Chapter I - Dare to Be Stupid
Above the agri-world, approaching the valley was a smog of numerous imperial aircraft. Sans bombers, the invading force included Astra Militarum troop transports and Navy fighters. Very soon, outside one of the viewports of a devourer dropship, two thunderbolt heavy fighters were turned into swiss cheese. The enemy fighters had scrambled fast. It was not terribly surprising, since the fleet's entry to the system was less than subtle.
A third fighter broke off out of formation when one of the engines trailed thick, black smoke. Corporal Gillian Traxler shook her head at the display. "Well, there goes our fighter escort."
"Yeah, ain't it just like the 1319th fighter wing to fuck up." Sergeant Winslow Sutter clutched his weapons as he see-sawed the smoking lho stick in his mouth.
"SERGEANT!" Commissar Cornelius Buckley, the loudest man in segmentum obscurus bellowed, causing Traxler's platoon to jolt in unison. "PUT DOWN THE CHAINSWORD AND LISTEN TO ME!"
"Yes, commissar!" Sutter stood at attention as the commissar pushed his way to him. The rocky ride downward did not help stabilize any foothold within the massive, cramped landing craft.
"PASSING AROUND NEW ORDERS! WE'RE NOT LANDING IN THE VALLEY!"
"Where the hell are we landing then?" Sutter scoffed, wincing to avoid being deafened by the howling praefect officer.
"THE RAMPARTS!" The commissar screamed, his eyes going crossed in enthusiasm. "A HUGE TOWER WITH BRIDGES TO THE SURROUNDING CLIFFS AND CRADLE SCAFFOLDING!"
"Oh-" Sutter was confused at the purpose of their new objective. "-kay?"
"WE'RE GONNA FIND THE TRAITOR GENERAL IN HIS FORTRESS AND DISH OUT THE EMPEROR'S WRATH!" The commissar ran through the crowd, almost knocking the guardsmen over as he hyped himself further.
"Well, my ears are ringing." Traxler huffed as she turned to look out the window, seeing enemy thunderbolt "fury" fighters in the distance, dots with puffs of white smoke behind them trailing from their wings.
The corporal's eyes were wide as saucer plates as she crouched. "Incoming missiles! Brace!"
The rockets impacted, and those who did not hear the warning fell over and tumbled over themselves. Most of them did not pierce the outer armor, exploding somewhat harmlessly on the dense exterior. Those that did breach the hull burst a large volume of shrapnel, and a shockwave which carried it and several guardsmen halfway across the Devourer's hangar. Blood and body parts rained down on the guardsmen in the lower level, doing no wonders for morale. Two tank commanders, still halfway into the turret hatches, had to duck inside and close the lid to shelter themselves from the human avalanche.
"CEASE THIS PANICKING OR I'LL SHOOT YOU ALL!" Commissar Buckley screamed, despite the fact that nobody around him was noticeably terrified yet. Sometimes he forgot that he was attached to a company consisting mostly of veterans. It was likely pathological for him to throw his authority around.
"Attention guardsmen! Ten seconds to landing!" The intercom blared, still not as loud as commissar Buckley. "God Emperor guide your fury! Let not the enemy triumph over us!"
Two more massive explosions rocked the heavy lander as lucky shots to the engines hit their mark. The fuel combustion in the rear blowing through several compartments, blowing a giant pillar of fire into the hangar. Miraculously, it centered into the chamber in such a way that very few were burnt, the resulting injuries minor.
Captain Moses Ewing was whispering scatological profanities to himself as the flames were sucked back into the rear of the lander, the stern starting to fall apart as the large hole widened. "Steady, Company C! You're still with me!" The ship quaked terribly, the lander eventually impacting into a massive, gaudy bridge mostly made of steel, onyx and low quality palladium.
Commissar Buckly prepared to lead the charge as the lander's colossal ramp descended. Whistles from officers reported, and he and talents of guardsmen rushed out. "FIXED BAYONETS! FOR THE EMP-"
The commissar was liquified when another strafing run from the pursing thunderbolts combed through a few lines of infantrymen, blood spurting like spray bottles as they were cut down by rapid fire rotary boltguns and autocannons. The fighters screamed overhead afterward as their pilots switched the combat flaps and ascended in a neat curve. The guardsmen fired their las-guns at the aircraft as they distanced themselves from them.
Traxler was irritable as they continued to fire at the Thunderbolts in volleys. "Cease fire!" She yelled just after a lieutenant screamed.
Her fear was confirmed as the ramparts began crowding with lines of renegade guardsmen, sporting lasguns of equal measure. Short ranged field artillery pieces were also pushed forth into neat gaps in the ramparts. Her regiment had been distracted with the fighters to notice what was about to happen.
Sure enough, lasguns and battle cannons kicked up more oaths of Astra Militarum guardsmen, shredding their limbs and setting alight the olive drab field clothing, the signature uniform of Stoker Prime's guard army.
Other landers were gathering on the other bridges. A heavily damaged one soared below them, crashing on a bridge down west and exploding violently, killing everyone inside.
The regiment's Lehman Russ class battle tanks rolled out of the lander in two columns. One of them was immediately hit by a field gun, the explosion throwing one of the treads. The Lehman Russ tanks were speeding as fast as they could, firing on the move. Most of the shots hit, at least three of the field guns exploding, taking their crews with it. One of the few remaining field guns fired into the lead tank, the shell exploding through the front and killing the driver, bringing it to a halt.
In front of corporal Traxler and sergeant Sutter, a volley from the ramparts, this one more vicious than the previous ones, wiped out three and a half squads in a matter of seconds at the fore of the charge. The space between the crippled tank and the railing at their right of the bridge was so clogged with the corpses of their regiment, that Traxler and Sutter simply could not pass through it. Instead, after seeing Captain Ewing take cover behind the disabled tank, they decided to do the same.
At first, they thought the captain would snap at them for stalling their assault, but he actually beckoned both of them to come over. It would appear that he could not afford to lose any more of his company at this rate, considering that well over a third of the regiment had been killed in a matter of minutes.
"Get over here!" Ewing yelled, as his two subordinates rounded around the back of the tank and crouched. A vox radio operator sat next to him, ready to relay orders. A mustached private by the name of Stephen Radley hopped over corpses with grace as he held his composure as well as his lasgun, dropping prone as he crawled behind the same tank.
"Why hello, sir." Radley produced a giant grin as he held one hand on his helmet. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Cut the shit, private." Ewing grimaced, a firm grip on his bolt pistol. "Where's the rest of your squad?"
"All dead, cap." Radley shrugged.
"What about your platoon?"
"Them, too. With the rest of 'A' Company. A lot of 'em got hit before the landing."
"God Emperor damn it." Ewing groaned, trying to sustain his composure.
Another Leman Russ was shot at by the final cannon, a direct hit striking the collar between the turret and the bottom half and causing an ammo explosion. The tank exploded bombastically, debris jetting out so quickly that a lieutenant was knocked screaming off the bridge by one of the track wheels.
The rest of the tank commanders had had enough, and focus fired onto the ramparts, the last cannon exploding. The surviving renegade soldiery upon the walls receded as they fled. And their section of the battle had finally quieted for now.
"Well captain." Traxler peeked out. "I didn't care for that one bit."