and threw himself at the beast.

Indryk and his fellow Sigmarines were quick ... but the fetid bray shaman was quicker yet. Wielding his twisted Crowfather's Staff as expertly and viciously as only one so corrupted in the Ruinous Powers could, he blocked each attack, and struck back, stabbing one of the Sigmarines right through the chest, the staff's eldritch powers ignoring the steel plate like it were naught but butter. Two more Sigmarines joined in the melee, the ones Indryk recognized as the ones who had run afoul of the Viletide, but they fought on, defiant to the end. On and on the duel raged, but the Dark Omen overpowered all of the dozen or so brave men who charged him.

Even Indryk himself fell, wounded by a deep gash along his lower abdomen. He looked about him. Where once there were two hundred brave knights, now there were only a few dozen or so left standing, fighting desperately as the Beastmen rallied around their leader, their efforts renewed. His soul raged and burned with pain, and hatred for the innumerable heresies that darted and danced around him. "DO IT AND BE OVER, ABOMINATION!" spat Indryk, defiantly, "SEND MY SOUL TO SIGMAR!" But the Dark Omen, its horrid eyes aglow, only looked down at him, doing nothing, almost as if mocking him.

KREE-EEEEEEEEEE-AAAAARRRRHH!

The shrill, hawk-like scream was nearly deafening, and Brother Indryk could have sworn for a second that he was going to go deaf. And the sky above them grew dark, and he realized it wasn't the Bray Shaman who had uttered the sound.

Something huge landed right atop the Shaman, eight razor-sharp talons slashing into his backside, tearing at his wings. Malagor released his grip, and Indryk fell backwards onto the ground. His mind was swimming from the pain and shock, but he looked up in time to see ... the largest griffon he had ever seen, a great beast of burden easily three times the height of any horse. It was clawing away savagely whilst the Bray Shaman desperately fought back with his staff, one of his wings torn slightly and barely still hanging onto his back, putrid black blood gushing from his wounds.

There was a man riding atop this creature's back ... no, not just any man, but the Emperor Of Man himself – who else could it have been? Indryk, even in his dazed and delirious state, could recognize him anywhere. Clad in heavy plate armor as he was, the Emperor was still quick on his toes as he pushed himself off of Deathclaw's back and landed on the ground on both feet.

The Bray Shaman unleashed a bolt of pure hatred and Chaos energy directed right at the man. But the dark light seemed to deflect around his body entirely, and the Emperor simply strode forward unflinchingly, as if nothing were amiss. For you see, around his neck, Karl Franz wore the Silver Seal, forged in the reign of Emperor Magnus The Pious, an enchanted amulet of great protective power. Against the higher orders of magic wielders like Malagor, it would not hold indefinitely, but the Emperor did not need very long for what he was about to do next. Ghal Maraz seemed to glow with golden light as he lifted it high above his head ... and then brought the great Hammer down, ending the life of the Dark Omen there and then.

The Prophet Of Sigmar (IV)

The masses of filthy unwashed creatures of Chaos continued to throw themselves blindly against the front lines, but the men held on stubbornly. Luthor Huss swung his hammer back and forth, smashing all those who dared get too close to him, all the while murmuring prayers and bestowing blessings and benedictions on all those who fought alongside him. The pikemen and halberdiers held their lines, whilst the flagellants and swordsmen fought savagely in the melee. Luthor noted that even the leader of the Sky-People too joined in the battle, firing his pistol at any creature that got far too close for his comfort.

And there were a lot of them. The wondrous rapid-firing guns and the so-called "Falcon" flying machines of the Sky-People had exacted losses upon them that would have been horrific to any other army. But the forces of Chaos were not just "any other army", as the Sky-People seemed to be learning much to their frustration. Instead of sowing panic amongst the warherd, each creature they killed seemed to only strengthen the resolve and bloodlust of the rest of the herd.

"Scheiße!" swore the Captain as he let loose another shot at a nearby Gor, hitting it square on the forehead, "pardon my French, Herr Huss, but these Tiermenschen seem far more impetuous than I had anticipated. Next time, I'll remember to pack a Flammenwerfer too."

"A Flammenwerfer?" asked Luthor as he drove his hammer into the chest of another oncoming Gor, shattering in its ribs.

"Oh ja, it werfs Flammen," explained Müller, nonchalantly, as he calmly replaced the metal box on his pistol that he called a "magazine". Luthor had to admit that he was genuinely intrigued in the idea of a flame-casting device that ran not on sorcery and that would enable him to purge the unclean from the face of this world much faster...

Before he could say anymore, a series of shrill cries from above were heard, and Luthor looked back to see a flock of griffons descending upon the horde, slashing and mauling away at them with their razor-sharp beaks and huge talons – the riders who mounted them were merely the icing on the cake.

Whatever the case, the sudden appearance of these reinforcements alongside the Sky-People's machines had done much to strengthen the resolve and determination of the fighting men, and at last, it seemed that the tide had turned, and that the bulk of the herd was now in full retreat. They left behind them a field covered in mangled bodies and sickening rotting flesh, and the smell was almost overpowering. But the day had been won, and that was all that mattered. One small but positive step towards the salvation of this world, so Luthor hoped.

Just in front of him landed the largest griffon Luthor had even seen, and he knew at once whom it was the man riding it. Even the Sky-Captain seemed momentarily taken aback and amazed at the size and splendor of the creature standing before them.

"Luthor Huss," the Emperor called out from atop his great mount, "we meet again." He turned to face the Sky-People leader, first taking a moment to look him up and down, as if sizing up a potential opponent. "You bear no sigil nor colors of any noble house nor realm of Men I have ever seen before. I presume you are the leader of these foreigners?" he asked as he indicated the Falcon-ships scouring the fields.

"Jawohl, eure Majestät," he replied loudly and clearly, nodding respectfully, "Kapitän Hans Ulrich Müller, United Nations Star Fleet. We come in peace..." he cast a glance at the masses of dead bodies and Beastmen carcasses that now covered the field, "...well, for the most part anyway."

The Emperor agreed. "Yes, your ... 'Star Fleet' has dealt quite the blow upon the Warherd."

"Indeed," agreed the Captain, holding up the device he wore on his wrist and summoning one of those not-magic images he called "holograms" upon it. "Our latest satellite observations estimate that we have ... oh ... my apologies, but it appears that we have a small problem here. These forces that we have dispatched represent only the first half of the total Tiermenschen army. The other half is still in the woods, and they are still marching forwards as we speak."

Landing Zone,
40km SW of Crimson EquinoX
Northern Region, Main Continent,
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L0

At last, the rabble of frightened civilians had arrived at the designated landing zone. Sure enough, Django could see the outline of the Valkyrie shuttle up ahead, far in the distance but flying towards them. His comlink came alive with the voice of Lt. Holmen: "this is Valk 03, inbound to your position!"

"Good. Stay focused," replied the voice of Captain Müller, also over the comlink.

Django glanced around him. Some of the native women and children were visibly frightened by the sight of the approaching Valk, others seemed to be on their knees in prayer, as if the sight of the starship were some divine intervention in their eyes, though who could honestly blame them for thinking so? The great bulk of the Valkyrie came roaring up to them ... and then passed right overhead, ignoring them completely, sailing on forwards, towards the battlefield a couple klicks back behind them.

Django was confused. "Uh, what's going on?" he asked urgently into his comlink, "I thought we were due for a pickup!"

"Negative, sir; new orders from the Captain," answered Lt. Holmen, "your own fellow, the chemist, he suggested it."

"Change of plans, Herr Django," chimed in Captain Hans, "we land, it'll take at least ten minutes to load up the Valk up to capacity. You ever try cramming a thousand screaming refugees into a tight, enclosed space? No, your colleague Herr Doktor Barath had an alternative solution."

Django cast a sideways glance at Ms. Saito. "Oh dear," she commented, "now this will be good." He nodded in agreement.

300m above ground level
Same location

The flight route ahead was clearly highlighted in her holographic HUD. Lieutenant Torrin "Tori" Holmen of the UNSF had never done this before, but as far as the Captain had instructed her, she was to consider this just another routine mid-flight cargo drop-off. She sighed and held her breath. Now was the moment of truth.

Hundreds of feet behind her, at the far end of the Valkyrie's immense cargo hold, Dr. András Barath was overseeing the final preparations as the personnel around him, UN and Company™ both, were hurrying about the first large object in front of him: a cargo pallet loaded up with 3,000 kg of TRZX-800 heavy duty mining explosives, rigged to a detonator.

For safety purposes, TRZ was transported aboard starships in a harmless and inert state; it took the careful addition of several other chemical components that were manufactured locally by The Company™'s mobile chemical plant to transform it into the truly notorious substance used in so many controlled demolitions and terrorist bombings back on Earth...

"Coming up on the red zone, get ready," boomed the voice of Lt. Holmen over the intercom speakers up and down the Valk's cavernous cargo hold. Sure enough, red warning lights began flashing, and there was a rush of air and noise as the massive cargo bay doors at the rear of the cabin slowly began to open.

"Alright, this is it!" shouted Dr. Barath, struggling to be heard over the din. Then the red lights began to flash green, and that was the signal they were waiting for. "GO! GO! GO!" he shouted.

A single HULK cargo-lifter unit stationed inside the Valk's cargo hold strode up to the overladen cargo pallet, and began pushing it, effortlessly. The enormous improvised bomb began to ponderously roll down down the steel rollers built into the floor and rear ramp of the shuttle. Then, as gravity and momentum began to take effect, the big package began to roll faster and faster until it hit the end of the ramp, and went tumbling down, right off the edge of the ramp, and down towards the ground below.

"It's away!" shouted Dr. Barath, "okay, get the NEXT pallet ready to go!"

The word coming from those returning from the front, those foolish cowards who had betrayed the herd and fled the battle, was that Malagor himself had fallen. But Gronk Ratbiter refused to believe it. Oh well, it at least meant that now the honor of winning this fight against the puny manlings was to fall to him and the others around him. He raised his whip high and cracked it against the back of a nearby Ungor who was moving forward far too slowly for his liking, and bellowed a cry of defiance and bloodlust, driving his fellow Bestigors forward.

There was a great roar like thunder from overhead, and the sky darkened for a second as a huge shadow swooped low over the forest. For a split second, Gronk thought perhaps it was a dragon, for as far as he knew in his limited world view, only dragons among other flying creatures grew to those sizes. But he was infuriated a moment later when he realized that it was one of those built things, made by the hands of the weakling men. It was built, and that was what infuriated Gronk and all those others around him who felt nothing but a burning hatred, a desire to kill and destroy, towards all the creations of those who ever defied the will of the true gods. He thrust his club up in the air and brayed a call of challenge to this monster of metal.

And then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. Gronk was confused. Why was this enormous creature fleeing from them? And what was that object he could see that was now slowly plummeting down right towards him? Whatever it was, he... BBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM.

The Emperor (IV)

Even from this distance, from the ground, he could feel the shockwave and the very ground he stood upon shaking from the enormous explosion that rocked the forest some ways away from them. He could begin to understand why the Sky-People leader had requested that he and the other Griffon riders remain on the ground for their own safety.

A couple seconds later, the second explosion erupted out from the trees, just a little ways further away from the first one; it too was a massive fireball that consumed all in its path, entire trees uprooted and sent hurtling and smoking into the air by the sheer power of the blast. There were another three more explosions after that, each progressively further and further away, but each still an impressive sight to behold.

And with that, within a few seconds, as he would later find out, the vast majority of whatever remained of the Great Warherd of Malagor The Dark Omen was wiped out. Only a few stragglers who had been traveling at the outer fringes of the herd survived, and these isolated individuals would later be swept up by the combined forces of his own griffon riders, Luthor's surviving men-at-arms, and by the so-called "Falcon-ships" of the Sky-People.

Emperor Karl Franz, Protector Of The Empire and Defier Of The Dark, was perhaps one of the most accomplished generals and statesmen alive today among the realms of Men. But in all of his years, he had never seen anything like the spectacle he now beheld with his own yes. Though years of rule had taught him to always present a straight and stoic face on the outside, inside he felt that something fundamental about this world had changed. Nothing would ever be the same again.

"Your Majesty," spoke the leader of the Sky-People, politely, "I believe we have much to discuss."

"Yes, Herr Kapitän Müller," replied the Emperor, his eyes still transfixed on the growing pillars of flame and smoke and absolute destruction on the horizon, "that we most certainly do."

Footnotes: first of all, credit goes out to Trevayne for the idea of using a bombing run similar to Vietnam War-era "daisycutters", so thank you there. Secondly, "Tiermenschen" is the word that the German translation of Warhammer uses for "Beastmen", so that's the word our good Captain Hans uses to refer to them.