Hive Fleet, Deep Space, Warhammer 40K Universe
The Drone had just executed a 15 degree turn and exerted its thrusters for all they were worth. A few minutes ago some prey had attacked it. It had been a feeble attack from long range. One weapon had dispersed the spore cloud that sheltered it, the second had wasted itself against the Drone's armor. If the futility of the attack or the threat posed by the swarm of Drones motivated the prey's flight was of no interest to the Drone, it could not have formulated such thought consciously anyway. There was a prey to devour and the Drone would do just that. It waited for any restraining impulses the Swarm sent at times, but there were none to be had. The Drone was hungry after the long trek through the Void, it would relish feeding on the prey once it had it in range. Unfortunately the distance closed so slowly as the prey fled in full panic. The Drone's hearts pumped more propellant into the thrusters and fed its reactors precious fuel, using stores it had held for millennia.
Behind the Drone swarm more escorts made for the prey that had dared to attack them, each at its best speed. Behind the escorts the mighty Kraken unfolded their feeder tentacles in anticipation. They were not as fast as the faster Drones, but even they left the Cruisers behind.
Space Marine Battleship Nagelfar, Deep Space Warhammer 40K Universe
Even Leman Russ' eyes would not allow him to spot the ships around him from the bridge's viewports, but the Hololith told a different story. Arranged in a nice even pattern the heavies of Task Force Jotun formed a wall. They were parallel to a long, disorganized cloud of countless Tyranid ships that tried their level best to catch a squadron of Cobra destroyers which had made a hit-and-run attack an hour earlier. If the drive on any of them would malfunction, they would be caught by the ravenous beasts that chased them. The chance of such a malfunction increased with every minute of all-out acceleration and Bete squadron had been at flank thrust for quite some time now.
The destroyers might not been crewed by super-humans born and bred for war, but they certainly did not lack heart. It fell to the Space Wolf Primarch to make use of their courage.
"Logan, signal to the fleet, we go with Fire Plan Mjölnir B. Fire by squadrons, we need to take the bugs out before they regain sense."
Below Leman crews worked on their fire control equipment. It was much different from what they were used to, lacking any hardwired servitors and accepting input from sensors directly. The fire control integrated the data from many sources, on-board and external. It ran final checks on the weapons it was about to employ and when the time was right fired the guns at the same moment as four other battleships.
The power of small suns was released into waiting chambers, guided and reformed into plasma streams that coiled upon themselves. For the briefest of moments the magnetic fields produced by that movement stabilized them despite the violent pressure from within. And that was the state when they were accelerated from even stronger magnetic fields and hurled toward the enemy. They shared space with physical shells, coherent light and neutron beams.
Most of them missed their targets, but enough found something solid in their way. The plasma projectiles illuminated the Spore Clouds from within, sterilizing and evaporating them. More ordnance hit the Drones' thin shells, burning through the armor with contemptuous ease. Living ships exploded when the liquids within them turned into superheated steam, others became burned-out husks or short-lived miniature suns. The few survivors of that salvo promptly turned towards their attacker. On the way towards offending human ships and their long-range batteries they ran past a four-ship squadron of Avenger-class cruisers. Ignoring that threat proved costly when their powerful broadsides devastated each of the survivors in turn.
Behind them Nagelfar and her sisters targeted the next groups of escorts, this time a flight of Kraken. Both the Mechanicum ships as well as their Space Marine counterparts did not lack in Lances and the Tyranid Feeder Tentacles would never close on a victim again. The Gloriana-class battleship shook itself when its VLS array released another salvo on a small group of cruisers which currently lacked escorts.
Leman Russ allowed himself to relax the bit he was capable of, it seemed the plan worked within reason. Without the Hive Ships the smaller elements of the Tyranids followed their instincts as individuals. The small groups that had formed in the mad pursuit could be defeated in detail without too many problems. He still needed to remain vigilant for the inevitable snafus that were about to come up. They would cost good ships and good people, it was his job to see that was kept at a minimum.
Ice Carrier Leviathan, 150 kilometers from Karond Kar
Valera Morosov's voice was an octave higher than usual and her eyes tried to expand beyond their boundaries.
"What do you mean they are nice? These things must hurt like hell."
Hua's smile accompanied a dreamy voice.
"Yes, they look like that, don't they?"
"And you like that?"
"Let's say that I am really looking forward to trying them on. And when we are done I will probably want to use them again as soon as possible. When they will be on, at least for the first minutes I will want them off sooo badly, then it will be better. And very exciting."
""And you can't get them off yourself because Areta here ties you down?"
"I certainly hope so. Then I can really relax and enjoy what she does, don't need to feel guilty about anything or caring about her fun. If you like it, it is very, very exciting."
Valera shook her head like somebody who needed to clar water from her ears.
"And what do you do if you really do not like whatever it is you do?"
"Oh nine times out of ten Areta realizes that without me needing to tell her, she is very good at that. Otherwise we talk about it, later."
"You talk about how she binds and hurts you?"
"Yes of course. Don't you and Jacub talk about what makes you happy?"
Valera's face had been slightly flushed before, now she blushed to a deeper shade of red.
"Err.."
"You really should, it makes things so much more enjoyable."
"Whatever. But does she do as you tell her? You are a slave."
"For god's sake no, not in the old ways. I can ask Areta for the keys to that collar at any time and leave. The Wild Geese have no slaves, it goes against all their rules. But I like being Areta's slave such as it is, I'll never leave."
"Uff, that is…you know what Druchii do to slaves, right? What made you give yourself into their hands?"
"Oh, Cathay never had many with the Druchii pirates, we are too far away, so I never thought much about it. And Areta was very ill when I met her, she needed help. At first it was just that, and then we learned we are more. If the gods will it…."
"I'll never…
Valera never got to finish what she started because of the crash. All eyes were on the unlucky waitress who had not seen the Druchii officer getting up from his bench. He and the tray she had carried had collided spectacularly and had strewn the mostly liquid contents all over the elven officer and his friends. The waitress went pale, trembled and a pale elven hand went for a dagger. Before the Druchii could grip it for real he snatched it away as if it burned. He stood as still as the waitress panicked for a moment before he managed to speak again.
"Might I borrow your apron ma'am, I think you owe me that much."
The stammering of the Kislevite drowned in a lot of laughter and helpful hands offered towels and napkins sufficient to clean a much larger spill. When the worst of it was cleared from bench and Druchii, he bent and grabbed the tray from the ground. Holding it out to the waitress he asked for more, this time on the table please. The waitress nearly ran from there, probably propelled by the laughter all around.
When she was back she had a new apron and was a bit more sensible. She also had filled her tray with full containers of what had been wasted. She still approached the table with far more care. The Druchii she had doused stood up, performed a deep bow to the point of comical exaggeration and beckoned her to his table. He actually helped distribute the refreshments and said something that nobody caught. Whatever it was, it made the Kislevite curtsey and she went with a smile. The mercenary did the same when he sat down.
Valera Morosov blinked several times and her eyes seemed to focus on something not in this room. Jacub was not totally sure what had brought his lover's mind to that place.
"Anything wrong Valera?"
"No not wrong, just very, very unexpected."
"So?"
"Jacub, these Druchii, they were the worst sort of slavers, murderers, and torturers you can imagine, thinking themselves so much better than us humans that they could take us as they wanted. They were the scourge of the seas and the terror of the cities and villages on Kislev's coast. Their crimes are without count and they should never be forgotten. And yet, I see….this. I talk to a human who trusts her Druchii lover enough to let her bind her and another Druchii (who apologizes for harsh words to a human waitress.
These ..people can be redeemed it seems. And if there is redemption for them, redemption is possible for all."
"I know lover, I know."
"Oh, and what gave you that idea?"
"I live among Germans, they provide similar insights. Do you think she is right though?"
"Who?"
"Hua, that we should talk a little bit about…"
"Oh yes, by all means. But don't go and buy such a …thing."
"Won't dream of it, honest."
Doppelstorch, 500 meters above Isselfurt, Christmas Eve
Andreas Hoppe spotted the many torches that delineated what went for an airstrip close to Isselfurt well enough and would normally enter a landing pattern by now. He wanted to provide a little extra though and so he pushed a rarely-used button on his stick. Like it's smaller, older brother the Doppelstorch could attach a small rack for flares and other munitions to its belly. When he pushed that button quite a few red and green flares were ejected to the left and right of his plane. The armorer had reset the timer so that a flare was ejected every second or so instead of the usual rate. It should make for a nice fireworks display and provide a bit of a show for the crowd below. Eberhard von Roon followed his example and overlaid his pattern over the one made by his commanding officer.
When the last of the flares had been sent on its one-way flight they turned in to a landing illuminated by the eerie light provided by the last flares. The Doppelstorch managed to stop within less than 200 meters, even when loaded to its maximum. Both planes taxied to the space where glowing paddles directed them and shut their diesels down. The Young Eagles advance party had their hands full keeping the children who had watched the fireworks and the landing away from the aircraft. Some adults, organized by a Sister of Shallya, joined their ranks to keep things orderly.
Both planes were unloaded in a hurry and the many boxes carried to Shallya's temple in something that looked and sounded like a cross between a procession and a riot. The pilots and crews entered Shallya's temple, lit by many candles and a few discrete lights. A humungous tree had been set up besides the altar. There were stars made from straw, figurines lovingly carved from wood, and many a cookie hanging between candles.
There was a huge table down the hall and it was filled with so many children that there was hardly any space to move. And all the children looked at Andreas Hoppe with hope in their eyes and cheer on their faces. It was a good thing that the Doppelstorch could haul quite a bit of cargo, there were so many hands to fill.
Hoppe, von Roon, and their crews made sure that everybody got a packet that was appropriate for age and gender. The colourful paper was not torn as it would be in a similar group in Germany, it was taken off with care and put aside. The insides were greeted with cheers and laughter. Many a mouth gained a brown rim from the sweets inside and toys were clutched to small chests.
Hoppe watched incredulously when Feldwebel Huber, a warrant as hard as flint wiped away some tears when he saw a small girl hug a teddy bear like her life depended on it.
Even when the giving of gifts seemed to have no end it had one, especially when the meal was announced. A rich soup full of things that should be in MRE packages, a couple of piglets purchased with donations from the Young Eagles, and a cake filled all stomachs in ways hardly felt by most of the guests.
Hoppe had promised the next boy who wanted to become a pilot that there was a chance if he would do well at school when Sister Betancourt approached him. She managed to bring him to a more shielded alcove.
"Colonel Hoppe, I knew that you would do Shallya's works, I simply knew the goddess smiled upon you. Thank you for confirming it in such a spectacular fashion, it was a sight for these old eyes."
"You are certainly welcome. And these are the kind of gifts that reward the giver as well."
"Oh yes, they will. But I have to ask you something."
"And that might be?"
"The Freiherr has all of a sudden invited the GTZ to Isselfurth. There is talk about applying for a Raiffeisen collective and opening a school. I believe in Shallya's grace, but this is so…unexpected. Did you do something?"
"As a German, especially one serving in the Emperor's armed forces I should not meddle in Imperial politics. On the other hand there are only two Imperial Air Force wings, I command the senior one. Hypothetically speaking, if I were to speak about Isselfurt as something that piqued my interest and as an example of sub-par leadership, more people would listen as if somebody more junior would muse about this situation. Even more hypothetically, Ludwig Schwarzhelm might hear about this. In our hypothetical situation he would no longer challenge the Freiherr to a duel, which is understandable given the age of Schwarzhelm and the Freiherr. But in such a situation he might ask the Internal Revenue Service to have a look, and from what I hear that would be worse."
"Hypothetically speaking I would shed a tear for the Freiherr if such a terrible thing would come to pass. One of them, hypothetically. Thank you for your help, if this were true it would probably help more people than your gifts, valuable as they are. Let's re-join them, we will be missed otherwise."
When the two stepped back into the hall Hoppe ran into Feldwebel Huber, who had been in Isselfurth for a few days already to prepare the landing field.
"Good job Colonel, I cannot remember when we were greeted that enthusiastically. Tell me one thing though: How did you manage to drop the bloody flares in the shape of a dove of all things. I did not know the launcher had that capability."
"Are you pulling my leg Franz? That was a normal ripple pattern, nothing else.."
The face of the warrant provided a first glimpse, Sister Betancourt's voice hammered things home.
"I told you that your aid had Shallya's blessings, didn't I? A happy Christmas to you both, you did well indeed."
Space Marine Battleship Nagelfar, Deep Space Warhammer 40K Universe
Nagelfar's second hangar had been cleared of shuttles and attack craft for the occasion. Nothing less would do to celebrate the end of a threat that could have ended several worlds and consumed billions as fodder for the Tyranids. A feast that was even better for the few losses the Imperial fleet had incurred.
And the feast was going as well as only the Wolves after a fierce battle against a worthy foe could make it. Mead was consumed by the liter, enormous amounts of food digested, boasts made, and battle brothers remembered as they should be. The Primarch made his way around the tables, making sure no one felt neglected before joining the guests of honor.
Like children who have somehow joined a very adult feast the denizens of the table at the side opposite to the Jarl's throne were a bit intimidated by the raucous Space Marines around them. Select members of Bete squadron, the men and women who had made the battle possible, had been called to a place few mortals ever saw.
Leman sat down with them, drank their thin ale as his preferred beverage would flat-out kill any unaltered human and praised their courage.
It was just, it was proper, and it was necessary as their squadron would have to perform again in the not so distant future. The captain of Cape Cobra was about to thank the Primarch when he was cut short by a huge mug of beer that shattered before him.
The vessel had its origins in a brutal hand-to-hand fight that happened not too far from them. There were no weapons in play, but the blows exchanged would have killed an unaugment human several times over.
Cape Cobra's captain looked aghast at the breech of discipline when a huge hand engulfed his shoulder. The Primarch's brasso profundo cut through the din with no problems at all.
"Pay them no mind Wilhelm. These are Blood Fangs, the warriors who just made their transitions into the ranks of the Space Wolves as proper Marines. They are still hot-headed and will fight at the drop of a hat. Usually none will be killed and we have few use for those who die so easily."
"Why, why do they fight?"
"Hmm. Could be off, but it looks like the two on the left are from the Krakensbane Clan, the others might have been Bearsons in their former lives. Stupid pups, when will they learn that this part of their lives is over? Ah well, there has been bad blood between these Clans even before I went on the Great Hunt."
"Thanks for the explanation Primarch, I will not presume to question your ways."
"Better that way. Our ways are strange and seem brutal and primitive to untenforstande, those not of Fenris. But these are the only ways that will produce warriors worthy to carry the Canis Helix and become Space Wolves."
It was much later, when most of the guests were asleep in their quarters or on the deck when Leman Russ thought about that conversation again. The Wolf Sphere now contained a few dozen worlds administered by the Wolves. Most were quite industrialized and their citizens lived in as much peace as the Empire of Man was able to provide. They usually never hungered, had access to good medicine, and led productive lives. They even brought forth men and women like the ones who had crewed the Avenger cruiser and Bete squadron, they had fought well.
And yet, the world the Space Wolves called home for ten millennia was home to poor hunter-gatherers, subsistence farmers, and fishermen. They led short lives full of hardship, of inter-tribe warfare, and were as often the prey as the hunters of the things in Fenris' seas. It would be easy now to lift them from poverty, to force the clans to keep the peace, and improve their lives overall. And yet he could not, as indeed there would be no Space Wolves if he were to do so. The Empire needed the Wolves direly, they did things no one else would or could. And if the Skalds had the right of it the hour of greatest need was yet to come.
Leman Russ thought about the unwitting sacrifice his people gave for the Empire and lifted his tankard in a silent salute.
Pfullinger Str. Stuttgart-Degerloch, 1 PM. Markttag 3. Nachhexen
Peter Martens watched his colleague hammer another pole in. The lad was just two years from the police academy, he could do the heavy lifting on this one. When Jörg was finished with the next one Peter would stretch the barrier tape over them and fix it to the tree that conveniently grew at the edge of the property.
He looked at the tape roll in disgust. It had a shrill green color with glowing bright yellow markings on it, quite unlike anything else. Its kind had been issued a few years ago and he was still uneasy about it.
"Come on Peter, get the tape fixed, that Satt stand is calling to me."
Jörg's voice pulled Martens from his wool-gathering and he started unwinding the tape roll.
"We go to those Halflings too often, and you will look like me in no time."
"And it would be worth it. I think they have Tomato Stew today."
"That is certainly worth it. Give me a minute, if this is not done right we can go back and redo. Never thought I would use stuff like that though."
His partners answer showed his incredulity.
"Why not? This is dangerous, we have to warn people about this."
"I still think that it will attract the kids. A general "Police-do not cross should do."
"Oh come on, any kid that ignores that sign is too stupid to live."
"It would have attracted me when I was young."
"That was in a different millennium, in a different universe. New game, new rules old man."
Peter had to work at suppressing a bout of anger at that. His partner was simply right about that and kids were taught differently these days. Still, he had to shoot back.
"Wait till your little Karl-Franz is old enough to go exploring, then we can see if you are still so relaxed about children doing as they were told."
"Right you are, and by then I might fill that car seat as well as you do. Now let's go, my stomach is grumbling enough as it is."
"Well, we are finished, so we might as well."
Peter Martens looked in the mirror when he steered the police car into the street. Despite a sudden gust of wind the tape "Haunted House, do not enter" remained fixed.
120 Kilometers before Naggarond, midnight Aubentag 2. Nachhexen
It might be made from cloth and wood, it was collapsible and mobile. Calling the edifice a tent was akin to saying that Ogres had anger management issues. It was huge, so well made that it did not admit the Nagarothian winter winds, and breathtaking in its beauty. The collapsible furniture inside was lightweight, beautiful, and actually borderline comfortable. There was a heap of precious furs, pillows, and covers in one room. Most of it was taken up by lithe bodies, displaying a lot of skin, animated tattoos, and creative piercings. They rested in the depths of slumber only a combination of energetic sex combined with powerful drugs would bring.
The only exception to this state outshone them all. Lounging on one side and resting his head on an arm the open eyes were focused at nothing in the physical realm. Mordred's attention was on the Empyrean, a place he was equally at home. Beings older than worlds vied for his attention, promising him morsels of information, offering intricate plans or otherworldly sensations. He needed the information now, which was offered freely in the hopes he or his liege would repay one day. He considered that he might even do that in some cases, but for now Mordred worried.
A ship was coming to Naggaroth, a ship like no other, one that held an army which could challenge his grand plan for this country and the Druchii. That would not do, he needed to stop them before they landed. His minions had tried that already, the meddling mercenaries had sunk their ships in ways he had not foreseen. Now it was time to entice denizens of the Warp to do the work his mortals were incapable of. Dreaming orgies of bloodshed and feasting brought the attention of demons belonging to his liege, pointing them to a target was almost as easy.
Mordred's eyes turned white when he pushed against the borders between the Empyrean and the Real with all his might. His hands clutched two shapely arms. The bodies attached to them withered within mere minutes. It took more companions before the borders ripped and he would use up what remained on his bed to allow the demons to remain in this realm for a while.
And while huge beings parted the clouds and made their way over the frigid waters, flying disks rose from their resting places and sped towards the same target.
Ice Carrier Leviathan, 150 kilometers from Karond Kar, same date
Even in a ship the size of Leviathan there was only so much space for each member of the crew and the embarked troops. Still, Areta Bane was not so far from the Wild Geese's top ranks and had a few square meters to herself and her lover. When the bed was down there was hardly enough space to move through the room. Even then the bed was quite full even when two slender bodies snuggled closely.
Like any good dominant Areta Bane was good in reading the mood of her partner from body tension and breathing. That Hua was unhappy was clear enough, about what was pretty much a given. The Druchii mused a few seconds if she should talk about it and decided that she'd better.
"What is up Hua, can't sleep?"
"I think too much, that is all."
"And what are you thinking about?"
"About…about whether you will be with me next week."
"Oh Fu…of course I will be."
"Don't do that love, we both know you are going to fight. And I hear the others talking, the Chaos Dwarfs are the most dangerous enemy the Wild Geese ever faced."
"You have not been at Hashan Pass dove, I would dispute that. But yes, the stumpies are well equipped and don't know when they should quit from all I hear. But we are better and I am a Brigade Leader these days. It is not as if I try to shoot the asswipes myself. I have others who do that. So don't ….Fuck I shouldn't do that to you, sorry. Really sorry. This was not taking you seriously, that will not do."
"Thanks love, really. So?"
"So tomorrow I go into battle and I cannot promise that I'll make it back. I can promise you that I'll do my very best to make it back to you though, I have a reason to live and that is you. That is not perfect, but it is all I can honestly give."
"Oh, I can live with that, especially with the coming back to me part."
"Thanks love that….
And that was when the klaxons started to wail.
Leviathan Bridge, 150 kilometers from Karond Kar, same date
Raimund Scheer still pulled up some zippers when he reached the bridge. Nobody was paying any attention to that, and only very few people came to attention when he came in.
He reached the high chair before the windows quickly enough and found nothing outside that needed immediate attention. Swiveling around he faced his OOW.
"Ok Frank, give me the sitrep."
"Yes Sir."
Raimund Scheer's eyebrows rose minutely. If Frank Steffens, whom he knew for many years and who was his daughter's godfather, sir-ed him, the brown matter must be deep indeed.
"We have received advance warning from our ..friends that there are at least a dozen Flugscheiben inbound, probably more. The long range radar is picking up contacts at 080 which would fit that profile. They come in at 300 kph, which is about right for a Flugscheibe carrying bombs. At the same time the magic detector started going crazy. General Böhler wants you to talk to his resident mage, and he made it urgent."
"Get her to the map room then and Böhler too. Bring the ship to General Quarters and make sure the AA guys stay sharp. I take the con then."
"You have the con."
And with that Raimund Scheer, who had never commanded a warship, whose service in the Federal Navy was a long time ago and who had seen only the briefest of actions took the largest warship ever made by man into battle. He had a double-dozen experienced seamen and a huge mass of armed landlubbers who had never fought at sea. Damage control was in the hands of a very young engineer and an army of illiterate Kislevite peasants whose qualification was having built this ship. The air complement, whom he had some respect for, could not fly at night. This was a clusterfuck already, the question was how bad it would become. His musings were broken by one of the watch standers.
"Captain, General Böhler and Specialist Hellebane have just arrived and would like to speak to you."
"Mind the shop Frank, I am in the map room then."
Raimund Scheer had few uses for any meddling at present, but Wolfgang Böhler was his employer and the mercs seemed solid, they would not ask for his time just to be entertained.
The German had met the Wild Geese's head witch only a few times and these were already too many. All Druchii were slender, but she was a hair-breadth away from being a walking skeleton. Seemingly comprised all of wrinkles and sharp edges she had a grating voice and gave the impression she weighed everybody in her sight. Judging by her usual manner she was not impressed by her findings. Today she was agitated and if Scheer was any judge, nervous.
"General Böhler, Specialist Hellebane, what can I do for you?"
Spittle preceded Hellebane's words, which would have amused Scheer at any other time.
"You have to prepare for more enemies than just the ones your radar shows you captain. Something, or better somebody, has opened the Real to demons of Slaanesh and they want us. I cannot say how many there are, but more than just a few and some of them are mighty indeed. They are on their way from Naggaroth and will be here soon."
"How soon?"
"If they keep up their current speed maybe in half an hour, it is hard to say for sure."
Raimund Scheer was silent for a moment. He spent a tiny bit of that moment musing that if he had heard when he was still in the Bundesmarine he would have laughed her off. Now he had to prepare for things unthinkable back then.
Squaring his shoulders he looked directly at Wolfgang Böhler.
"We all know that this tub cannot run, not from Demons and certainly not from Flugscheiben. And any evasive maneuvers we could try would be far too slow to achieve anything, unless the bloody disks try high-altitude bombing. I will have Leviathan keep its course towards Karond Kar, it will be up to your people to fight the enemy. If you have any special munitions I suggest you break them out now."
"This is your ship captain, I am sure this seems the wisest choice. My people will make it happen if you can keep Leviathan afloat."
"That I'll do. You delete these …things."
Hellebane's voice was less grating now, it was remarkably firm coming from a body that should, by the looks of it, be on a stretcher.
"Most of those who come are vulnerable to fire and steel captain Scheer. Me and the sisters will take care of the rest, don't worry. This is not our first dance."
"I leave you to it then. Please contact Lieutenant Steffens if you need something."
Wolfgang Böhler straightened up and saluted.
"That we will. Godspeed captain."
Hellebane's cackle was less grating than it was frightening.
"Which one do you mean Wolfgang? There are so many watching us now, you have quite the selection to choose from."
The Great Ocean, 35 kilometers from Leviathan, 1000 meters AGL
No mortal could understand the beings that possessed the Flugscheiben, even if those with insight to the Empyrean could make them understand their wishes. They lacked the ability to speak and those who communicated with them reported a limited capability for abstract thought. Whether they could consciously parse the plans and needs of the mortals they served was unclear. Both their masters and the victims could care less about that.
The demons inside the steel craft understood their orders well enough. They would all fly across the ship they knew lay before them. They would release the bombs that hung below them, bathing the deck in a mixture of incendiaries, explosives and fragments. They might not kill everybody on it and surely not under deck. But it would certainly disrupt any defenses the mortals might put up.
The flying disks were the survivors of many a battle against the Druchii and some of them had been present when the mortals had sunk the Chaos Dwarven ships. They knew what these mortals could do. Their flying machines were fearsome, but they had been promised that these ones would not fly at night. They knew the guns that could kill them, but these were few and would not hit easily when they flew fast and not too low. The target was supposed to be huge, it would be hard to miss even from up high.
The Flugscheiben would devastate the defenders, Slaaneshe's favorites would take it from there. They would make sure that the mortals would envy those who had been merely killed by the flying disks.
Leviathan, Deck Edge, 15 minutes later
The invisible wings of radar swept the dark skies, searching for threats to Leviathan. They had caressed the approaching enemy for a few minutes already, but the returns had been too weak and lost in ground clutter. Now the returns were steady and indicated where the enemy was. The nearest contacts were handed off to another set of antennas. Instead of trying to scan the whole sky they stabbed pencil-thin beams of microwaves at the points where the targets should be. When they had a good return they latched on to that and gave target position and speed with high accuracy. The data was fed into a set of computers that had been used for accounting and playing solitaire in their first life. Now they ran programs of unknown providence providing targeting data. If this would have been a German warship missiles would rise from their launchers, obliterating the flying disks in a matter of minutes.
Leviathan was no German ship, the reason of her being here was that the state of Germany did not want to be involved in the war between Druchii and Chaos DawiZharr. The Germans who saw the need to intervene needed to hide that well, and that meant that giving weapons to the Wild Geese they could not have acquired elsewhere was out. That might very well doom the mission the ship and the troops on it were on.
Instead of missiles receiving data slender barrels rose from their travel rests and turned to the right direction. These guns should be either guarding Erengard in service of the Kislevitan army or protecting some depots in Troll Country under the Army of Light's control. Neither seemed to miss them too much, which was not that surprising given that neither organization had actually ordered them. Which in turn would have astonished Rheinmetal greatly, given that they had received documents stating exactly that.
The guns had a caliber of 105 mm, which made them very common. 105 mm field guns were light enough to be moved by horses or oxen. Their shells could be loaded in one piece with their propellant while their explosive filler was useful enough. The Jaguar tanks had 105 mm guns and so had the gun cars and assault guns in Imperial employ. The newer guns had common parts and a lot of the ammo was interchangeable. The AA-guns that were to challenge the Flugscheiben were based on the proven L7 gun that had first been mounted on Centurion and Leopard tanks when the Beatles were still playing in Hamburg. With modern propellants they were still able to accelerate a 15 kg shell to more than a 1000 meters a second.
At first glance they were not that different from the many flak guns that had surrounded cities in WW2. And while these had often killed many an aviator and downed more than a few planes they had rarely if ever been able to stop such an attack.
The guns emplaced around Leviathan's flight deck had been upgraded with equipment the Wild Geese really shouldn't have. Using a few parts which could have been installed in something else and lots of metal shaped according to blueprints the Antigulilla Arms Factory had made two drums fixed to the guns' breech end. The modification had not been easy and would have to be dismounted if German officials ever entered the ship. They were also one of the very few things that might give the mercenaries a chance in the upcoming fight.
The first Flugscheibe was a little over 15 kilometers away when four guns roared in unison. Aimed at the place where the aircraft would be in 20 seconds or so the shells encountered gusts of wind and patches of humidity that the fire control computers had not accounted for. The nearest shell never got closer than 50 meters to its intended target. Leviathan's radar was good enough to log the trajectory and the margin of error. Corrections were dialed in and the next salvo went out at the same time when other batteries opened fire. This one was closer, close enough that the proximity fuse on one shell went off, peppering the flying disk with hot steel. The Flugscheibe shook itself like a wet dog in slow motion, screamed like an oversized tea kettle and tried to gain speed.
By that time Leviathan's air defence guns had switched modes. So far the projectiles had been loaded individually as their flight path had to be analyzed. Now they switched to the modifications hung to the breeches. Looking like skeletonized revolver drums each held ten complete rounds. The gun's recoil would power the drums and the power rammer that would reload the gun in under two seconds.
Both of Leviathan's broadsides were engaged by now and 16 Flak guns roared their challenge to the world.
The Great Ocean, nine kilometers from Leviathan, 1000 meters AGL
The Flugscheibe was actually the second closest to Leviathan. It saw the flashes that erupted from the target. Whatever went for decision making in it dismissed it, it had seen such flashes before. When one was near, they were dangerous, but that far away?
While it did not perceive the shell's flight, it surely felt it when the proximity fuse on it triggered the shell a dozen meters below the flying disk. The shell burst violently, sending several hundred sizable fragments and many more small ones all over the sky. A dozen of them hit the Flugscheibe's bottom and left glowing scars that damaged nothing important. Another one buried it into one of the bombs that hung under the disk and 50 kilograms of TNT detonated in direct contact with flying disk's skin. The largest part that dropped towards the black waters below was the size of a human head.
The next to fall was the one flying point. It was bracketed by a series of detonations within ten seconds. A few fragments made their way inside a weapons port and the ready ammo cooked off. By the time the Flugscheibe committed to its final dive another one had been directly hit. It came apart in a brilliant flash followed by several secondary explosions. The rest of the Flugscheiben were quite impressed and reacted according to their experience. They could speed up a little, and that they did, but they got hotter with each meter per second gained. Their payload slowed them markedly and when they tried evasive maneuvering their found themselves unbalanced. Especially the ones carrying liquid-filled bombs began to wobble and tumble to the point where one actually tipped over for a moment. It righted itself barely before hitting the black water below and jettisoned the bombs as soon as it could. Others, the more experienced ones, clawed for altitude. The guns they had faced so far could not hit if they were at 2000 or 3000 meters, they would go higher. It would be much harder to hit from up there, but the target was supposed to be huge. And one had to survive to miss, and that seemed increasingly unlikely with the explosions that went up around the disks every second of their flight. Most of the fragments that flayed the sturdy Flugscheiben did not damage something really vital. Still, the demons that infested them felt the rents hammered into their sides like a human might react to being burned. Roaring their pain and hate to the void they tried to close with the ones who had hurt them so. And while they climbed they slowed down as well. For a few seconds the shells missed their targets, a moment of blessed relief.
It did not last long, the fire control system that followed them had been designed for planes that were up to four times faster than the heavily loaded Flugscheiben. It needed just seconds to establish their new speeds and vectors, even less to calculate new azimuth and elevation. The numbers were displayed on small monitors that had been dirt-cheap in Germany. Like the Raspberry Pis that translated between the ancient Fledermaus Radar and the gun positions, they had been from a rummage sale. Their former owners were happy to get rid of them to avoid paying for their safe disposal, here they gave Leviathan and her crew a chance.
And so the sweating and swearing gun layers cranked steel wheels and made brass indicators move on intricately etched scales to match the numbers on the glowing screens. Others dropped rounds in the revolving magazines whenever they stopped rotating for a few seconds. One of the factors the lowly computers accounted for was that the barrels were heating up to dangerous levels. Twice they had to stop shooting for precious seconds, so that water could be sprayed inside the barrels. An evil hiss tried to be briefly heard over the clamor of the other guns, then pale, slender hands pushed another round home and firing resumed.
The Great Ocean, four kilometers from Leviathan, 1000 meters AGL
The remaining disks were in a world of hurt, quite literally so. As they were no ordinary vehicles, but possessed by demons they suffered real pain under the iron flail of Leviathan's Flak guns. They were closer to the target now, tantalizingly close, yet that meant there were even fewer misses than before. Being on point of the Flugscheiben swarm was a death sentence. That death could be an agonizing one of many glowing fragments that scoured their skin or the fast, spectacular one of a direct hit. No matter which form it took, it was a certain one. The survivors were the ones that tried to keep back a little bit. The ones that zig-zagged as much as something made from thick steel and hung with bombs could do, the ones that clawed for altitude. The hero types, those who tried to bully through the worst these terrible guns could do darwined themselves from the real.
Gaining altitude became more important a few moments later when smaller guns opened up. Their shells did not explode if they just passed by. When they hit they did not rip the target apart in many small pieces. Some were even deflected when they hit the Flugscheiben's armor wrong. But when they hit right they penetrated the armor like it was not really there and exploded inside. And inside the flying disks were things like ready ammunition, which loved to join the party. The small shells were only dangerous in numbers and the huge ship before them certainly put a mass of shells out. From several places all over the huge ship baleful muzzle flashes flickered and illuminated the night. Strings of tracer ammunition rose towards the flying disks. From their point of view they seemed to move at a lazy speed till they were close, then they zipped by with terrible force, if they zipped by at all.
The new guns eliminated the Flugscheiben that tried to barrel in low and as fast as they could in less than 30 seconds, the only survivors were up high, zig-zagging for all they were worth and lucky. When they could finally release their payloads they dropped it all over the ocean below. Leviathan's very size made sure there were hits, but there were few of them. The flight deck would not be usable until the Ice Mage could take care of it, a flak crew was incinerated where it stood, a crane was destroyed, and the bridge peppered with fragments. The latter buried themselves in thick wood and thicker ice, accomplishing nothing of greater importance.
The Flugscheiben had been a significant portion of those available to the DawiZharr. They had lost about two-thirds of that number in an attack that had failed to damage Leviathan in a meaningful way or kill the embarked troops. They had still played their role in Mordred's plan well.
Leviathan Bridge
Raimund Scheer tried to keep on top of all things that related to fighting his ship. It had been a task and a half given how many different reports were exchanged around him at any given moment. The gunnery crew rode herd on their aging computers and did their level best to assign different targets to different batteries. Reports of more bogeys came in at every other second. The only department quiet so far had been Damage Control and Scheer resolved again not to interfere with his Chief Engineer. He might be greener than the grass and a landlubber to boot, but he knew the ship and the crew better than anybody. So far he seemed to handle things well.
The biggest distraction were the guns. He had seen and heard them firing before, but never for such a length of time, not all at the same time, and certainly not at night. They had an undeniably, terrible majesty and it was more than a little difficult to concentrate when muzzle flashes provided strobes of light and the shockwaves hammered at his ears all the time. He snarled wordlessly when the light AA cut in, that meant the attack would be resolved soon. One of the guns was mounted in a tub close to the bridge's wing. He watched how the mercenaries worked cranks, wheels and pedals to aim their twin guns and was mesmerized by the stream of empty cartridges which dropped from them.
By now the night was no longer dark, it was lit by the strobes of muzzle flashes and explosions. There were the racing shadows left by the tracer rounds. And then there was the moment when his world ended for a moment. His eardrums had been assaulted by the guns before, now they experienced real pain. His coat was blown back by the shockwave and his face lit with the heat of a fire on the landing deck.
Scheer needed a moment to regain his footing and sort his mind. When he looked again he saw that nothing really important was fatally damaged. He saw and heard Jacub General phoning on three lines at once, but saw no panic in the unlined face.
He experienced the jolt of having survived a determined attack and tilted his head far back to relieve muscles which he had not even felt a minute ago. That was when he gazed at Morslieb's baleful light and the winged shapes before them.
Two kilometers from Leviathan, 500 meters AGL
The Bronze King was propelled forward by his mighty wings and a great deal of magic. Each feather of the Shaaneshi demon's wings was a work of art, the body poetry given form. There were well-muscled limbs, blemish-less skin, an androgynous shape, and tasteful piercings. There were also pincers and a whip that was as much a part of the Bronze King as his clawed feet. Mortals who saw him usually dropped on their knees, begging for the favor of worshipping him.
He did not have that pleasure often though, his body and soul might be perfect, but the real was no place for such greatness. He needed to be in special places or have someone provide him with lots of energy to maintain him in this mundane place. And he had been offered a lot of such energy, so he might feast on the flesh and soul of such mortals, so many of them. He had to promise to fight for the Prince's Avatar with his mighty host. Given the pleasures he was about to reap no such prompting was needed. He would mold flesh of those on that ship to his liking, would entice such suffering in these mortals that their souls would please him in the Empyrean for all times.
Imagining the pleasures and sensations to come would have filled his mind, but there were other sensations to be had that were at least as intense and had a bearing on his existence. The ship had grown in his sight ever since he had entered the mundane realm. By now it seemed incredibly vast, a mirage such as only the finest of drugs and poems would bring. For the last few minutes the ship had been an incredible display of fire and thunder as the Demon had never seen before. It had dealt the flying disks rather roughly and a bit faster than the Prince had promised. Now that they had dropped their bombs far and wide the humans had turned their attention on the Bronze King's warband. That turned out to be as spectacular as it was frightening. It did not matter how much you were favored by the Prince of Pleasure, how well you fought, or what sensations you had sampled. When one of these "shells" came close you were gone.
Laesydra was beautiful, strong, and capable of giving and taking pleasure in such ways to leave a mere mortal mad. She was ambitious enough to think she might replace him sooner or later. Laesydra was arrogant enough to accept the honor of flying point and leading the warband on. Something exploded a scant ten meters above her and shredded both of her wings while peppering every centimeter of her shapely back with fragments. It was a testament to her vitality that she managed to scream her pain and hate to the world all the way down to the black waters below.
A small coven had coalesced around Auloth of the many potions. His enlightening mixtures dropped at the same pace the demon and his minions when an oh-so-mundane shell exploded in their midst. Others fell and the Bronze King could not say who fell victim to the exploding shells or the smaller ones that ripped their victims apart when they hit. All of them provided a final, vital duty to their master, they covered him till he could land. The Prince of Pleasure himself had promised him a place of safety in the enemy's midst and shown the paths to the many mortals promised to him. He just had to reach that place and till then he would immerse himself in the sensations the mundane realm would provide. The cold air that rushed by his skin, the exertion of his mighty muscles that drove him on were known and old friends. The man-made thunder and the majesty of the fireworks before him were a new sight a new sensation not perceived in a life that spanned millennia.
He would revel in the sight and sounds till he landed, then he could properly feast.