A dull pain throbbed through Ramiel's face. His chest had been afforded such pain due to the lighter variant of power armour it was clad in. He wasn't sure if he had actually passed out but now realised he was no longer embarked within the land-speeder that had been transporting him. None of this mattered though. All that mattered was that he could no longer feel his bolter within his grasp.
The nerves in his legs screamed out in protest as Ramiel forced himself up from the blood speckled sand that he was lying in. He quickly looked around. His neck twinged but he spotted his bolter lying only a few feet away. He shuffled over to it on his hands and knees and checked its condition. His boltgun had been battered just as he had, but would still serve well. Just as he would.
Looking behind him; Ramiel spotted a trail of smoke ascending from behind a rocky incline. He could only assume that the source of the smoke was the landspeeder, no more than two-hundred metres away. He began moving immediately.
Ramiel knew that his death was already certain. He and the rest of the members of fifth squad, belonging to the Howling Griffons' X company, had been covertly operating behind enemy lines for little under a month now. During this time they had disrupted supply lines, sabotaged communication arrays and even assassinated a trio of lieutenant grade enemies. But as it turned out the recall order that had been issued would finally prove to be their downfall.
The landspeeder that had come to collect them must have been spotted and tracked, because when it had collected Ramiel's team, they were immediately set upon. A marauding gang of Trukks, the ramshackle transport of the foul Orks, came bounding over the horizon, the dust clouds of which blotted out the skyline behind them.
The landspeeder's pilot, Ansiel, had done well to get them as far from the incoming war party as he did, but the enemy had then descended from the sky with a flock of flimsy Deffkoptas. But for what the Deffkoptas lacked in grace or craftsmanship, they made up for in weaponry and brutish zeal. Dizzyingly fast rockets had zipped around the speeder and the clunky solid projectiles from the xenos pilot's pistols raked across the speeder's hull. Fifth-squad had shot three of the pursuing aircraft down, two of which were taken down by Daroza's heavy-bolter alone. But the last one's rockets had managed to meet its mark. The last thing Ramiel remembered was the explosion that rocked his side of the speeder.
There was no sign of the remaining Deffkopta now, but the enemy transports would soon be upon them. He could already hear the throaty roars of their engines carrying on the wind across the savannah-like wastes. The crash site would be easy for anyone to locate, even an Ork.
So his death was indeed certain. All that mattered now was to ensure that the landspeeder did not fall into the enemy's hands and that his ammunition was fully expended before he fell.
He hoisted his aching body up the rocky incline that separated him from the crash site.
Ramiel cursed. Their mission had been carried out so flawlessly until now. His five-man team had not lost a single neophyte and had carried out every tasking they were issued. They had not even all fitted into the landspeeder sent to collect them properly, Ramiel and Keegan being forced to hang out of the speeder's sides. Ideally tenth company could have sent a pair of speeders for the evac but for some reason had not. If they had done then the secondary speeder could assist them now. A clumsy end to a well executed mission.
But again, none of that mattered now.
He hefted his damaged leg over the last of the rocks and surveyed what lay at the bottom of them. The landspeeder was indeed the source of the smoke. The craft had come in hard, forging gouts of hard soil and mud in the ground around it. It's chassis was eviscerated in two, the front end of which had become embedded within the ground.
Ramiel spotted Daroza kneeling by the side of the wreckage, his heavy-bolter standing on its bipod legs beside him.
"Brother." Ramiel called out, softly.
Daroza turned to reveal he had a pistol in his left hand. His tactically black coloured armour was scuffed and cracked in places. The V upon his yellow shoulder was nearly completely obliterated.
"Ram." Daroza nodded, lowering his pistol.
Along from him stood Keegan, fiddling around with the front of the speeder.
Ramiel moved over to join him. Within the ruined chassis of the landspeeder, he saw the twisted body of Sabrael. The sniper had been sat next to Ramiel on the craft and had obviously taken the brunt of the explosion. This was obvious because instead of being thrown out of the craft like Ramiel had, Sabrael had obviously been blown apart within it. His legs were gone from the thighs down and the right side of his torso had been hollowed out by the shrapnel of the speeder.
"We called this in?" Ramiel asked.
"Vox is dead." Keegan answered.
"No chance of evac. Acknowledged."
"Well if they had sent a proper speeder squadron..." Keegan grumbled.
"What's the plan?" Daroza asked, as he retrieved a pair of spare box-magazines for his weapon, "Pack as much kit as we can and move out?"
"We're not outrunning them, brother." Ramiel replied, "We destroy the speeder and then take up defensive positions."
"We're not even going to try and make a go of it?" Varot appeared from behind the wreckage. His camoline cloak was in tatters and the scope of his sniper rifle was severely cracked, as were the goggles adorning his head.
"There is no cover to disappear in out that way." Ramiel said, grimly, "I will not be run down like a beast for sport out there in the plains. No. As fortune would have it, we've landed in somewhat of a good spot."
Looking around the scouts had indeed crashed in a perfect spot for a defensive ambush. The rocky incline Ramiel had climbed was just one side of a basin formed from the region's storms and Ansiel had managed to put the stricken speeder down in the centre of it.
"I agree." Daroza nodded.
"Well we can't destroy the speeder yet." Keegan said, "We cannot remove Ansiel from the pilot throne."
"Ansiel?" Ramiel said, in disbelief.
"I still live, brother." A weak voice from the front of the speeder called out.
Ramiel walked over to the beheaded portion of the speeder where he found Ansiel. The front of the speeder had crumpled in the crash and had in turn imprisoned Ansiel's legs at the same time as it had crushed them. Ansiel's goggles had shattered and dug into his flesh, completely decimating his eyes and a bone protruded from his left elbow. His gunner, Bector, was hunched forward over the mount where his heavy-bolter had once been, bloodied and bashed.
"I can't see, brother." Ansiel croaked.
"We cannot let the speeder fall into their hands, brother." Ramiel said, softly, "We have seen what they do with any Imperial equipment they capture."
"The titan. You...you saw it."
"We did. I imagine our report is why they recalled us."
"Pity we won't get to see it fall." Ansiel wheezed, "Allow me to die with honour, brother. Set the charges and hand me the detonator. This way I can take a few of the bastards with me."
Ansiel reached out blindly with his only functional hand. Ramiel embraced it with his own, not knowing if he could entrust a task of such magnitude to a neophyte in such a condition.
"Smoke! Smoke, smoke, smoke!"
The repeated announcement from the trukk's gunner caught the attention of Wokgad, the biggest and incidentally bossiest Nob aboard the vehicle.
"Wot?!" He bellowed back.
"Smoke! Smoke der'!" The gunner swivelled and angled his big shoota to poise out into the distance before letting off a burst. Wokgad followed the tracer rounds spiralling off into the sky and saw what the gunner was on about. Not that they needed the smoke to find the humans they were chasing. The one Deffkopta that had returned to them was now hovering above them, leading the five trukks in the right direction.
"I want dem gits takin' alive!" Wokgad roared to the five other Nobz in the trukk with him, "Boss wants e'm got! Give e'm a good krumpin, but 'e wants e'm back alive!"
"Why 'e want e'm?" Krooka asked. The Nob was Wokgad's unofficial second in command and was ugly even by ork standards. Krooka had received a nasty gash in a past engagement that had left his jawbone exposed, the skin around which was lighter from infection where he had not allowed it to heal properly
"Don't ask questions, ya git!" Wokgad banged the flat edge of his big choppa against his subordinate's skull, "Do it!"
Krooka growled. His muscles were all tensed and Wokgad knew that soon enough he would soon challenge his leadership. But as ever the Ork lived in the moment and did not have much capacity to worry about such things.
The trukks rumbled up to a rocky incline and started to drive up it. The weight of the combined Nobz in the back caused the flimsy vehicle to roll back on the incline, even causing Krooka to nearly fall out of the back.
"Stop, ya gits!" Wokgad ordered. The speed obsessed ork operating the driving apparatus in the front was foaming at the mouth already at the prospect of going as fast as possible up the incline to fly over the top.
Wokgad ordered his Nobz out and the boyz in the other four trukks followed suit.
Wokgad commanded a decent hunting gang if he did say so himself. All in all there were six Nobz and forty or so Boyz in the detachment, many of who had been spawned many moons prior and were seasoned fighters. The black skulls on their red shoulder plates denoted their allegiance to the warband belonging to Rage-Shredda. He lead them over the rocks ahead. He spotted the crash site and licked his tusk like teeth at the sight of three dead humans. The deffkopta chuffed away overhead and buzzed past him to hover above the actual crash.
Wokgad marched down to the downed speeder with a retinue of boyz staying a step or so behind him, their stubby pistols raised cautiously. A body inside the downed craft gave off an enticing smell of fresh blood mixed with that of the gunpowder so prevalent in the weapon factories that Wokgad spent a lot of time plundering.
"Come then!" A haggard voice called, with a human tongue.
Wokgad's face scrunched up in hatred. The sound a complete affront to his very being. It was weak and the creature speaking was just as alien as the concept. The boss-nob stomped over to the source of the noise at the front of the downed craft. His facial expression lightened the moment he saw the utter state of the human before him and that of the dead one next to him.
"Well, well, umie. You don't fly so good." Wokgad reached out and planted his large green-skinned hand around the injured human's throat, warranting a grunt of pain from him, "You'z comin' wiv us."
"Burn, you alien wretch." The human managed to say through the constriction being applied to his throat, "For the Emperor."
Wokgad's sneer dropped the moment he heard a bleeping noise emanate from the human. He looked down and saw a device within his bloodied hand.
It was the last thing Wokgad ever saw. The charges set up inside and around the craft detonated, obliterating the speeder and those of the nob's retinue close enough in an instant.
Ramiel allowed a smile as he watched the eight explosive charges detonate.
The savage beasts loitering closest to the speeder were reduced to bloody pulps in an instant. The biggest of them, who had seemingly been conversing with Ansiel, was torn asunder and sent flying in various directions in variously sized chunks. The blasts had killed at least ten or fifteen of the beasts. The remaining orks further back were stunned by the sudden noise and shrapnel flying in their directions. Ramiel and Daroza had set up directly ahead of the speeder on the edge of the natural basin it had crashed in, whereas Keegan and Varot were set up over to their right. There was about fifty metres separating their positions from the speeder.
Daroza was lying to Ramiel's left, his camoline cloak allowing him to blend in with the dusty brush perfectly. Ramiel squeezed his brother's arm. In an instant, Daroza's heavy-bolter bucked as it started firing into the remaining orks.
Varot rose up from his vantage point on the right side of the clearing and fired a shot up at the deffkopta. The pilot roared out in pain as the bullet entered its arm. The aircraft veered clumsily away and rose further up into the air.
Ramiel opened up with his boltgun. He observed one of his rounds detonate against an ork's bicep, seemingly doing little more than dislocate the limb. The next round found its mark against the beast's face and reduced it to mush.
The orks weren't stunned anymore. They were faced with the prospect of an enemy to fight and their blood was up. The beasts roared out in unison and charged at the scouts' two positions with no semblance of unit coherence. Erratic shots from their pistols and from the few that carried crude assault rifles came in a surprisingly blistering salvo. Dirt and tufts of the sparse brush that they took cover within kicked up around them. Ramiel winced as he took a pistol shot to the red armoured plate protecting his left shoulder. He rose up onto a knee and fired his bolter in rapid succession. An ork retrieving a stick-grenade from a pouch on its back caught one of the rounds to the neck and fell back clasping at its ruptured throat, not realising it had also blown open its ribcage.
Keegan threw a cluster of grenades into the oncoming orks, the slightly delayed bangs of which peppered the beasts, felling several but did not slow the others down. A larger ork with a deformity in the way of a rotting, exposed jawbone came charging towards Keegan and Varot's position. Keegan stood with pistol and combat blade in his hands. The pistol barked twice, striking the incoming xenos twice to no avail. It roared and brought down its snapping power claw that crackled manically. Keegan attempted to parry it with his combat blade, which shattered against it as the claw bit around it and through his arm.
"Gah!" He roared. He punched his pistol into the leather armour protecting the creature's gut and pulled the trigger three times. The first two shots tore the armour apart and the third blew a chunk out of the creature's abdomen. The ork roared in pain and stuck its own pistol into Keegan's face and pulled the trigger. The solid projectile came crashing messily out of the back of Keegan's head.
"Brother!" Varot cried, angrily. The ork turned to look at the sniper just as his poised rifle delivered the killing shot. But where the larger ork fell, a pair of his smaller companions appeared.
Varot dispatched one of them before the other managed to squeeze a shot off from its pistol. It struck his chestplate and he fired again while resisting the impulse to flinch. The ork fell and another clambered up to join its fallen kin. Varot pulled the trigger only to find the magazine expended.
He slung it over his back and drew his pistol in one smooth movement. The ork had already fired by the time he brought his pistol up. It missed, but he didn't. The ork's head exploded.
Another ork charged up the basin's incline and before Varot could bring his weapon to bear; it barrelled into him. The creature's brute strength and superior mass sent Varot sprawling backwards and the whirring chain-axe that it swung with two hands came hurtling down towards him a moment later. He fired his pistol twice.
Ramiel had seen the other two scouts fall out of the corner of his eye but he had no time to assist them. A group of at least ten orks were closing on their position fast. He covered Daroza as he reloaded, but then his magazine ran dry. He threw it in the enemy's direction and quickly grabbed a full one from the three he had laid out in front of him for ease of access.
They both finished their reload at the same time and began firing again. Just at that moment, the deffkopta came screaming back into the mix.
It descended over the basin at a sickening velocity and fired a pair of rockets at their position. One went zipping wildly over their heads and exploded quite a way behind them, but the other struck the ground just in front of them, severing the nearest ork's legs but kicking up a cloud of dirt and shrapnel towards them.
"Bastard!" Daroza spat, as the mutilated ork was thrown onto him. Ramiel rolled away from him and put down one of the orks still charging through the smoke. Pistols opened up again and though the fire was inaccurate, they still caused him to lower himself into better cover.
"Come on!" Daroza bellowed. The scout flung the ork off of him and rose to his feet with heavy-bolter in hand.
He stamped one boot down onto the ork that had landed on him's windpipe and began firing controlled bursts into the ones ahead of him. The orks returned fire as they fell.
Daroza gritted his teeth and took the pain as several of the pistol rounds peppered his ruined armour.
The deffkopta pilot reared up from behind and, with no rockets left to fire, tried to angle its propellers to knick Daroza on the way past. It failed and bumped against the ridge of the basin before desperately trying to gain altitude again.
Ramiel fired off several shots into the aircraft's chassis, causing it to buck and randomly arch itself left and right until it crashed into the basin.
Three of the orks increased their rate of fire in Ramiel's direction, causing him to throw himself onto his belly and return fire.
Daroza's heavy-bolter fell silent and the scout dropped it to the ground, the weapon landing upon its bipod legs and managing to stay standing.
He knelt down and retrieved Sabrael's chainsword and his own pistol. There was no time to start firing as the first two orks were upon him. His chainsword met the ork's crude axe immediately, forcing it off to the right and allowing him to headbutt the beast. The ork took his head against its teeth, several of which cracked. Its pistol fired next to Daroza's ear as he reeled back and he took the opportunity to fire his own into its leg.
The ork howled and brought its axe down, clanging it against his shoulder-plate, completely ruining the V painted upon it. Daroza spun with the momentum of the blow and was buffeted into the other ork who brutally kicked at him with a spiked boot, penetrating his ruined armour. Daroza spluttered a mouthful of blood onto the ground and swung his roaring chainsword wildly, catching the beast's knife wielding wrist. It cried out in pain as it dropped the melee weapon. Daroza went to rise but the first ork fired on him while he was down. The round punched into the armour protecting his back and slammed him back against the floor. It fired again and again, managing to miss two shots even at point blank range. The other ork's spiked boot came at Daroza again, this time plunging itself into his exposed shoulder joint, making getting up even harder.
"Xenos filth!" He roared.
The orks sneered and both fired.
Ramiel fired at the two orks emptying their pistols into the prone form of his brother and dropped them in no more than five shots. He flung his empty magazine away and retrieved his last two. Slamming one of them into his bolter's magazine housing, he pulled back the cocking handle and raised his weapon once again, only to discover there was no target. He had killed the three orks firing at him before dispatching the two assaulting Daroza. There was no ork in sight.
He cautiously slid himself over to Daroza and rolled his brother over to face him. Daroza was limp but still breathing. He looked up at Ramiel and managed a weak smile.
"The flyer." He managed to say with a breath.
Ramiel quickly looked around but could not see the ramshackle aircraft, though had no doubt it still lingered nearby.
"It will be done." Ramiel vowed.
"Die well," Daroza rasped, "Brother."
Ramiel lowered his now dead brother to the ground. He took the chainsword from beside Daroza and rose to his feet.
He looked down into the basin and spotted the downed deffkopta. Its pilot was seething beside it and urging its ruined propellers to start moving again. Ramiel saw that the engine on the aircraft's vehicle had been completely ruined by his well placed bolt-rounds. He aimed his boltgun at the pilot; the creature responsible for all of this. This beast's lucky shot had been the end of fifth-squad. It was because of this xenos brute that they would not be able to assist in the destruction of the looted Reaver titans being produced from the captured manufactorum complex that fifth-squad had scouted out and reported on.
Ramiel fired. The shot struck cluster of wires leading up the aircraft's spine connecting it to the propellers. The round detonated and sheared the propellers away from the chassis entirely.
The pilot stumbled back in what seemed to be horror. It turned to regard Ramiel.
The lone scout dropped his bolter to the floor and elected to draw his pistol and the inherited chainsword instead. He gunned the melee weapon in challenge to the xenos. He was well aware of the collection of orks that had appeared at the back of the basin, clad in crude driving helmets, gloves and leather jackets. They looked on in dull interest.
The horror that had been prevalent on the deffkopta's pilot's face turned to anger. It roared up at him before fumbling around in the baggage visible on the aircraft's sides. It produced a jagged cleaver with rusted cuts of metal clumsily forged to it and a pistol with a chunky drum-magazine connected to its undercarriage.
Ramiel gunned his chainsword again and descended into the basin. The ork screeched in rage and charged. Its pistol belted off round after round as it came, but Ramiel was in motion too. He advanced with an unpredictable trajectory, causing the ork's shots to be even more inaccurate, and robbing momentum from its own charge.
Ramiel fired twice, hitting the ork's pistol with the first shot and taking a chunk out of the hand wielding it with the second.
The ork pilot let out an exasperated roar and clasped its jagged cleaver with both hands as it finally closed the distance between them. Ramiel's pistol voluntarily dropped to the ground and he took up his chainsword with both hands to meet the incoming blow. The weapons met with a clang.
The chainsword's teeth spun into life and bit away at the crude weapon it was battling with. The ork forced its weapon down with all of its brute strength. Ramiel's legs shifted to accommodate the pressure and he allowed the ork to keep pressing on. Its drooling mouth was inches from his own and its hateful eyes bore into his own. He finally broke the stalemate and shirked the axe away from his chainsword before shifting himself to the side.
The ork staggered forward with the sudden release and hurled the cleaver around in a savage arc, hitting nothing but the space between them. This time Ramiel pressed the attack, bringing his chainsword down, which the ork went to catch with his own weapon. However, at the last second Ramiel dropped to a knee and jabbed his weapon forward. The ork went to parry but was too late. The screaming chainsword that had once belonged to Sabrael plunged hungrily into the ork's torso. Each passing second allowed another rotation of the chainsword's bladed teeth, drawing it further into the xenos. The ork pilot screamed out in pain as it felt its insides churn under the abuse of the hungering weapon. It looked down at the human before it. With a last surge of energy drawing from the rage of losing its aircraft; the ork swung the cleaver down with all its might, ramming it deeply into Ramiel's shoulder, carrying on down well into his torso.
Ramiel tensed up and failed to retain the blood that suddenly rocketed up through his throat. Blood spluttered down his front and he fell forwards into the ork that now collapsed to its knees. He allocated all of his remaining strength into the fingers clenched over the chainsword's trigger. His breaths became ragged then, just as ragged as the ork he was leant up against. He realised that the creature was also leaning against him. He also realised that the blood involuntarily being regurgitated from his mouth was rich in both taste and texture, meaning at least one of his hearts had been struck. Even if an apothecary was on hand he doubted he would survive such an injury, let alone whatever infection he would catch from the xenos' dirty blade.
The chainsword finally came to a gradual stop as the teeth jammed on the sheer amount of genetic material becoming clogged within its chains.
"G...Git." The ork's words were drowned in its own blood and drool.
"I am... a son of Mancora. Blood of the Primarch flows through me." Ramiel spluttered in turn, "You are not worthy of spilling it, alien."
"Zoggin..." The ork slumped even more now and fell silent.
Ramiel's breaths became the only noise he could hear. The orks watching up on the basin still gawped on. Seeing the utter destruction that the scouts had brought upon those they were transporting. They then began to advance down into the basin with an assortment of driver tools and pistols being produced from their oil stained clothings.
"For the chapter." Ramiel murmured, with closed eyes, "For fifth squad."