After ten minutes the Dogs were dug in around the base of the tower, entrenched behind barriers made of upturned ash rock. The Ratdogs formed the outer ring, hunkered down where the strengths of their shorter range, higher durability and concealable nature would be played to. The Kriegans stood higher up, their combat shields ready to make up for their lack of cover.
The still operating vehicles had been pulled up higher as well, with the Predators entrenched behind the wrecked Rhinos. The Land Raider was the centerpiece of the defense, its array of lascannons ready to take out the heavier targets.
And atop it stood Jax, arms crossed and rifle slung, staring out across the midday ashwastes. It was from here that he had directed the construction of the defenses, and it was here that Dimitri found him now.
"Castarius is saying he needs two hours. How long can we hold out if there's an attack?"
"Depends on the size." Jax didn't seem too talkative.
Dimitri frowned. "You're still angry about Animal," he said. It wasn't a question.
Jax looked at him. "Wouldn't you be?"
"No," Dimitri replied. "Not if breaking formation was the problem. I'd have gotten over that an hour ago, and you would've even faster, unless something else was the real cause."
"So what's that matter? You worried I'm gonna lose it or some such?" Jax asked. "'Cause I got news for ya: Alpha Squadron boys don't break."
Dimitri glared at him. This was getting tedious. Getting Jax to open up was like pulling teeth, and at this point, he didn't have the damn time.
"Fuck you."
The Confederate whipped around and stormed across the top of the Land Raider, the entire vehicle rocking under his weight. He came to a halt inches from Dimitri's chest, his breath steaming the smaller man's visor. It took all of Dimitri's strength not to shy away.
"What'd you say to me?" he growled.
"You heard what I said." Dimitri rose to Jax, standing on the top of a turret to get on a level eye line. "Aside from my position as your chief equerry, main liaison to the world outside this unit, and half the time your damn translator, I am also your closest and possibly only friend. So if I ask you what's wrong and you try to deflect the issue and ignore a real mental problem that could hinder your performance and put your life in danger, I believe I am entitled to curse at you.
"Now then, do you want to talk about it?"
Jax stared at him for a long time before speaking. When he did, his voice was so low he verged on mumbling. "This…is harder than I thought it'd be. How many have we lost so far? Twenty. A flat twenty and we aren't done yet. Before we leave here we'll have lost a fourth of our forces if not more. I don't care if we win or not on paper, but that'll be a loss."
"It's our first mission as a team," Dimitri answered.
"Well it ain't mine," Jax snapped. "Back in the day I used to live for this, used to fight just for the next bunch of crazy shit. Hell, the original Dogs of War—the guys this unit's named for—practically lived for the next 'impossible mission'. A sorry bunch of war hounds looking for the next thing to shoot." He stopped for a minute and looked down at his armored hands. "Guess I never realized how much losing someone fucks with you when yer a commander. Being a sergeant's different. It's more expected, and the numbers are smaller.
"And you know what bugs me more than anything, Dimitri? The fact that after all this we have to go out and get replacements, and Castarius has to refit and repair armor, and it'll become a never-ending cycle. Can't do much galaxy saving with the whole operation bogged down waiting for some new blood and a tune up."
"I promise that won't be too hard," Dimitri replied. "After all, as equerry it is my job to take care of logistics and recruiting."
That got him smiling. "Well, that's good. Have I ever thanked you?"
"Not a once," Dimitri replied, walking off. "But I kind of filled it in anyway."
The Confederate
Chapter 25: We'll Be Back: Part IV
First contact occurred forty five minutes later over the western dunes as a line of necrons moving forward at rest. The commlink crackled with Menshaw's voice as the ratling officer reported in.
"We've got 'em over here!" he squealed. "Lots and lots of 'em, coming in over the dunes! Looks like a bunch of regulars, though. Nothing special."
Manker's voice followed suite. "Correction. Two hundred regular warriors led by twenty immortals."
"Wait, how can you tell?"
"Look at the staves."
"The huh?"
Manker sighed. "Death Korps requesting free fire."
Jax watched the incoming necrons from atop the land raider. Directly next to him was Gort, standing near one of the treads with his snazzgun and Animal Mother. The Catachan held his Impaler with a tight grip and he rocked back and forth in seething hatred.
Jax ignored him. "Request denied, Manker. Let 'em get closer."
"And what about us?" Menshaw asked.
"You just stay the hell down in yer ambush positions and try not to act noticeable." Jax switched frequencies and cleared his throat. "Tanks, open up."
The Predators' barrels coughed flame and sections of the necron lines bloomed with crimson starbursts. Chunks of steel soared skyward, ejected from the crumpled bodies of larger necrons, while the smaller warriors were blown into nonexistence. The Land Raider fired with them, its lascannons vaporizing whole squads.
Jax stood fully, Impaler at his shoulder. "Okay, now! All fire! All fire!"
Salvos of spikes launched from the defenses and hit the necrons head on. Warriors tripped and fell as their systems were torn open by the hailstorm. Gauss blasts spat back, hissing as they hit the rocks and electing death screams out of the Dogs they hit.
The battle was joined.
(' ')
Dimitri had been with Manker when the shit hit the fan, checking the Kriegan positions for Jax. Now he found himself crouched behind a wrecked Rhino, a Predator tank to his right and Manker to his left.
The lieutenant was more like a machine than the xenos he was fighting, going through the motions of firing and reloading without pause. He never fumbled a magazine, never jammed a receiver, and never missed a beat.
For that matter, neither did his men. Dimitri watched a Kriegan lose an arm to a flayer blast and keep on fighting with one hand, only pausing to pick his rifle back up.
"These men are insane," he muttered.
"Wrong, equerry," Manker replied during one of his reloads. "They're determined. They'll keep on winning until we're all dead."
Dimitri frowned. "How are we supposed to win if we're all dead?"
"By having a positive kill to death ratio," Manker replied without pause. He then spun out of cover and opened up, his rifle roaring. "Now, move. I will cover you."
Dimitri sprinted from the cover of the rhino and ran behind the front, passing by the embattled Dogs while trying not to stumble on the rocks and shell casings. The thought was absurd, but in two minutes of hostilities, the perimeter was already covered by spent brass.
He dodged through the defenses until he reached Jax near the land raider. The Confederate was still on the roof, firing one handed at the incoming necrons.
"Dimitri!" he shouted. "They're trying to surround us! In a minute, they're gonna call in the cavalry! Pass the word to Menshaw to pop tubes when that happens!"
Dimitri ignored him for the moment. "Jax, what the hell are you doing up there!"
"Uh, commanding the battle," Jax replied, now on the commlink. "Where the hell've you been?"
"You'll get shot if you stand up there!"
"Yeah, but I think that's okay. Know how my hands got all glowy when I grabbed the smurf's sword?"
Dimitri nodded. Now that he thought about it, that power sword should have sliced right through Jax's hands. Somehow, the white light from the Confederate's palms had stopped it.
"Yes, but how did you do that?"
"Not rightly sure. But check this out."
Jax stepped forward on the Land Raider and started shooting from the bow, working over the nearest necrons and drawing attention. Eventually, a destroyer tracked him and let rip with its heavy gauss cannon. The green blast arced across the battlefield right for Jax's position.
"Jax!" Dimitri shouted.
"Hiya!" Jax shouted, throwing his left hand in front of him.
A high-pitched whine grated against Dimitri's ears, the noise grating like a human scream. Jax's palm flashed a brilliant white and the gauss blast discharged before him, the energy soaking into his open palm.
Jax then took aim and put the destroyer down with a full clip and a rocket before turning to Dimitri, his visor retracting to show a beaming face. "See that?"
"Where did it go?" Dimitri asked. "Did you absorb it?"
Jax shrugged. "Maybe a little. I do feel kinda tinglesome."
"How is it that you can do that?"
"I'm thinkin' it's 'cause of my general saintliness, but I been wrong before."
Dimitri turned to go talk to Castarius, muttering.
"Now he can absorb energy attacks. Great."
(' ')
The destroyers came in droves, moving ahead of the rest of the force on their hover carriages. Ignoring the incoming fire of the Kreigans, they forced their way onto the lower rocks, moving upwards with the quiet grace of the wraiths they resembled. If they got behind the main lines no force no matter how well armed would stand up to this attack for more than five minutes longer.
Thankfully, they didn't.
"Ratdogs!" Menshaw called out, "Kill 'em all!"
Crouched as he was in the crevasse of two boulders, Menshaw had a clear view of the vulnerable underside of a destroyer. He aimed his rocket launcher and fired. Fire from the close range explosion washed across his small body, peeling the paint off his armor. The destroyer itself, its guts immolated, fell to the rocks in several pieces.
All along the Ratdog defensive ring, similar events were carried out simultaneously as Menshaw's brilliant trap was sprung. No destroyer made it past them, and necron fast attack support was ruined for the remainder of the battle.
With a grunt and a curse, Menshaw pulled himself up from his hiding place and looked around. He paused to look at the demolished necron contraption next to him. The sight drew a sneer to his lips.
"I love it when a plan comes together!"
He looked over at Private Sternev and grinned. The younger Dog grinned back, and both men went back to the fight with renewed vigor.
(' ')
Jax's firing pin snapped on an empty barrel.
"Well, crap," he muttered, reaching for another clip. He felt around in his ammo pouches, but found nothing.
"Double crap." He hopped down from the Land Raider, evading a stitching of gauss blasts by mere inches, and landed next to Gort and Animal Mother. "Hey, Gort, you got a spare gun in that pack of yours?"
"Yerp." Gort stopped firing and ducked down to rummage, leaving Animal Mother to fend off twice his regular targets. After a moment, he held up a bulky pistol. "How 'bout dis 'ere?"
"I got a pistol, Gort."
"Not like dis'n 'ere, ya don't." Gort pressed a latch release on the gun's side, snapping the boxy firearm into its true form. Two more barrels appeared, accompanied by a rocket tube, some kind of las-capacitor and a thermoptic scope. "See? It's real flash, boss."
"Yeah, it is. But I need something with more kick, y'know?"
Animal Mother leaned back. "Are you actually having a shopping moment right now?"
"Shut the fuck up!" Jax roared. "You don't get to talk! I'm still pissed with you!"
The Catachan rolled his eyes and went back to fighting while Gort continued his digging. Eventually, he pulled out a gun that seemed too large to have even fit in the pack.
"So 'dis 'ere's me favorite gun 'sides me main snazzy 'ere," he said, patting his primary rifle with affection. "Anyway, 'dis'ns got all sorts'a close range mashup capes. If ya lookin' fer a good old scrappin' an' ya needs somefing 'sides a choppa, 'dis 'ere's da best dere is at whut it duz, and whut it duz—"
"Perimeter break!" Animal shouted, backpedaling from a charging immortal.
Gort spun around and fired his new weapon, destroying the immortal's entire torso with a barrage of steel shards, gauss spikes, las-blasts and micro-missiles. The necron fell back from the makeshift battlements and died, leaving Gort to turn to Jax.
"—is straight killy. I call it da Mangla."
Jax held out his arms. "Gimme."
(' ')
The attack was coming to a head. Manker could feel it in his bones: that central moment that determined who won or lost the fight, that lone instance of life or death in a field of others that somehow distinguished the winners from the losers, that single space of time wherein those who would retreat and those who would die were identified.
The necron attack was shifting, constricting in a single point as opposed to everywhere at once. The xenos warriors surged toward the Confederate's position, overwhelming everything in front of them, and Manker ordered his company accordingly.
This was no feint; the battle would be won or lost there, with the Battle Saint, and Manker intended to be where he was needed when the time came.
(' ')
Jax, like Manker, could feel it coming. That said, he had a much clearer view of how the event would go down. From where he stood at the center of the defenses, he could see how the necron attack had shifted to concentrate in this one point, breaking defenses built to stand up to a more general threat with ease.
Menshaw had ordered his company to retreat, to pull away from the outer perimeter and onto higher ground. It was a fighting withdraw, with the Ratdogs pumping spikes into the oncoming necrons.
The aliens themselves consisted of a lot of warriors and a few immortals, the latter surrounding a much bigger threat: the haunting form of a necron lord.
Recognizing the lord as the real threat, Jax gritted his teeth and got ready for a fight.
(' ')
Gort couldn't feel a damn thing, but he thought this whole 'fighting the metal men' thing was real flash. Plus, the killing was good, and that made Gort all kinds of happy. Maybe he'd even take out the big lord one coming at them. That'd make one hell of a trophy.
Grinning like only an ork could, Gort jumped into the fray.
Author's Note: Yeah, he can absorb energy attacks. So what? Did you think this story was supposed to be completely serious?
Don't worry, I have a very good reason for him to do so. And no, he can't just absorb every attack that comes at him. He can get overloaded and die. The next chapter shows what he has to do to keep that from happening. I'm keeping him 'balanced', don't freak out, it's all good, he isn't going to become Dr. Manhattan.
But still, I think it's pretty fucking rad.
On another note, thanks for the feedback on my last question. I think I've figured it all out now.
That said, I now have another one. For the next arc we have a few options:
A) Flesh Castarius out completely, giving him a full storyline dedicated to where he's from and why he won't talk about it, and resolve his issues in one way or another.
B) Do some more stuff with Adamus. He's the bad guy, after all, and he needs to fight some good guys. Have him go head-to-head with the newer Dogs and see what happens.
C) Do something like what I could do for Castarius, but for Gort-Malog Gragnatz da Humie Luva. Keep in mind that if we do this, Gort might leave the story and get a spin-off all to himself. No promises, though.
So, those are the options. If you like one above the others, please tell me. If you hate them all, please tell me. If you have your own idea, please-well, you get the idea. Just tell me something, preferably with a review.
I really do like them. I'm kind of a whore like that.
Later.