PRFS Chapter 43
Author's Heads Up: POV switches a few times here whilst technically in the same scene. Also, lotsa orky talkin' so be warnd.
News good or bad traveled as fast as mankind could transfer it. By written word, by vox broadcast, or by astropathic choir, news would spread across the galaxy as fast and as accurately as could be. Often, this meant news sent to farther corners was either entirely skewed by changing circumstances or events, unsuitably vague or cryptic due to cultural differences or a lack of uniform codebreaking, or in some cases, purposefully misleading or just entirely wrong. The reasons for which, of course, could vary from preserving morale to attempting to curb an incident or preventing important information from reaching the ears of potential enemies. More short-distance messages lacked such glaring problems, but as it were, with space travel limited to small safe regions, any kinds of messages needed to be processed with a great deal of caution.
The Segmentum Bastionus was entirely the same in these regards. As it was, to the rest of the currently-secured region, Halfast Primus was secured and being reclaimed for the Imperium and mankind. Resources were beginning to flow from the planet for the war efforts on all fronts, and the colonization efforts were well underway to full reclaim what had been lost. Servitor production from the cloned remains of people long dead had been increased to eventually replace these settlers, as was the common occurrence on the majority of Mechanicus-held worlds. The mingling of servitor and non-servitor populations would likely take decades or even generations to sort out, but eventually a balance would be found, with the non-Mechanicus likely migrating to the moon.
However, the totality of the reconquest was, for Solomon and the rest of his party, not over just yet. The last continent lay before them, the last bastion of orkish resistance defying the might of the Imperium and mankind's birthright to walk the stars unmolested by such egregious leftovers of bygone ages. Or so the Manperor and the rest of humanity had been led to believe. There were always steadily worse things to find in the galaxy and beyond if you looked hard enough.
Yet it was clear that this assault, this final campaign of this war, would be unsurpassed in its cost. The initial phase of the invasion had been miraculously clear of the usual issues of attacking an ork-held world. Scattered orkish tribes wielding primitive weapons, remnants of an earlier exodus, were laid waste to and replaced with proper and proud humans seizing a world that had been rightfully theirs. The next phases were increasingly difficult, and thus increasingly costly, but never did morale wane, nor did those who died suffer for naught, as the world was steadily reclaimed, recolonized, and even now, rebuilt.
Yet this last continent lay at the heart of the former orkish horde whose exodus had threatened other worlds, and it was there that the orks had firmly entrenched themselves, though likely through little planning on their part. In the shadow of the planetary "super gun" the orks had used to destroy Halfast Primus' sister world, the newest Warboss to arise directed his forces, as witnessed from long range scouts and aerial surveys.
The ones that survived, of course. Warboss Narlukh Backbreaka had a habit of preferring to lead from behind the lines than from in front, strange considering ork leaders tended to assault rather than defend a position. Unlike before, these orks had scavenged and rebuilt as much as they could with both air and ground defenses left over from their conquest of the world. Cobbled as they were, and still prone to self-destructing under intense or sometimes casual usage, they were still impossibly lethal to anyone and anything caught in their firing arcs.
Meaning, to Solomon, the formerly quick gains and easily secured sectors had given way to slog-fests, mass graves of soldiers and stretched supply lines, all just to keep the orks contained and whittled down piecemeal until enough breaches could secure a final victory. The forward lines moved at a snail's pace forwards, in many cases not at all. Supply depots and military bases were often intermingled with the second lines of defense, close enough to be quick to aid but ultimately close enough to also be in danger of orkish attack. More than one position had become untenable and overrun before reinforcements arrived to reclaim and fortify it once more. In one instance three entire infantry regiments had been wiped out in one great action, though their heroic last stands had whittled the orkish numbers from "unstoppable green tide" to "reclaimable after heavy fighting" numbers.
Solomon walked amongst the bunkers, trenches and other fortifications of one of these battle lines, having moved from his planetside headquarters months after setting it up. Much of his command post's personnel remained behind, their communiques restricted to vox transmissions across secure lines, and with only Titus, Confessor Morias and Captain-turned-Commissar-turned-General Prollarius by his side, he did his best to oversee the war effort where he could do a great deal of work.
By convincing the heads of the guardsmen regiments to not try and call in an orbital bombardment on the enemy warboss.
Every single meeting was the same.
Orbital bombardment.
Every time, the status of ork air and orbital defenses remained lethal to any ships in the area above the central location, meaning losses would be catastrophic even before they could fire upon the enemy. Entire regiments of guardsmen were far cheaper and easier to replace than ships kilometers long, especially when the Segmentum Bastionus and everyone in it was separated from the Imperium's vast resources.
Additionally, though this was not confirmed, some feared that a shell the likes of which had destroyed Halfast Secundus was still lying amidst the ruins of the orkish super gun. After all, why make only one shell for such a fearsome weapon? There had to be another, and even without orkish gestalt making it a planet-killa, it was still likely so filled with explosive it could rupture the continental crust they were all so conveniently located on. Nobody wanted to be anywhere near the blast zone, which some estimates put it hypothetically at immediately fatal if within that entire hemisphere, and likely lethal to all but the most fortified or shielded troops within a few thousand miles of that as well.
So, best to slog through the orks inch by inch, mile by mile, rather than set off such a potentially catastrophic detonation that would erase all of the gains made thus far, rendering all of the sacrifices moot and ultimately pointless, and wipe out the majority of their own forces as well.
The fact that these were all merely hypothetical postulations ground the gears of more than one regimental commander, and was thus the source for Solomon's nigh-eternal headache in that regard.
Some commanders were easy to get along with. They sought results, not glory, and cared for the achievement of objectives as much as for their men. The latest to arrive and take over the positions vacated by another regiment, rotated out to replenish its numbers after a severe ork attack, stood at attention when Solomon arrived to his main command bunker. As were a large portion of the gathered forces, they were within sight of the fallen ork super weapon, a colossal monstrosity whose outline was visible even at dusk, so deep and far were the shadows it cast.
"Colonel Advern Rheden, I presume?" he asked, offering his hand. "Of the Azyrvan Armored Heralds?"
"Indeed," the man replied, his smile small but polite. "It is good to meet you in person, captain, I've heard much about you and wished to corroborate some of the more… fantastical feats you've accomplished thus far."
"Perhaps another time, I bring news from the council. I take it you still have a sizeable amount of my Crimson Mechs in your arsenal?"
"All in working order, even if the paint is a little scuffed one some," he chuckled. "What news?"
"Can you spare all of your armor?"
"What for?"
Solomon grimaced. "We're making an assault on the enemy."
Colonel Advern scoffed. "Isn't that what we've been bloody doing since we first landed? We've killed scores of the xenos and they just keep coming."
"We're not targeting only the orks this time, though we'll be killing as many as we can when we head towards our objective."
The colonel glanced between Solomon's companions. "What exactly would that be? Is there some relic in need of salvaging or something like what's happened on other forge worlds?"
Titus gave a smile that could have been a snarl on a normal human. "We're going to drive into the heart of their territory and exterminate the Warboss."
Warboss Narlukh Bakbreaka felt pride as his boyz marched off to the front lines. Well, marched for an ork, which for anyone of the other species in the galaxy would have been a mad dash, roaring and gnashing their teef the whole way. His new legions, courtesy of a random book he'd read that the humans had left behind, were piecemeal thrown together from whatever boyz jumped outta da ground, were handed a choppa or shoota, and sent on their way, but only after fighting each other long enough to get bigger and stronger.
"Da ork leejunz will blot out da starz," he grumbled with delight as he stomped over to some mekboys fiddlin' with the controls of one of his ship shootahs. "Dat Kodex Aztartees those humies wrote had some gud krumpin' ideaz, and I'z gunna be da first ta uze dem. Dey'ze gunna be da first in da new ork orduh, da finest orks eva seen befuh, and we'll krump 'em all roight and propah."
"Boss, we'z almost got da targetin' controls up an' runnin'," one of them said, giving a piece of cobbled machinery an additional whack with his large makeshift crowbar. "Soon we'z gunna be shootin' dem humies in space like da old boss did."
"Den we'll make da biggest rokkit and follow dey're trails to da next worldz, and krump 'em rite an' gud," Narlukh replied with a savage nod. How a simple nod could be savage, only an ork could guess. "Den we'll get biggah, and strongah, and den we'll start buildin' da biggest waaagh da galaxy haz evah seen! Gork n' Mork will see da galaxy unda our thumbs like we'z waz always meant ta 'ave it!"
"Boss! Boss!" another ork cried, skidding into the room. One of the newest recruits to pop outta the ground, given his size.
"Oi, why ain'tcha 'eaded towards da humies, ya git?" Another warboss might have krumped the git right then and there, but Narlukh was far more patient than others, being kunning and then brutal.
"Dey'ze comin' our way! Da ship shootahs at da edge of da perimeta are bein' blown ta bits!"
His Nobz bodyguards, the largest and most armored orks after himself, readied whatever heavy weapons the meks had been putting together, just as he retrieved his own big choppa. "Dey dare come inta mah 'ouse?! Get yer shootahs and choppahs boyz, we'ze gots a propah foight 'eaded our way!" he cried, earning a rousing cheer from any and all orks in his vicinity.
The thump of each shell fired from the dorsal cannons, armor piercing and high explosive alike, was muffled by the solid hum from within the compartment holding their forces, and even further dimmed by the mechs' inborn systems shielding their users. Final weapons and system checks were performed, all hatches battened down and the engines purring as they were set idle. The tense excitement, of the upcoming storming of the breach, had everyone on edge.
Far from any real support, far from friendly lines, with only each other to rely on, and the Siegebreakers ferrying them and whatever else could be crammed in their hulls to the coming conflict. If those went down, it'd be a mad dash with whatever tanks and mechs were still functioning, assuming any would be if the worst was to happen.
Solomon ensured the channels between the various groups were running properly, then switched to a private one. "Titus? Celenta? Do you copy?"
"Perfectly, sir," Titus replied. Fitting a space marine in his armor into then a purpose-built mech was not easy, given the differing interface options, sizes and construction materials, but input from Titus had made it work all the same, if not better than previous iterations might have. The next generations of mechs would only benefit from Titus and his observations and input, and hopefully others would contribute as much to not only Solomon's mechs, but to his voidships, weapons and armor across the board.
"Affirmative," the Knight replied, her towering battlesuit slightly cramped in the largest container available on the Siegebreaker. Were it not for the ability of the large suit to bend over slightly, it'd have been scraping against the ceiling, or even poking through it.
"I've been thinking on our way here, and I've come to a conclusion."
"That this idea is foolish, and may get us all killed?" Celenta postulated.
"Besides that."
"That we are extremely close to a shell from a super weapon that blew apart the sister world of the planet we are currently retaking, and could erase us all if it were to detonate without removing a good portion of the material or contained energy within its core?"
"Besides that as well." They still had no idea if it was some sort of energy repository or physical explosives. Warp, it could simply be agglomerated ork psychic energy for all they knew.
"That calling your mechanized warriors "mechs" is an ill-suited name, given the naming conventions, vast cultural shifts and overall language barriers compared to the original language you spoke from your past?"
Damn, how did he know? "Titus, are you sure you can't read minds?"
"Entirely, I am no Librarian. I am merely very skilled at reading people, especially these days. It is a skill an astartes picks up amongst his battle brothers, even without our incredibly enhanced senses. Noticing such subtleties and ticks amongst far less changed humans is less taxing than one might think."
"I'll be sure never to play you in a game of cards when money's on the line."
"So then, what were you thinking of renaming them to?" Celenta asked, surprisingly fine with his origin story and not at all freaked out by meeting a human older than mankind's original exosolar colonies whose grasp of the current technology meshed surprisingly well for being so entirely out of place and time.
"The Crimson Hastati for the baseline model, classification Horreo subclass, and the missile ones being the Onager subclass. I think if we can make more suitable ones like yours, Titus, we'd simply call them an Astartes subclass. What do you think?"
"…better, catchier and more in line with their designation, I'd say," Titus replied. "Many names are taken, so finding one more suitable to describe them and their function is undoubtedly a good incentive. I take it you'll follow a similar naming convention in the future, for different creations as well?"
"Hopefully we'll still be around to do so, yes," Solomon replied. "However, if things do not work out, I have taken steps to see that the continuation of my work, of all we've done and are planning to do, will not collapse should I fall. I assume you'll survive what I wouldn't." Prollarius and Morias had remained behind, though Solomon trusted Prollarius far more than Morias, and as such had left specific and similar instructions in case he didn't return. Morias was new, had a religious background that almost bordered on demagoguery, and hadn't fought and bled beside him like Titus and Prollarius had.
"Indeed I might, but an ork warboss is no easy enemy to defeat, especially one so unusually clever and likely large as the one we are set to face. I would no more guarantee your death than I would my own safety, there are too many unknown factors at work. The battlefield is a wild and chaotic place even in the best of times, it would do good for you to remember that when making such statements, captain."
"In any case, Syngra has all of my notes, all of my ideas, in multiple and easily accessible copies, should things go wrong, as well likeminded allies I have been slowly accruing to aid her, if able. Should I perish but you survive, I would appreciate it if you could join with her and continue my work as well, unless your commitments to Deathwatch take precedence, then I understand."
"Do not be so hasty as to assume I would be immediately reassigned. In any case, I will also give my condolences to Lady Warmak, should it come to it."
Solomon was silent as the Siegebreaker lurched slightly, before switching back to the open vox channel as a countdown appeared in his headset. "Everyone, be ready, we've no idea the greenskin size or strength, for this is the heart of their rotten stronghold. Should you fall today, it will be as you are striking the final nail in their miserable coffin. Without the leadership and aura of the warboss, the orks will fall to infighting, disrupting their entire war effort, and with it we shall roll in and slaughter them, for Halfast Primus, for mankind, and for the Manperor!"
A rouse of cheers echoed through the vox channel before the voice of the Siegebreaker bridge crews washed over.
"Enemy fortifications within range, scans indicate them to be haphazard and weak. All units, engage power fields, Halfast Express standing by." An even greater hum filled the air, echoed by distant echoes of similar hums.
"Siege Perilous standing by."
"Warmaker standing by."
"Revengine, standing by."
"Brace for impact in three… two… one…"
The barest of thumps echoed throughout the numerous cabins of the Siegebreaker engines, the orkish resistance no match for something designed to plow through hab blocks like bolters through unarmored flesh. All around, the secondary and tertiary turrets lit up, lasfire and plasma rounds intermixing with the dulled staccato of stubber rounds and muffled screeches of bolters flying into the enemy ranks.
"Clear the doors, opening now!"
The trains were still rolling when the doors opened amidst a scene of carnage and disarray. The first sets of the now-named Hastati jumped out, landing even as their weapons began firing upon the enemy.
Clouds of dust kicked up from the Siegebreakers drifted across the battlefield, swirling amidst fire and smoke as the orks attempted to attack the engines and their disgorging cargo. Solomon, behind several advancing Hastati, took aim and blasted an ork in the chest with his Calamity lascannon, the superheated chunks of ork flesh detonating from the sheer heat bloom alone, sizzling ork chunks raining upon the ground as he took aim at the next one. Whereas other lascannons were in need of replacing the power core after every shot, Solomon's design could be hooked up to the power core of his Hastati or have its own special power core in place, one that mimicked his style of lasgun in rate of fire versus power of each shot.
So, while being ever-so-slightly weaker than a normal lascannon, his could fire far more often without the need to reload or replace weapon parts, as the orks were unfortunately finding out. The bright purple beams lancing from the Hastati colored the landscape even as brilliant orange explosions amidst the greenskin hordes intermixed with blue plasmafire and the lancing shots of the turrets along the Siegebreakers.
"All call signs, any sign of the warboss?"
The vox chatter repeated endlessly, negatives all around. No warboss worth his moss-green backside would be away from a fight like this, which meant one of two things. Either the warboss was of a startling more intelligent variety, or he just wasn't there yet. Solomon hoped it was the latter option.
As the Eye of the Storm crushed a wounded ork beneath its mighty footplates, Solomon vaporized the upper half of an ork trying to leap from a fallen structure onto the back. No word of thanks was needed, as the fight continued. Orks died in droves before the onslaught of the first waves of Hastati, yet droves more continued to assault their tenuous position.
Then the second wave appeared from within the Siegebreakers, a mix of more Hastati of the soon-to-be-renamed Onager subclass, followed closely behind by Draka tanks. With the towering weapons of war forming the spearhead into the orkish lines, the tanks flanked, their barrel turrets cycling between each shot into whatever groups of orks were cloistered together.
Scattering plasma rounds slammed into orks wearing scavenged armor, each impact melting the slabs of metal into slag and boiling the orks alive inside the very suits meant to make them tougher. Heavy flamers erupted whenever orks were within distance, their intense heat turning orkish muscle and leftover spores into naught but ash. Storm bolter turrets along the tops and fronts of tanks let loose their payloads, the miniaturized missiles swarming like angry bees into whatever orks could be targeted, tearing them asunder with every volley fired.
Yet the orks kept coming, their numbers neither diminishing nor increasing as the onslaught continued. Even as the third and final wave of armor and Hastati emerged from the Siegebreakers, the beachhead into the orkish fortress had widened only just enough for those at the rear to provide more distant support. Kilometers behind, bereft of the sort of speed the Siegebreakers afforded, the whole line of several artillery battalions, supported by troop and vehicle transports, marched with all due haste to assist.
The localized battle line, kilometers across, was moving to assist, the initial breakthrough clearing a wide path directly to the ork stronghold. Solomon and the Azyrvan Armored Heralds had made the initial break and push, now they just needed to hold the line until the rest of the Imperium could catch up. A change to the original plan, one done on the fly, but well-executed by the trained men and women of the Imperium's armed forces. Even their regimental commanders saw this as an opportune way to aid in the chances of killing the warboss, though glory-seeking was clearly on the forefronts of many of them as well.
Onager Hastati deployed around the bases of the Siegebreakers, their ion shields flickering to life as they deployed a solid shield wall, the only gaps allowing for their fellows to continue through. Tanking shots from ork weapons that would have ripped through lesser machines, they unleashed hell from their humped backs, volleys of missiles screeching through the air as they swarmed upon the densely-packed oncoming orks in the distance.
"Keep moving forward! Maintain this breach, and press the attack!" Solomon cried as he shouldered his lascannon in the crook of his Hastati's arm, drawing his sword with the other. Blue energy shimmered over its surface as the edge took on an indistinct, blurred look, the power core and energy rod within working in harmonious tandem to bring the weapon to full potential.
A normal power sword weakened the field of that which it struck. Solomon's massive blade, meant for the Hastati and the Hastati only, so large was it, carried the same basic design as his monomolecular blade, the cutting edge magnified by the vibrating core. This, combined with its own power field, meant there were likely few things left in the galaxy it could not neatly slice through, and if there were, they'd just have to shoot them instead.
With that, as a swarm of missiles streaked overhead, he bisected an armored ork in a vicious upswing, the two halves falling apart in a burst of blood and gore. Other Hastati, drawing their own weapons, mimicked his actions as the battle raged, the dry ground growing muddy with ork blood and blasted craters. Yet even as ork chunks both sizzled and freshly ripped apart crunched and squished beneath their treads and armored feet, they continued on.
A great roar sounded from the remnants of the planet-busta, the shadows looming over them like the bones of a fallen giant, and more orks, many larger and more heavily armored, rushed from the structures. Many of them were likely 'Ard Boyz, given their armor, but a few were much bigger. Not warboss sized, but still plenty large enough that they were targets of importance, likely being Nobz and kitted to the teef with everything they could get their green hands on.
That, and the sheer amount of rokkit launchers and other explosives they were all wielding gave Solomon a distinct need to call in more firepower, before they could be overwhelmed by the scraps that orks called heavy ordinance.
"We've got Nobz incoming! Support, focus fire on the Tankbustas! Danger close!"
Distant booms from behind their lines were accompanied by screaming shells of artillery plowing into the charging groups of orks, the original grid patterns thrown into disarray as the orks continued their reckless advance. Hastati butchered fallen orks, covering one another with their shoulder-mounted bolters, the targeting arrays within linked to the pilot's line of sight and synced with the vast wells of ammunition within the torso of the mighty mech. Others continued to fire into crowds of orks with their lascannons, using melee only when the orks managed to pile themselves just a bit too close.
The savagery of the orks was only somewhat offset by the strength of the Hastati, which were themselves only as durable as they could be with whatever had been on hand for their construction. Outfitted with truly tested and tempered armor, they would have been unstoppable against such opponents, but for now simply mowed them down in the fiercest fighting of their lives. For every strike Nobz landed, the Hastati dealt ten in return, and for every wound graced upon their mighty forms, the machines would return them tenfold once again to the screaming greenskins.
Another round of artillery shells showered the area in ork guts and dust as they ripped holes into the ground, blowing apart old structures of rockcrete and whatever plasteel the orks had not managed to yet loot for their own purposes. The Onager Hastati unleashed another salvo of missiles shortly after, streaks of smoke worming through the layers of dust like ethereal worms, honing in on the abominable orks before them.
As he emerged amongst the throng of personal Nobz headed towards their line of defenses, Narlukh had to immediately shield himself from an incoming mortar that blew chunks of his fellows everywhere. No, not a mortar, a missile, one of many judging from the smoke hanging in the air.
"What da zog?" he grunted, lowering his powah klaw as the humans appeared on the edge of their final layer of defenses. Towering metal figures, brandishing large weapons as they mowed down his boyz, some of them easily. In the distance, tanks unloaded and fired their main weapons from large moving tubes, themselves armored and covered in weapons that shot or burned his attacking boyz indiscriminately. Suddenly, a pack of his boyz were vaporized by what he could only surmise to be artillery shells, given the great crack of impact when they struck.
It all served to enrage him so. Nobody krumped his boyz unless he said so!
"You'z got a lotta nerv comin' in ma home, humies! Narlukh Bakbreaka's got planz fer da galaxy, and you'z lotz not gonna stop me! Waaagh!" he roared, stepping onto the battlefield as more explosions ripped through the area, sending debris of the old habblocks his boys had scavenged in all directions. He wasn't the warboss for nothing, after all. Six meters tall including all of his mekanized additions, rippling with more muscle than three Nobz combined, covered in armor forged from his mekboys scrapping three different trukks, and wielding a massive powah klaw and huge spiked hammah, he was a force ta be reckoned with.
He rushed over to the nearest cluster of humie machines, bellowing angrily as he swung his hammah. The nearest metal construct managed to turn just enough to receive an uppercut hard enough to send it flying, smoke belching from its back as it soared through the air. Where it landed in a crumpled heap, it slowly began to rise, but with great difficulty.
Narlukh grinned as the other machines fired upon him with their shootahs. Right and proper sized for a boss like him, bigger and not fused to any of their bodies like the mekboys told him most gunz were. Whatever boyz between him and their gunz were blown to bits or fried to ash, but he and his armor were made of sterner stuff.
With another roar, he charged.
Solomon fired upon the ork warboss with his lascannon, the Calamity-pattern weapon designed for equal use between one of his mechs and any mount on an Imperium vehicle and devastating to anything it hit. Others did the same as the large ork charged, sending one of the Hastati flying. Yet it seemed to do little, if any damage to the vile xeno.
"Ironbolt! Status?" he near shouted into his headset, stomping an ork that had tried to latch onto his leg and climb up. More rushed after the first, prompting him to swipe his sword through the lot of them, body parts falling like discarded flower petals.
"Left leg's nonresponsive and right is critical, feeds are showing major damage to exterior sensors and the interior buckled something nasty. Ironbolt's arms still work though, sir!"
The naming conventions of the Crimson Hestati seemed to be part of a universal constant in the Imperium's history of personally naming any war machines larger than a small car. "Then keep firing! Steelwing and Brasscap, keep the orks off of him, the rest of you, target anything of opportunity! Crimson Squad, with me, target the warboss!"
He activated the massive sword's final magnetic coils, his lascannon settled firmly into the bicep of his free arm as the additional power surged through its power core. With an audible thrum, one that in open air would have rattled the teeth in his skull, a faint shimmer of golden light course along its edge.
His squad of mechs activated the final power of their own swords, some taking a two-handed stance after holstering their arms. The warboss replaced his snarl with a savage grin of glee.
"Oi, da humies wanna get ta krumpin' 'stead of shootin'? Datz moar loik it!"
Humans had a history of close quarters combat stretching back to their very first tools, ranging from fists to rocks to whatever else they could pick up. On Terra, they became the apex predator through their use of tools, their ability to take down pretty much any threat or food with extreme accuracy at a distance, and when push came to shove, were incredibly tenacious up close.
Orks had been masters of such warfare long before human's proto-mammalian ancestors developed placentas and survived the extinction of the non-avian dinosaurs.
The first Hastati that charged the ork tried to slash at the warboss, going for a quick decapitation. The ork blocked with his armored shoulder, the sword barely skimming some of the material as he countered with his giant hammer.
The blow sent the armored warrior skidding back as another charged. Narlukh pivoted fast, far faster than an ork his size should be able to, and grabbed the Hastati's sword arm with his power klaw, halting him in his tracks. With a sickening mixture of crunching and a gleeful roar, the power klaw severed the arm in a shower of sparks and oil, and with a kick, the Hastati was shoved to the ground. The hammer fell upon the chassis, which erupted in a ball of flame and shrapnel.
More Hastati charged as Solomon, set upon by a trio of Nobz, was forced back. The first tried to ram a similar power klaw straight into his chassis, and only a quick sidestep saved Solomon's Hastati from being gutted. A quick swipe removed both of the Nobz' arms at the elbow, and even as it bellowed in pain, he turned his attention to the other two.
One bore an axe whose blade likely weighed more than he did outside his armor, and he parried its downward blow before shooting the ork in the face, its enraged features slagging off as the lascannon disintegrated its head and a good portion of the upper chest. He kicked it over, squashing a much smaller ork beneath its bulk.
He turned just as the last Nobz, with his own axe, sunk it into his Hastati's chest. A small portion of the blade pierced his cabin, letting dust and light in, even as he shoved the offending ork back. Coughing from the sudden rush, Solomon dodged and weaved the next two strikes, before having his lascannon knocked from his arm, the weapon ripping apart from the blow and tossed across the battlefield, beaning another ork in the skull hard enough to turn his head inside out.
Angered at the loss of his weapon, he backhanded the ork with his sudden free hand, the stumbling greenskin giving him just enough time to bury his sword into its chest and push upwards, splitting it in half above the waist. Grabbing its fallen axe in his other hand, he chopped the still-screaming first Nobz' head off.
Turning back, he found the warboss Narlukh had dropped his hammer, the weapon's shaft having been sliced cleanly by a Hastati. Yet he was wielding in its place one of the fallen Hastati's swords, cutting the legs from one as the other was skewered through the pilot's cabin by his dented power klaw.
"De'ze humies sure gotta lotta foight in 'em!" Narlukh gleefully crowed as he swung the sword around, like a child who had discovered a new favorite toy. All around him were disabled or destroyed Hastati, some of them more lumps of metal than mighty war machines, and there was even an unfortunate tank whose power core had been ripped free, the exposure likely killing all inside almost instantly.
"Greenskin!" Solomon roared, brandishing both of his weapons. "Meet your death at the end of my blade, like so many orks before you, and so many more to come!"
Warboss Narlukh turned to face his foe, his grin growing even more savage. "Oi, I tink I've 'eard of you, humie! Zolomon I finks dey call ya. Dah whispahs from some of mah weirdboyz sed yer sum kinda speshul humie. Oldah den all dese otha humies, and doin' lotsa diffrunt stuff! You'ze and I ain't so diffrunt in dat regard, we'ze both want da best fer our boyz, and we'ze gunna do whatevah we'ze can ta get it."
What a talkative xeno, and the afterthought that it somehow knew of him sent a chill down the Rogue Trader's spine. Who else out there, far more foul than orks, also knew of him and his plans? "You're going to die here today, wretch," Solomon countered, noticing the fast approach of Titus in his own, unsurprisingly-unscathed Hastati. Sometimes he was relieved at Titus and his ability to fight so well, other times he was more than a tad jealous.
"See, now, dat's where yer wrong, like all da humies out dere. Now, I didn't get ta be warboss by bein' stupid," Narlukh grunted as he approached, the rumble of the battlefield growing louder as he did. "You'z gots ta be bof brutal and kunning fer Gork n' Mork, and I'ze got bof in spadez. Dis was all jus' a distrakshun, ya git!"
The rumble of the battlefield around them turned into a roar of a different kind as a massive pile of rubble was pushed aside, and a hulking mass of metal, green paint and smaller orks came out, breaching like a cetacean of old Terra. Huge, absolutely massive, and the eerily glowing green lines across its body, emanating from its equally green power core from within, were also surging into the ludicrous amount of weapons bolted all across its form. With the Hestati being around six meters tall, Solomon would guess this massive agglomeration of armor and weapons was at least ten times that.
"A fuckin' gargant?!" a voice over the vox called out. Solomon wasn't sure who said it but agreed with the angered indignation and surprise nonetheless.
"Datz roight, my Gorkin' gargant!" Narlukh replied, laughing as he charged Solomon. "Jus' wait till ya seez what it can Morkin' do!"
The central weapon of the gargant glowed a sickeningly bright green, and with a great boom, fired what appeared to be an orb of solid green light, whizzing overhead and to the right of the distant Imperial lines beind Solomon's troops.
Solomon saw the green light reflect off the surrounding area upon impact long before he felt the ground rumble beneath him. Immediately the vox went haywire with transmissions coming in from all across the front.
Ignoring the sudden chatter on the nature of the gargant's near-miss with its main cannon, Titus could not help but subtly marvel at the machine he wielded. Whilst nowhere near as maneuverable as he was in his own armor, he as most definitely certain what he was in could be a great asset to any chapters stranded within the Segmentum Bastionus.
Yet no time for such idle thoughts. He had called in support as he charged the warboss, whose advance was being met by his charge's own attempts to use both his sword and an orkish axe. The fact Solomon was holding his own was a testament to the little training the busy man had been able to afford recently under Titus' mentorship. Yet he knew it was dangerously close, as the orkish warboss was one of the largest he had ever seen. Most warbosses were perhaps three meters tall, but this ork was near the same height as a Hastati, though much of that height seemed to be his armor and mechanized additions. He had only heard legends of the size of truly larger warbosses, like the Beasts of millennia prior.
He deflected a blow meant for Solomon's chest with his own sword, the blade singing against the thrum of the stolen sword the ork was using.
The ork didn't seem surprised at the deflection, only growing more gleeful as the tracked gargant behind him began to rumble towards them, the great tracks crushing anything in their way. Another green blast from its main weapon rushed towards the distant horizon, and in an instant, a great flash of green light blew away clouds and made the ground beneath them fiercely tremble. The following chatter indicated a glancing hit on an Imperial position, but the damage had yet to be determined.
"Narlukh Bakbreaka won't be stoppd by da loiks of you!" it roared, engaging the both of them with his weapons, power klaw against Solomon and stolen sword against Titus. Metal screeched against metal as the ground beneath them was churned, ork blood, leaking oil and dust mixing into a noxious, malodorous grime. Yet no gains could be made, only blows averted by the skill of this damn greenskin.
Titus, however, remained rather calm as they dueled, a plan having already formed as he opened the vox channel. "Knight Celenta, gather the remainder of Crimson squad and whoever else can be spared. Target the gargant, it must fall else it turns that weapon on us all. Evacuate the wounded, Solomon and I shall dispose of the warboss."
"Affirmative," she replied from a ways away, her Reaper Chainsword ripping through a pair of Nobz in a shower of gore.
Titus changed channels to an open broadcast. "All artillery units, cease grid firing, prepare to receive bombardment from gargant, target and fire at will."
The affirmations received coincided with the ork body-checking Solomon's Hastati into a large pile of rubble, knocking the ork choppah from his metal hand hard enough to send it flying, embedding in the remains of another building. Titus intercepted the ork's attempted skewering of the captain by doing the same to the ork, charging hard enough to throw him aside into another pile of rubble. Solomon's Hastati quickly grabbed another power sword from the several scattered upon the ground, their original bearers either incapacitated or dead.
Pieces of plasteel rebar stuck out of the ork's side like needles, yet he just yanked them out without a grimace. Baring his tusk-like teeth, he charged Titus, who engaged him in a grapple with his free hand, blocking the power klaw from tearing into him as his sword arm continually deflected or hammered back at the stolen sword.
Titus shoved the ork back enough to land a strike, cutting away a portion of his armor. Yet the greenskin refused to notice, charging Titus hard enough send them both toppling over a downed Hastati.
Titus recovered enough to block a blow that would have pierced his chassis, but instead of stabbing him with his sword, Narlukh kicked his Hastati in the chest, sending him flying back.
"You'z humiez gots da good foight in ya, I'll giv ya dat," the ork grunted, blood leaking from his wounds even as they stitched themselves shut, the horros of ork biology made manifest. "But it's gonna take mor dan dat ta deal wif me!"
A large orb of green light thundered overhead, far closer than before, and Titus heard shouts from the vox of the gargant rolling down an embankment, its main weapon firing too soon and sending its payload directly between the Imperial lines and their own forces. The shockwave of the not-too-distant impact sent dust and debris flying all around them, with the occasional gretchin being blown around like errant clutter caught in a hurricane. Visibility reduced to mere meters, Titus rose and attempted to slice the ork, but he was not there.
"No! Git 'way from moi gargant, ya gitz!"
The Hastati that had not been eviscerated before had managed to get within striking distance of the large scrap pile, firing upon its treads and through whatever cracks in the huge slabs of armor that were welded to its frame. The downward movement into the embankment had partially buried the gargant enough that, for a Hastati, striking at the chassis under and around the main gun was now possible.
The Eye of the Storm tore into its lower chassis with its mighty chainsword, battle cannon ready to pump into the opening right under the main gun, when Narlukh collided with the mighty Knight. It immediately turned to fire its weapon into the ork's chest.
"Noes you don't, dis my gargant!" he roared, and with a heave, swung the stolen sword in an arc that severed the Knight's battle cannon from its body, leaving a spurting stump in its wake. The next swipe, this onw of the power klaw, tore through one of the legs, punching it clean off. The surrounding Hastati moved to assist, but a new wave of Nobz cut their ally off, forcing them to fight for their lives.
The Knight stumbled and fell, reaper chainsword useless as the warboss tore at the chassis with his power klaw. Half of the canopy, with a horrendous shearing noise, was ripped apart, exposing a good portion of the innards of the once-mighty machine.
"Oi!" Narlukh cried, spying the squirming human within, Celenta screaming in fear and rage as her blonde hair began to stain with fresh blood. "You'z look loik a tasty one! But dere's krumpin' ta be dun, so I'll just havta krump ya roight and propah 'nstead o' munchin' on yer bones!"
He reared back to slam his power klaw once more, even as Titus moved to intercept, but something whizzed past his Hastati, slamming into and through the shoulder of the warboss. With a roar of pain, Narlukh back up, blood flying everywhere from the severed stump at his shoulder, his power klaw falling to his feet. The offending blur, a power sword, had plowed right into gargant's innards, puncturing the armor and disappearing into the depths, leaving only the hole the blade had made as evidence of its passing.
The ork turned in time to deflect the blow from Titus, only for another Hastati to rush past and slam his sword into the ork's chest, hard enough that both went flying into the chassis of the massive gargant. Narlukh coughed blood and ichor amidst screams as the sword skewered him right to the gargant, the power coursing through it shutting off abruptly. The cutting edge no more, it held him firm, as did its wielder, having pierced through the ork's stomach and migrated up into his chest before shutting down.
"I told you I'd kill you," Solomon said as the gargant shuddered violently beneath them.
Narlukh's grin returned as the shaking increased, a grin so hard it might have cracked the bones of a less-imposing creature. "Denz we'z gunna go togetha, humie. Ya dun breached da powah kore wif dat fancy choppa-throwin' ya did, ya git!"
"Ork plasma cores don't fail like an Imperium Titan's does," the captain countered.
Narlukh laughed, full on laughed with the sword through his chest,, guts leaking from part of the sword hole in his stomach, as the shaking continued, and green light began to shine through the cracks. "It ain't no plazma kore, and even if it was, dey do when da core is da shell from da biggest shootah dere is!"
The stunned silence was broken by Solomon in only a few moments. "Titus, sound the retreat. I'll grab Celenta, you whoever else you can."
Far behind the front lines, her magnoculars trained on the distant gargant, Prioress Absinthia watched as the xenos abomination began to glow green, receiving updates from Morias as to the conditions of the more forward troops. A charged attack of its' main weapon? Reports were flooding in that the shot that had landed a glancing hit on Imperial lines had killed everything within its blast radius, a good kilometer and a half, with more deaths and severe injuries within another two kilometers.
That had been a glancing hit. She shuddered to imagine what a direct hit would be, or even that of a seemingly charged shot.
Scanning her magnoculars once more, she saw the Siegebreakers headed straight towards their lines, earning a frown from her. Had they succeeded in killing the warboss? They were not likely to return unless they had done so, or the situation had become untenable and were preserving as many of their forces as they could.
Then a bright flash of green in the distance lit up the sky, and she watched as the oncoming shockwave from the gargant, it and everything in its immediate vicinity now simply a brilliant ball of green energy, traveled across the open terrain at incredible speed, knocking the retreating Siegebreakers around and scattering them like leaves in a harsh winter's wind.
"Brace for impact!" she shouted on the vox network, her security clearance overriding all other chatter. Rushing into her bunker, she grabbed the slab of a door's handle just as several officers and their personal troops rounded the corner and dove through, just fast enough. With a heave of her finely-honed muscles, she slammed it shut and engaged the locking mechanism, and just in time.
The impact of the oncoming green light rattled the teeth in her skull and sent the world into a dizzying spin before, mercifully, she blacked out, as the structures buckled and ruptured around her.
Author's note: hope everyone is having a cautious and safe time during these troubling days. Quarantined work is allowing me to get far more writing done when I'm not, especially when I can get away from games and outdoor work around the house. This chapter took a lot longer to finish than I wanted, simply because every time I'd look at it, I was dissatisfied with its direction and wanted more action in it than most other chapters. Next one will have a few POVs from other characters and some more important worldbuilding stuff. Until then, stay safe and secure, and as always, if you have ideas, comments, concerns or helpful tidbits, shoot me a PM or leave a review.
