The cove, Neustadt
There were very few rooms deeper underground than Anja's coven, and few were more important to detecting threats to Neustadt in time. Ever since the Druchii laid siege to Neustadt they had tried to probe and attack their former slaves magically.
Anja had combed the workforce ever since she arrived for any individual with the slightest inkling of magical abilities. She had trained them as best as she could and formed them into a team that watched over Neustadt as much as the barbed wire and the machine guns did.
While they were very well motivated they should have been outclassed badly against the Druchii witches who had been around for hundreds of years, deep in the lore and willing to sacrifice the sentient to enhance their art. Anja and her fellow mages had a chance because they had to unmake the attacks, which was easier than making them. Any mage who plied his trade in range of Neustadt's guns was not long for the world. Even more importantly, Anja's team was willing to work with each other. To provide for others and not just for themselves. Individually they might be midgets, as a team they fought giants to a standstill.
And now they felt that something was wrong, that something wanted to attack Neustadt, but for the life of them they could not see what it was. It certainly was no spell the Druchii had used before, it was not aimed at them directly, but whatever roiled the Empyrean into a storm was huge.
It took Anja precious moments to realize that whoever was attacking was ripping the veil between the mundane world and the warp asunder. It allowed entry of those normally relegated to the Warp into the real world. She did not know what would come through the tear in reality that started to form, but it could only be devastating.
She wasted a few more seconds trying to undo the spell that kept the tunnel up. She quickly learned how far out of her league she was. She might as well try to stop an avalanche with her bare hands. She had never witnessed such power herself and had only heard legends and horror stories about such events. She was not the one to give up though, and instead of closing the tunnel to mayhem and madness she tried to shift it. As things stood it would open right above Neustadt itself, which could only lead to disaster. The mages that were connected to her sensed her intent without the need for words and she felt a warm stream of power that ran through her chest. Mouthing words of power she pushed her mind at the tunnel that formed above her home.
It moved, but only the tinniest distance. No matter how much power she exerted, no matter that the mages around her despaired from the task or simply dropped from exhaustion. She pushed till blood came from her nose, till the warmth in her chest was a raging fire and till she had moved the tunnel's entrance about five meters. By now the first monsters crawled from the gaping mouth, raging monstrosities that looked like dogs the size of ponies.
Panic began to cloud Anja's mind, she could not bear the thought of her lover and all her fellows being ripped apart by demons. Yet try as she might, she could not see anything she might do to stave the inevitable. In what she was sure were her last moments she prayed to whatever entities might hear her to deliver Torsten and her fellows. When she dropped to the floor her prayers were answered.
A wave of something ran through Neustadt, something that lit the town in an orange light. Whatever it was, it did not destroy the tunnel or kill the things that came from it. But it moved it by the kilometer needed to end before Neustadt's wire belt.
Inside Neustadt
Joakim Vos had just made his way back from the Naggaroth style negotiations when the sky started to discolour and clouds moved at a speed they should not. His suit's magic indicator started blinking like mad and the wireless channels filled themselves with reports. He watched a ring of fire that ripped the sky apart and opened a tunnel into madness. It started spouting monsters into the town right away. He was still trying to form a plan in his mind when something pushed the tunnel's mouth right across Neustadt, some distance before the wire.
Now a wild variety of beings emerged from it, in all shapes and sizes. They were all red and black, they had too many teeth, claws, and melee weapons. They exuded a hate that bypassed the distance and the language barrier with ease. There was an ungodly number of them on the ground already and there were more emerging every second. Joakim Vos ran away from it after a second look. His command post was a hundred meters back and his days as a shooter were hopefully over. He reached the bunker that the Germans had taken over from the former slaves and made his way inside. Things were much calmer inside, but the picture provided by many drones and helmet videos was dire.
There were demons running around in the city, tearing apart anybody who was in their way. They needed to be taken out fast, they could turn the tightly packed quarters into an abattoir otherwise and would be hard to dig out. But that was the least of his worries. The horde before the wire became bigger with every second and the first ones tried to make it through the wire already. Countless Flesh Hounds tore and bit at the razor sharp wire that held even their iron muscles. Bloodletters hacked at the strands that seemed so thin, just to learn that they would spring back. Towering over them like giants in a kindergarten the Bloodthirsters were huge avatars of murder and bloodshed. No wire would slow them down, no rifle fire would do more than inconvenience them. They roared a challenge that shook everybody who heard it and started their charge towards Neustadt. Their axes swept the wire aside like a scythe through wheat, opening a way for their lesser brethren.
Machine gun fire poured from the many bunkers that fortified Neustadt's defence belt. It hit the Bloodletters who assaulted the wire with no thought about taking cover. They were hit by the machine guns and rifle fire easily enough, but they took an awful amount of killing. Their dead bodies often provided another step stone for their peers to make it another meter through the wire. If nothing happened Neustadt's defences would be breached soon, and then the demons would kill every living being inside. Joakim watched the main display, which showed the location of every power-armoured soldiers in Neustadt. He needed a few seconds to make up his mind, then he started issuing orders. Making an effort to keep his voice calm he dialled the connections.
"Thorgrimm, clean out the Steel Way and Coal Road. First priority is that the arty pukes can make it to the mortar pits. Make sure the arty stays safe, we need them. If you can spare some folks, make them hunt what demons remain. I don't think you have to root them out, they'll come to you."
"Will do Joakim. I am at the cantina right now, I'll leave a squad here."
"Do that."
Another push at the panel on his vambrace.
"Van Halen Actual, this is Paladin Actual. We have demons assaulting the wire. Occupy the second trench line from bunker 30 and defend from there. The Paladins will be on your left, I will place the heavy weapons platoon in the center. Bring your weapons carriers to your right, enfilade from there. Bloodthirsters are priority targets."
"Paladin Actual, this is Van Halen actual, solid copy on second trench line and enfilading."
Somewhere along the wild ride that was his stay on the Warhammer World the former ticket puncher had learned how to communicate more effectively with different armies. Skavenblight had been a good start on that.
"All Paladin elements, this is Paladin actual. Take the second line of trenches to the left of bunker 30, bring the heavy weapons to the right flank. Keep the enemy before the wire, things will become ugly otherwise."
Joakim Vos was in a bunker with small vision slits, his ability to perceive the battlefield exceeded that of most commanding officers in history. Several drones provided an overview, the power armor worn by his forces denoted their positions electronically. He could use the video feed of any soldier under his command. He could even give them commands that would display in their helmets as marked targets and pointer arrows. He also had an unmatched potential for micromanagement and had to consciously reign that in. So he watched as the first Paladins opened fire on the closest Bloodletters. They were rather hard to kill, being tough as old boots when shot at by the Neustadt defenders. The Paladin's results were very different. When one of their three-round bursts hit a mighty chest it exploded, offering a view into an inhuman biology. When a thick limb got in the way, it was simply ripped from its owner in smaller chunks.
The Reiksbund had sent its elite forces to Naggaroth, the ones who had to face the worst this world and the Empyrean had to offer. The Hague was in a very different universe and so the ammunition in the Mauser's magazines was very different. Inside each bullet a small sliver of Zirconium rested behind a nasty mix of explosives and incendiaries. Such bullets would not waste any energy on overpenetration, they would dump their kinetic energy into their target and add an explosion into the mix. Even the Bloodletters. Khorne's chosen infantry took notice when a machine gun literally ripped a group of them apart. They noticed and redoubled their efforts to reach the soldiers behind the wire. They were slowed by the wire and died in droves.
A section of the wire was partly gone due to a Bloodthirster that had swung its axe right through it. Now it was tangled in the wire, frustrating the demon to no end. And while he screamed and pulled at a weapon still tangled in the wire string after string of 40 mm grenades exploded around him. Whether the maddened demon felt any of that was an open question. That the Bloodletters and the Hounds around him did was not. The many fragments produced by the slow projectiles did not kill immediately, but injured, crippled, and hurt. Even worse, the Hounds tore around them into anything close by them, be it barbed wire, one of their own or a Bloodletter. Their victims were not taking it lying down and an absolute traffic jam of dying and fighting beasts ensued, blocking the gap better than the wire had before.
Other targets would not be stopped by the rifles or machine guns. The Bloodthirsters were so big and tough that even dozens of explosive rounds made them mad, but did not stop them. The Paladins had another solution for that purpose. Where other infantry had heavy machine guns around 13 mm calibre, the power-armoured troopers of the Paladins preferred 30 mm autocannons. Using the same ammo as the Puma IFV it hammered a salvo into a Bloodthirster'schest. The rounds were designed to penetrate several centimetre of steel and had no problem with the Bloodthirster's thick skin. The mighty chest was big enough to absorb nearly all the fragments the rounds exploded into. The untouched face registered astonishment for a second before the huge demon fell on the troops around it. Another Bloodthirster was separated from his arm and the whip by a dozen meters when another cannon opened up. Khorne's chosen might be taken by an berserker rage, but that got their attention. Several Bloodthirsters opened their great wings to close with the enemy who hurt them so.
Joakim Vos was about to contact von der Marwitz when the Paratroopers opened fire by themselves. Given the ruckus made by the demons and the fire poured into them nearly nobody noticed the small weapons carriers that climbed from several craters. Quiet electric motors had no problem to propel them forward, rubber tracks made next to no noise. They were camouflaged by their paint and nets, and were probably not perceived by most of those on the battlefield. When they finally reached their firing positions that changed immediately.
The weapons carriers might lack a crew, but they were certainly armed to the teeth. Most carried an RMK 30 recoilless autocannon on their backs. They cancelled the recoil by venting their propellant gasses to the rear, making for huge back blasts. And they had a lot of gasses to vent as they propelled their projectiles to 1200 meters/second. They had been built to tackle Main Battle Tanks and their effects on merely supernatural flesh was horrifying. The small vehicles had been built from the hulls and running gear of Weasel Weapons Carriers, and two of them had been in Naggaroth before. They had supported the Hag Graef raid, now they were here again. And while they were small, they had a terrible bite. It did not matter if the Bloodthirsters tried an airborne approach or to push through on the ground. They were a dozen meters high and far slower than the targets the weapons system had been designed for. Khorne's greatest demons fell one by one, with at least two of them going back to the Empyrean without being hit.
No matter how this battle would end, Khorne's chosen had learned to respect the mighty Wiesel…
And while Joakim was happy with the weapons carriers' something had to happen, and soon. Ever more demons emerged from the tunnel and sooner or later they would overwhelm his people.
Inside Neustadt
Thorgrimm Steinier had stepped into Hell and had to stop it. From coddling children to killing demons in less than five minutes was fast even by the standards of the Cave Raiders. The sky above Neustadt showed all kinds of colors except those which should be there. There was a tunnel that led to the ground before Neustadt and that started…..somewhere. Wherever that was it was better not to look at it too long. Dark clouds moved at high speed and there were all colors of lightning to be had. There was an all-pervasive surf of rifle fire and the roar of fighters both from this world and the one beyond the veil. Flying Bloodthirsters curved here and there, trying to escape the lines of tracers that chased them. One of them crashed into the crossing before the dwarf, missing half a wing. Despite having crushed the wall of a warehouse and missing a limb it tried to stand up anyway. The Cave Raiders were having none of it and RAG grenades expended their squash-head ammo against the beast. Shockwaves raced through the mighty body, mushing otherworldly flesh and shattering bones. There was a deep, painful rumble before the demon released his hold on reality and went up.
Steinier checked his HUD, saw no more red symbols and waved his arm.
"Go, go go"
The loudspeaker made sure that he was heard above the din of battle. Lots and lots of scrawny figures emerged from a hallway. They lacked any armor and had no arms to speak of but for some clubs and hand grenades. Many had nasty scars or missing limbs. They shuffled and stumbled along, squinting at the lightning and looking for anything that might hurt them. They were supposed to win the battle, Thorgrimm became more sceptical by the minute.
He led them down a road that had rails set into its surface. Somewhere behind the Cave Raider a steam engine started to puff and huff. A couple of hounds rounded the corner on the far side of the road, explosive bullets hammered into them. Bloodletters followed and were slowed down by 40 mm grenades that exploded between their legs. Trying to propel themselves forward to one more kill they were slowed by broken bones and their own entrails . A machine gunner to Thorgrimm's left fired into the mess till his magazine was empty and the barrel glowed an even red. Checking behind him Thorgrimm saw that the former slaves were still with them. The ones with melee weapons were to the front and if that would not be so laughable in the face of Khorne's get the Cave Raiders would have cheered them on. They could still respect the courage.
He could just do his level best to bring them further along to their target. And he had to hustle, even the unflappable Vos was urging them on. They did not have much farther to go and the only demons they encountered went down quickly. They arrived at Neustadt's far end, the place where the demon's assault would be decided. Thorgimm could see lots of half-filled craters, trenches, and bunkers.
His comm suite accepted a call by the paratroopers.
"Cave Raider actual, this is second platoon actual. We have cleared the battery of demons. The pits and magazines are clear, we will cover the south side."
Thorgrimm started shaking his head before answering.
"Thanks second platoon actual. Cover our broad behinds Wilhelm, we make sure the pukes can do their jobs."
"Solid Copy Cave…Thorgrimm."
Steinier organized his people, having them use the trenches that still held the rapidly decaying corpses of Khorne's chosen and covered Neustadt's artillery park. As there were no enemies to take care of he had the time to watch as the mob he had just escorted divided itself into many teams in a bleeding hurry. Tarpaulins and nets were cast aside, heavy boards removed from pits and rounds carried from bunkers. In other places bunkers opened armored doors and gun tubes rose up. Thorgrimm had a look at one of the mortar pits. The mortar was nothing special, a simple tube, probably with a fixed firing pin down below, a bipod and a plate to take the recoil. Nothing special there, he thought it was the right size for a 120 mm mortar. The rounds he saw were also simple enough, teardrop-shaped with a distinctive extension on their fuse and a finned tail. Several disks clung to that tail, that would be the propellant. Maybe 20 kilogram to that round, Neustadt's defenders managed to handle them pretty well.
Glancing around Steinier's eyebrows rose when he started counting pits and barrels. He could see at least 40 pits from where he was and suspected that he could not see a couple more. If the Neustadters had their ducks in a row, somebody would have a very bad day indeed.
And they seemed to have it in hand. The amount of shouting was pretty normal and he was very happy about his enclosed helmet when the mortars opened up. He had a professional appreciation of their drill and it was not too shoddy. He saw them firing a dozen rounds per minute and tube, alongside whatever the howitzers could contribute. Even with the protection offered by his power armor the artillery's roar was close to overwhelming. It was a good thing that he kept his wits as red dots appeared on his HUD. Looking around he spotted the huge, winged shapes that made for his position.
"Cave Raiders, prepare to engage airborne threats from the north" made most of his troops hunker down and his few heavy weapons squads search for targets. They were not alone, a couple of anti-air mounts around Neustadt's artillery park opened up as well. They had been designed to kill the dreaded Flugscheiben, massive disks armored with the very steel that was home to the demons that powered them. They could top 300 kph easily and were really hard to kill. Compared to them the Bloodthirsters were slow and soft. Rounds weighing a pound each, being the size of a milk bottle raced at them at better than twice the speed of sound. The Reiksbunders added their 30 mm rounds and a few laser-guided Manpads into the fray.
Some demons tried to evade the lines of tracers or the missiles that rose to meet them, others tried to bully through. The latter regretted it in short order, being ripped apart by autocannon fire. They dropped to the ground, with the wing membranes ripped apart, the bones broken and the mighty chests filled with razor-sharp steel and fire.
The others, the ones who could wrap their tiny minds around the concept that these tiny, squishy humans could threaten them earned a few more moments in the mundane world. Most died in the air, two actually made it to the ground. One lifted his arms to the sky and its challenge overpowered even the artillery's clamor for a moment. The RAG grenade flew slow and straight, like all of its kind. It actually managed to enter the beast's mouth before the fuse triggered nearly a pound of explosives. The headless corpse shook the ground under Thorgrimm's feet when it collapsed. The other one managed to strike with its whip once, cutting a power armored paratrooper in half. In turn it was plastered from all sides with 40 mm grenades and heavy machine guns. One of the latter ripped into the Bloodletter's groin, tearing off otherworldly flesh and releasing a torrent of fluids that should have remained in the Warp. The demon released his hold on the mortal realm before he could be maimed further.
Now that it was gone Steinier realized that the artillery had never ceased firing, not even in the presence of demons whose mere appearance had frightened professional armies off the field. The former slaves would do in Thorgrimm Steinier's mind, very nicely indeed.
Command Bunker, Neustadt
The situation before Neustadt's wire belt and in it worsened by the minute. The combined firepower of Neustadt's machine guns and the Reiksbund forces took a heavy toll from the demons that arrived from the tunnel. Bloodletters dropped, often in many pieces or bled to death when they had absorbed too many fragments. Wounded Hounds snapped at anything, alive and dead, friend and foe in their last moments in the mundane world. None of the Bloodthirsters who had arrived in the first minutes of the battle were present any more. They were just too good targets and too much of a threat.
But new Bloodthirsters had arrived, new Bloodletters stepped in the bodies of those who arrived before and new Hounds tried to leap over the barbed wire. For every demon killed two stepped in their way or so it seemed. Joakim knew that this was not sustainable. Soon the ready ammunition would run out, soon the machine guns would overheat and soon the Bloodletter bodies would bridge the wire. The Paladins had to fight Khorne's chosen in close combat twice when small groups made it to the second trench. One group had encountered Ulrika in her power armor and been eradicated within seconds, the other had managed to kill a heavy weapons squad before going down. This was not going to last for much longer.
And then things changed from one second to another. Something alerted the Bloodletters, something made them look to the sky. Before the demons could parse what they heard the first mortal shells dropped into their midst. The rods on their end made sure that the fuses detonated the shells before they had a chance to bury themselves underground. As the mortars accelerated their shells to a pedestrian speed Torsten Breitkop had been getting away with making them from brittle cast iron. They were filled by a nasty mixture of TNT and an oxygen-rich explosive. Its shockwave assaulted its victims like a baseball bat against every piece of their bodies, the fragments resembled razor blades at the speed of sound. Every shell drew a circle of death more than 20 meters in diameter. A dozen mortar shells exploded every second amidst an enemy that stood shoulder to shoulder.
Joakim saw the carnage for a few seconds, smoke, dirt, and fire obscured the massacre then. A few survivors stumbled from the smoke, easily dispatched by Neustadt's defenders. And yet: Vos looked at something that might be an entrance to Hell. How many demons would emerge and how long could the artillery keep this up?
The Warp
The God sat on a throne of bones, clad in bronze armor and holding the shaft of an axe in his hand that was the size of a ship. His eyes pointed at a river of blood and a shoreline buried under skulls. Yet his mind was not there, it was gazing at the carnage in Naggaroth. The Dark Elves ice box had seen so much combat and provided such sustenance to Khorne that it nearly made up for the disgusting peace that had broken out in the Old World lately. So he had not minded too much when the Witch King opened a portal to his realm and gave his demons access to the mundane world. After all it did not matters whose skull was taken and whose blood flowed as long as they did.
He watched the carnage before him intensely. Rarely if ever had so many of his chosen entered the mortal world. Only once had so many been sent back so quickly, and that had been in the Old World. This was something else, this was in one of the few places that still knew the value of fighting and bloodshed.
What he saw disgusted the Blood God. Yes, skulls were taken and blood flowed, in copious amounts. But it was a soulless thing, a butcher's abattoir, not the glorious field of battle. This was not satisfying, this was boring, a waste of his chosen. Khorne's face froze for a moment and his fist closed with the sound of thunder.
The portal to his realm closed with hardly a spark, his demons had to find more gainful ways to prove themselves than this one-sided slaughter.
Cave below Hag Graef's quays, Hag Graef
The Druchii had built most of their cargo handling facilities underground, between the quays and the city proper. The city's inclement weather tended to damage the two-legged merchandize the slavers had captured all over the world. In the last years doing whatever business was left hidden from the Germans had made them dig even deeper.
Now that Hag Graef was under new management the DawiZharr used them to store the material that had been shipped from ZharrNaggrund.
Flying disks rested on the ground, shivering at times. One was absorbing a slave that had been placed on its upper deck, others were resting.
Like silent statues rows upon rows of golems waited silently for Ernutan Doomshackler's commands. He stared at the assembled might and wondered. He was even too amazed to be angry. If these had been attached to his army when he assaulted up the Gulf of Naggrond many good DawiZharr would still be alive. How Lord Mordred wanted to fight through the assembled might of the Druchii defenders and their mercenaries was beyond Ernutan. His ample shoulders shrugged, Lord Mordred would find a way. And he had certainly rewarded his faithful servant. With these war machines and the host of DawiZharr taking this Neustadt would not be a problem at all.
20 Kilometers south of Hag Graef
Ernutan Doomshackler was going to war sitting down. Now that was not completely new for him, given that he had used the atmospheric railroad that connected ZharrNaggrund to the World Edge Mountains.
But sitting in a howdah attached to the side of a huge, four-legged golem was a very different proposition. It was a wonderful vantage point from which to see the troops under his command. He had a full battalion of Golems forming a perimeter around his infantry. Some pointed their long-barrelled guns at the sky, scanning for enemy biplanes. Others formed a vanguard, trying to pinpoint any enemy and give him tactical flexibility. The heaviest ones were currently pulling on heavy chains. They ended in artillery carriages and in sleds holding all kinds of supplies.
Above the army a wing of Flying Disks provided additional reconnaissance and should intercept any mercenary planes before they could bomb his troops. They all followed the double set of railroad tracks that ran for miles and miles through the wilderness.
Blocks upon blocks of stout DawiZharr warriors marched through the bleak whiteness, unencumbered by most of their gear as it was carried on the sleds. They were making good time for a winter march and would arrive before Neustadt soon. Even if there were a few Germans there, they could not fight the armed might entrusted to him.
Ernutan tried very hard not to think that he received so much hardware as the ships carrying it had to seek shelter in Hag Graef. The mercenaries controlled Naggaroth's waters now and there was no way Lord Mordred would receive his due. Now Enutan had to use these troops to the best of his abilities. Otherwise the DawiZharr and Mordred would have to do with what they already had and that was not so very much.
He would take this Neustadt place, make the slaves work for Lord Mordred and rip the secrets from whatever Germans survived his mighty assault. Then Mordred would have to love him, wouldn't he?
The sky was cloudy, but there were lots of breaks in them. Still, the Pfadfinder drone was far too high up for Ernutan Doomshackler to see. That did not apply for the reverse though.
Two kilometres from DawiZharr army, Gulf of Naggrond
Ivil Bloodcrest's head was swathed in cloth strips colored brown, green, and off-white, just like the ground around him. His helmet held twigs and other bits of foliage. He had a bit of snow in his mouth, that hurt but prevented his breath from forming small clouds. He was so far from the enemy that none of that should matter. "Should" was not good enough when his life, the lives of so many others, and above all, the success of his mission was at stake. He looked at the camp before him: The DawiZharr had not dug in as deeply as usual. Which was hardly surprising when one considered the permafrost ground and the raw rock that penetrated it in many places.
There were lots and lots of tents, smoke rising from most of them. There were Chaos Dwarfs who went about their daily business of making war without the slightest inkling that they were observed so closely. Ivil saw the sandbagged enclosures that held munitions, the long trenches that would be full of DawiZharr waste and the exchange of troops manning the trenches towards the Wild Geese on the far side. Using the range finder in his binox and checking against the map again he found that the Night Shift had indeed done their job right. He slithered back until he was out of sight and then made his way to the foxhole containing his radio operator. Just nodding was enough to have the Druchii aim an antenna to the sky where a commercial satellite would carry the message to Leviathan and Wolfgang Böhler.
The temple of Khaine had taught him how to murder any living being, wherever and whoever they might be. The Wild Geese and their sponsors had shown him how to do the same for armies.
Leviathan, Gulf of Naggrond
Raimund Scheer used his binoculars to confirm what his experienced sea legs were already telling him. Pushing his wireless he waited for the scratchy acknowledgement.
"Anchor team, pull in five meters on the starboard winch, repeat five meters in starboard."
A winch motor started up, several hundred meters from him. It pulled one huge chain link after the other from the cold, black waters of the Gulf before stopping half a minute later.
Leviathan's captain waited for a minute before everything he saw and felt pointed in the same direction. The great ice carrier was now held precisely straight into the swiftly flowing waters of the Gulf of Naggarond, holding the ship as stable as it would ever be.
Taking a deep breath when thinking about his part of what was to happen he pushed a button on his intercom.
"Comms, this is the captain. Contact general Böhler and give him my compliments. We have anchored at point Hue, he can commence operations at his convenience."
A couple of biplanes roared down Leviathan's deck a few moments later. They were the first of a full wing. The last ones were still forming up when 16 gun barrels rose from their rest position.
Command Post, Neustadt, Naggaroth
Joakim Vos squinted while he viewed the pictures on the far wall of the command center. It showed lots of black dots of all sizes moving across the white expanse of Naggaroth's tundra.
"What are we seeing here Jens?"
Jens Neugebauer had been Joakim's tech nerd before, he had become Paladin's S2, the staff officer responsible for intelligence.
"Geltow thinks, and I agree here, that we are talking about a brigade of Chaos Stumpies, with upwards of 30 Mechs and Flugscheiben each. And they are coming here."
Heiko von der Marwitz's voice was studiously unemotional.
"Major Neugebauer, what is the ETA on the OPFOR?"
"Something between five and six days, no earlier. We are seeing stragglers already."
"In your and Geltow's estimate, what are the possible intentions of the DawiZharr?"
"Unknown. But given that the mercs working for Malekith control the Gulf of Naggrond and the entrances to the Underground Sea it is likely they want to capture supplies."
Thorgrimm Steinier was not very loud, more of a deep rumble.
"They will not have them, neither them nor the people here."
There might have been a sigh by the German officer.
"I think we can all agree on that. But I do not believe that we can stop these forces. The infantry I could see, the defences here are solid. But a mechanized force with that much air support? We are not equipped to handle these, we would be ploughed under in short order."
Joakim thought it better to intervene before the Dwarf got any idea about yellow livers seated in his fellow officers.
"It would be a nasty challenge. I fought these mechs before and it was a bloody business and no mistake. But we will not have to. Reinforcements are due in 48 hours. Then we have tanks and air defences and I'd like to see the Chaos Stumpies try them for size."
Von der Marwitz was not amused.
"Not much room for mishaps Oberstleutnant."
"Nope. Welcome to my world."
Cliff above DawiZharr Camp, Gulf of Naggrond
The hair was as white as the few patches of virgin snow still to be had so close to the battlefield. It waved with the cold, biting gusts that came from the black waters of the Gulf. The unearthly even features below them were unmoved. The icy blue eyes were fixed on the bustling camp below. Any ordinary mortal would not be able to perceive much detail from this distance, but Mordred was no ordinary mortal. His liege was the Prince of Pleasure and his senses were honed to the point where they'd reduce a mortal to screaming madness in the shortest of time. He saw his army, smelled the unwashed bodies reeking from sweat and rancid food. Greasy, matted hairs emerged under ridiculously high caps, uneven, lumpy features emerging from clumps of facial hair. The thought of them craving his personal attention, of them believing they might entice his lust filled him with disgust.
They were rousing for another day of stand-off with Malekith's mercenaries. During the last days the crude DawiZharr had assaulted the Mercenaries twice under his expert guidance. They had failed, despite his perfect plan. The enemy had brought barbed wire and had seeded it liberally with mines. They had lots of rifles, machine guns, and mortars and were obviously not short of ammunition. Both attacks had not merely failed as such, the troops that made them were practically annihilated. The second time he had lowered himself to support them with his mighty magic. He had blinded the enemy with mirages and nightmares till his keen senses had told him the story of mortar shells sent his way. He had to cease the spells immediately and protect himself lest he die like a common grunt. When he had emerged from cover he learned that the mercenaries had some very good marksmen in their employ. Lifting his beautiful head above the parapet was an invitation to die. That had spared him the sight of more of his troops dying, not that anything of value was lost. He had decided then and there that there was really no choice, but to go through with the most outlandish and risky of the plans in his arsenal. He had accepted the invitation for a parley that he had recently received. That night he had made a pact and sealed it in a most satisfying way, even when he could not meet her in the flesh, but beyond the veil. Even so it had been most intriguing, the mind of his new ally held such delicious and cruel perversions.
Yet he perceived so much more than the failed instrument that was the army below his point of view. His senses finally announced the events that his visions had warned him about. There was a brief flash on the horizon, the clouds reflecting a mere trifle of the energies expended below them. A few brief glowing spots in the sky indicated where the mercenaries on the ship detonated some shells high in the air for reasons he did not care about. There were more reflections in the clouds, brighter ones this time which began to strobe with the rhythm of a heart beating very slowly in the chest of a vast monster. That was bright enough that even a few DawiZharr pointed their crude snouts at the sky and their slow minds began to wonder about the flickering mirage's portents. Before they could overtax their puny minds a rumble combined itself with a shriek to help their mental stumbling along. The first short legs had begun to move towards some cover when the first explosions raced all over the camp. Short-lived fiery flowers blossomed to deadly beauty, beating circles of death under them. Most of the failures who had tried to serve him were caught in the open and died as ugly deaths as their lives had been. Mordred had seen artillery barrages, had learned on how to plan and execute them. This was like nothing he had seen or read about before. The individual shells did not have the brutal impact like some used by the DawiZharr and the Druchii, but there were so many explosions in such a short time. And the bombardment simply did not let up. Every second a half dozen shells put the DawiZharr army under an iron flail. Even those who made it to trenches and fox holes failed to find salvation. Most of the shells exploded a dozen meters or so above ground with astonishing precision. Their shockwaves and fragments reached down in all cover that had no solid roof above it, and such was in short supply. Something guided the death from above, sending the shells to the places where the dwarves cowered in fear and waited for their demise.
It was an eternal moment of violent beauty that removed a flawed instrument from Mordred's sight, but as all beautiful things in the mundane world it would not last. The bombardment ceased with the same suddenness it had begun with and the silence that followed was overwhelming. Mordred's ears received the first selfish cries for help and useless groans of pain when a new sound vied for his attention. A deep droning from above pulled his sight upwards where a flock of black dots resolved themselves into winged messengers of more death. Before long most of the planes turned onto their backs before pointing their noses at the carnage before them. The droning changed into a shriek that impressed even Slaanesh's Avatar to the point where he tried to make this a permanent memory of an incredible sensation.
The planes released their loads at an altitude that seemed level with Mordred's elevated point of view. The bombs were aimed for the few well-protected bunkers the DawiZharr had managed to dig into the frozen ground. The smoke and flames that emerged from their entrances showed where more deaths had happened hidden from Mordred's mundane senses. The planee's drone receded already when there were more explosions, sharper, smaller ones this time. They were accompanied by heavy rifle fire and signalled the beginning of the mercenaries' assault. From what Mordred had seen they would not have much left to assault, but still brought their armored cars along that shot their cannons at anything that could potentially offer resistance. Columns of soldiers followed them and Mordred had no doubt that the remains of his once great army would cease to be in the next hour. The mop-up would be boring to watch, he had better things to do. A nearby cave held several Druchii who held the reigns of a flock of Pegasi. Mordred could hide them easily from prying eyes, which was good. It was high time that he had a good chat with his father.
Close to Brot-aus-Luft Plant, Zharr-Naggrund
Martina Hartwig looked around, but as before nobody was watching her, at least nobody she could see. Then she inspected the lump of white stuff in her hand again. It should be hard and brittle, but instead there were sticky, yellowish vines all through the lump. It held together very well and her small hands were unable to break it down any further. Both the lump and her hands smelled of solvents and other chemicals, but she could not care less.
The lump before her was just like the ten others she had inspected during the last hour. The veritable white mountain before her had transformed itself into this in the humid heat and poison-laden air of Zharr-Naggrund. And for the life of her she could not see how she could convert the megatons of what should be fertilizer before her back into something useful. A great lot of effort was simply wasted and would have to be redone. Now that Mordred's plants had extracted the heavy metals from the ground. Now that the Germans were restricting food supplies to the DawiZharr to make them abandon their campaign in Naggaroth. Now would be the time the fertilizer would be needed and she could not deliver.
She needed a way to distance herself from this failure. If she did not it was an open question of Jasla would punish her even more harshly than before or just gave her to Lord Astragoth as a sacrifice. Even more horribly she could not say which of the two frightened her more.
She made her way back to the carriage that awaited her and did not see a thing while she was brought back to her quarters. She was too far in her fears and thoughts when she entered the corridor that led to her rooms that she ran directly into Johann Prossy's broad back.
Mordred had transferred the formerly pudgy engineer into a mountain of jet-black flesh, complete with ripping muscles and a head as bald as an egg.
When Martina looked up into Johann's face she saw a leer and smelled both alcohol and a weed Mordred had introduced the Germans to.
His voice was slightly slurred, but there was an edge to it.
"Oh Martina, nice to see you. Or the part of you who decides to be here. Where are your thoughts now? Now that such a pretty gal as you should have many, but you are one confused broad, aren't ya?"
Harwig was too preoccupied to see the signs and tried to push by Prossy without looking. That was a mistake, the huge man did not like to be ignored and the drugs in his system had eradicated any self-control. His huge hand clamped around Martina's slender neck and squeezed. Now Martina looked at him in confusion and anger.
"Leave me alone Johann, this has nothing to do with you."
The edge in Johanns voice crawled forward, honing the words to a dangerous monotone.
"It has everything to do with me you selfish brat. When you fuck up we all feel the whip. And the DawiZharr are not in any better mood than Jasla. We build toys for them, but Wolfgang's people have better ones. So we need to stay useful, or we will be sacrificed to Hashut, if we are damn lucky. So could you get your head from your arse and start to perform?"
Hartwigs voice was hoarse from being half-strangled.
"Leave me be…"
"You know what your problem is? Your problem is that you remember being a sadist, but you are in the brain of a submissive. You need to make what is left of your mind up so you can have your head back in the game. Might as well help you decide, hu? Maybe then we will see something from the oh-so-great chemist. Come on Martina, you want it too…."
And with that Johann Prossy led the chemist into his rooms.
Command Post, Neustadt, Naggaroth, next morning
"I did not have the privilege of meeting you in person, but your daughter held you in high esteem. It was a pleasure to serve with her and…."
The voice that interrupted his writing was crisp and insistent.
"Oberstleutnant, radar has two Flugscheiben approaching from the north, Altitude 500, speed 300 klicks. ETA is 10 minutes if they do not change course and speed.
Anything that allowed him to stop writing those letters was to be praised. Joakim put the pen down and stepped towards the rows of Laptops and tablets that displayed several aspects of the situation around Neustadt. One mirrored the display of a Wiesel radar carrier. There were two symbols with some information besides them. They had no transponders, but a very decent radar return, which made them Flugscheiben.
"Thanks Lieutenant. Contact Oberstleutnant von der Marwitz, his people are to engage the enemy when they come closer than five kilometres. He should use only one of his Wiesels, no need to show our full hand. Make that "reveal our assets" when you call him.
"Will do Oberstleutnant."
Joakim and the Lieutenant were not the only ones who watched the flying disks approach Neustadt. They were too few to be some sort of raid, this was probably reconnaissance. Still, there was no need to take any chances or to provide a potential enemy free information. The Reiksbund had declared a five kilometre demilitarized zone around Neustadt, so Vos had no need to check with his superiors whether he was allowed to take drastic action. Given their nature any attempt at communication was useless and so everybody waited to see the inevitable happen.
"Oberstleutnant Vos, Oberstleutnant von der Marwitz confirms that the AA troop has acquired the Flugscheiben. He will open fire at five kilometres."
"Very well lieutenant."
The two flying disks were still six and seven kilometres away when they started to change course erratically. Both dropped off the radar within less than a minute, with none of them having crossed the five kilometre line.
Joakim Vos did not move for half a minute, parsing what he had just see.
"Lieutenant, call the command staff to an emergency meeting in half an hour. Have Major Neugebauer present his findings to us then."
The room the few officers and a small delegation from Neustadt's defenders met was damp and windowless. Nobody cared about that as the news they received occupied their minds quite well.
"Collecting the data from the drones that keep tabs on the Druchii camp and our observers several anti-air guns opened fire on the Flugscheiben at the same time and shot them down within seconds of opening fire."
"Scheiße"
That the professional von der Marwitz would react like this showed how rattled they all were. The German turned to Torsten Breitkop who sat at the far end of the table.
"What guns could the Spitzohren have and why did you not tell us about them?"
Breitkop shrugged his ample shoulders.
"From the video these are combined mounts, we made a hundred or so for the Druchii. They have a belt-fed 13mm machine gun for range finding and a 37 mm gun. The first 50 or so were single shot, they ones after that use 20 round magazines. From the video I would say they are the latter ones. We did not tell you about them as we did not know about them. We have no air assets and so the Druchii never got a chance to use them."
"Wonderful, I am sure. So what is their range?"
"Up to two kilometres if you are shooting at a flying disk."
Joakim tried to keep his frustration from his voice.
"And if they shoot for a bigger target? Something like an airship?"
"Oh then it should be five kilometres and more. I had to make the shells armor piercing, so they have quite a bit of muzzle velocity, around 800 meters/second. That makes for quite a bit of range if accuracy is not so important."
"Oh how very and truly wonderful."
Von der Marwitz was not amused and rightly so.
"As long as the Spitzohren are in that position and have the AA-guns we cannot land the Zeppelins and offload the reinforcements. And without them we cannot fight the Chaos Stumpies. Not good, really not good. So what do we do?"
Thorgrimm Steinier had been silent so far.
"Attack of course."
"Attack the Druchii as we are now? With 480 effectives against what 5000 Spitzohren?"
Joakim saw his options before him, clear as day. All different kinds of bad, only one acceptable. Some days it did not pay to get out of bed.
"Yes, that is what we do, we simply have no other choice."
The Empyrean
The Empyrean has no coordinates, it is not a place you can visit in the flesh. It is the place where dreams go to and nightmares come from. And while they have no corporeal bodies, there are denizens in the warp, many old and mighty. They are the shadows of our hopes and fears, our prayers, aspirations and our failings.
The Warhammer world is so much closer to the Warp than the one the Germans came from. And so their dreams, hopes, and traditions write their design into the Empyrean.
For just a little more than a dozen years German children had dreamed about Santa Claus, had believed in the jolly red guy and longed for his visit. That was until they became older and more cynical. Too short a period for the children and the Warp to accept such hopes and beliefs as its own. Or was it, at least a bit? A goddess of healing and caring, Shallya, had adopted this Christmas thing, and who knew what that would bring.
Sister of Shallya orphanage, Nuln, Christmas Evening
Thorsten Böttcher looked at the guest room's mirror and found that everything was just perfect. The red robe with the white fur trim and matching trousers, check.
The red cap with the fur trim, set an a jaunty angle , check.
The beard lustrous, white and fluffy, check.
The huge bag and the long list, check.
The big belly….pain.
The pain ran through Torsten Böttcher's chest like fire, sending fiery tendrils through the left arm which terminated in the left pinkie. His chest seemed to tighten, making breathing next to impossible. A cold sweat dampened the brow and his legs started to wobble.
Scheiße, not now. The kids were entitled to their show and if any children deserved it, it was them. A shaky hand grabbed the inhaler from the vanity before him and pushed the nozzle into his mouth. He had been warned that he should not take more than two or three doses of Nitrolingual in one go, and in case of a severe attack not use it at all. Deciding that he was a big guy indeed and competent emergency care very far away Thorsten pumped away without counting.
The spray was absorbed by his tongue and airways and the ingredients were inside his inside his blood stream in seconds. It widened all arteries, hopefully improving the blood flow in his heart.
Unless there was a thrombosis, of course. In the latter case he had just worsened his emergency considerably.
The medicine added dizziness to his woes and for a moment Thorsten Böttcher wobbled around, short of breath and about to fall.
And then his breathing became easier by the second, the fire in his chest reduced itself to an ember before dying down and each breath felt like fresh mountain air. He had never experienced an angina attack that severe and certainly never a recovery as quick and as complete as this one. Seemed that volunteering to play Santa in Shallya's own orphanage had its advantages. And it was a good thing indeed, as there were a lot of children he gave a big promise to. He would not fail them.
Taking up the heavy sack like it weighed nothing he left his room and went down the corridor. Nodding to the Sister of Shallya there he pushed the door open with a vengeance and stepped boldly into the huge room full of children.
"Ho ho ho" boomed through the hall as soundly as he had ever managed and after a moment of silence a hundred children cheered.
Thorsten made his way down the aisle towards the "throne" they had set up at the far end of the hall. Any other day it was the room where the children were taking their meals, their lessons and some of their work. Today it had been decorated as best as the Sisterhood of Shallya could. The candles that shone so warmly showed the flickering flames, the soot, and the uneven shapes of homemade rush lights. The ornaments showed fir twigs, straw stars, and lovingly carved wooden figures. There were sweets on each plate, a few dried fruits and nuts, cookies and cakes baked in the orphanage's own kitchen. None of them held a shred of chocolate, their budget would certainly not allow for that.
The kids looked reasonably clean, healthy, and by the looks of them moderately well-fed. That was a lot compared to the bad old days.
What the room lacked was family. There were no siblings to quarrel with, no parents to look for aid, no friendly grandparents bearing gifts and smiles. The Empire had always been a dangerous and poor place and lacked many things, but not orphans. Things had improved a lot during the last dozen years, but by German standards this was poverty.
It was the Sisters of Shallya who tried to make up the difference, to provide advice, to make them feel loved, to feed and to guide their way to adulthood. They tried to extract everything and then some from every penny they had to provide for their children. And in doing so they ran themselves ragged. Even in the candle's merciful light Thorsten could see the many crags and lines in faces far too young for them. Hands displayed rough, red skin caused by cheap soap never intended for human use.
The awkward stance of a sister told Böttcher a tale of a back that had carried too much. And it might be his imagination, but he thought their eyes displayed the resignation of doing their best for their charges and knowing it was not really enough.
He had heard about it, the Shallya's Helpers used these orphanages as a showpiece of their work for their donation drives in Germany. Böttcher had given them money before, but this Christmas promised to be a bleak one now that his wife had passed away. He had played Santa Claus for many a Christmas, he was delighted when his offer to do the same for them was accepted.
Friends and former colleagues had provided gifts, the Sisters offered lodging. He had thought it would be a nice opportunity, but now he saw what he had taken on and nearly despaired.
And yet, for tonight he was Santa Claus, he would not and could not disappoint and so Thorsten squared his shoulders, and strode towards the throne. He looked left and right, he smiled and greeted. And the many faces smiled, the eyes opened wide in wonder and the expectation behind them drove him forward. He made his way to his throne without mishap and settled in a dignified manner. More than a hundred children and their Sisters looked at him, not really knowing what to expect, but full of hope.
Böttcher made a show of donning his round glasses and glanced at the long list before him. Whatever stage fright he might have had was gone, this was what Thorsten had done countless times before. His voice was deep and jolly and it reached the farthest corners of the room.
"Thank you for the warm welcome you all, thank you. I have come all the long way to look who has been naughty and who has been nice. And I have brought gifts for those deserving.
And I just happen to know that you are all deserving, but what shall it be for you? Now Agnes, I hear you are a good child, come to me."
Agnes was slight, by German standards too slight for her age. For a long moment she was unable to get up and Sister Margarethe led her to the throne. She needed a second to climb his knees, but clung to his pot belly when she found he did not mind.
Long practice allowed him to read his own short notes, the ones he had taken when he spoke to the Sisters before.
"Hello Agnes, thanks for coming. I hear that you are a great help to the cooks and that you are really nice and polite to everybody. Such a great girl, I am so happy to know you. Stay as you are, and please accept this gift from Santa, will you?"
Agnes needed a moment to collect herself to say her thanks and grabbed the carton clad in colorful paper.
And before she made her way off Thorsten's knee she did the unexpected and pulled on Santa's lustrous white beard. Which stayed where it was, as Böttcher spent time and effort to cultivate a full white beard and a fantastic mustache.
He winced for a moment before Agnes released her grip and to his own surprise broke in the deepest belly-laugh heard in this room for a long time.
He was still laughing when the girl ran through the aisle shouting
"He is the real one, he is the real one."
The next one was a boy. He was short, even for an Imperial of his age, but his shoulders were broader than they had a right to be. Böttcher somehow remembered hearing about him, no need to consult his notes.
"Sigmarslieb, good to see you. Looks like the blacksmith is about to receive a worthy apprentice with you. You are a strong one, your strength will be much needed in the days to come. Come closer Sigi, let me tell you a little secret."
When the boy was closer Thorsten's voice dropped volume and any jolliness that it had held before.
"Sigmarslieb, strength is a privilege, it means you are made to help and protect others. It pains me to hear that you think that this gives you the right to push others around. Get your head sorted out, or there will be coal in your gift. So, will you stop bullying and help?"
Five meters from Santa's throne
Sister Martha watched the German in action. She had been one of the sceptical ones, being a Sister long before Germany entered the Warhammer World. She liked the new medicines and the aid a lot. She disliked being told that she had done it wrong for a considerable part of her adult life. That the Germans had been proven right had not really improved matters with her.
That the goddess whom she had dedicated her life to had decided to adopt this Christmas thing lock, stock, and barrel flabbergasted her. Yes, celebrating family, of nurturing hope that even the harshest winter would end and to exchange gifts: Those were things Shallya also stood for. And most Germans were not too insistent on this "birth of a future human sacrifice" thing. But it was foreign and she did not really see why Shallya had decided that way.
She knew that many other Sisters had far less problems with that, she could not help herself.
This Böttcher had promised to bring gifts and a show for free, who were the Sisters to deny their wards that chance to bring some light into their drab existence?
And this Ersatz-Santa gave a good show indeed. Seems that he put his beard and belly to good use in that regard.
When that little rascal Sigmarslieb left the throne for his place Martha blinked. The boy was an unashamed bully and the source of many a problem. And now he looked abashed and deep in thought?
At the same time she saw that Agnes had opened her gift, which was pretty large. It contained a large block of paper and a flat metal container that turned out to be an ink box. Martha had seen Agnes draw lines in loam from time to time, but she certainly had not mentioned it to this Böttcher. Now the girl looked like somebody had given her the keys to the kingdom and turned the block over and over.
Sigmarslieb had received one of these fancy multi-tools, only Shallya knew what kind of mischief he would do with that. Still he did not boast like he was usually want to do, but was unusually quiet.
When Martha looked back at Böttcher something was off. She needed a second to see what it was, but it became more obvious by the minute. The German was huge, like they are were in their well-fed country. But now he seemed to fill the throne to overflowing. He radiated joy and caring, his sack seemed to have no limits. One by one the kids came to him and even in the short time allotted to each of them he managed to say something special. Most children came back smiling or cheering, a few more subdued.
When they opened their boxes it was always something different. There were sweets, there were stuffed animals, and there were artwork sets. Whatever it was it seemed to fit the children like a glove.
And then she realized what was so special about this: The words and gifts were nice. But above all they showed the children that somebody cared about them, accepted them as they were and took the pains to pick up something special for them. They could feel good about themselves, they felt accepted and loved. And that was something this orphanage needed like few other things.
Even handing out Christmas presents for a hundred children came to an end and this Santa made his way back from his throne. But not the way the Martha anticipated. Instead he stopped at every Sister that was in the room and handed them something as well. That had not been discussed before, but who were the Sisters to say no.
When the jolly man reached Martha he had this huge smile and the wink in his eyes.
"Thank you so much that I was allowed to play my part Sister Martha. It was such a pleasure."
"No Santa, thank you for being here. Shallya's mercy is surely with you."
There was a chuckle and a shrug.
"I am pretty sure that I needed her mercy just to get here for this evening. Thank you for your hard work, may this small gift sweeten it a bit."
She opened the box a bit later. She had always wondered how chocolate tasted, everybody raved about it. But it was far too expensive to even think about it.
Now she no longer needed to wonder, she could indulge in what, a dozen different tastes? And for a long, wonderful moment life was a much warmer, nicer place, now that she knew that somebody cared about her and her wishes, as selfish as they might be.
Guest room, Sister of Shallya orphanage, Nuln, later at night
Thorsten Böttcher had finally gotten rid of the heavy robes and boots, had taken care of the little hygiene that was possible here and really longed for his bed. He had to move his now-empty sack from the bed when he found something small still inside. How could that be, he had certainly given out the gifts to everybody? Whom had he forgotten?
Opening the carton he found something that made him sit down in wonder. It was the beautiful, if slightly dinged Wiking model car he had received for Christmas so long ago. It was a red and cream VW bus made for a different Santa, the one which had so long and later been misplaced during a busy life. Oh how much he had loved that silly thing, it might even have led him to play Santa as an adult. One of his friends must have found a similar one and somehow put it in the gift bag.
There was a note inside the box, a simple handwritten one.
"Thanks for the assist, couldn't do it without you."
Signed "S&SC"
Oh you silly buggers, Thorsten would have a laugh with whoever had put this in his bag when he got home. He would muse about who pranked him so nicely another day though, this evening had taken from him as much as he could give and then some. Sleep called him big-time.
Thorsten Böttcher got himself in an unfamiliar bed, stuffed with straw instead of a seven-zone cold foam mattress. He managed to fall asleep within minutes, this evening had really taken it out of him. It was the best he could remember though. He awoke seemingly minutes later, refreshed and happy. He could hear his mother down below, she was decorating the Christmas tree. There would be a marvellous dinner and everybody would be there. All the family and Uncle Heiner would have a blast, it would be the best Christmas ever….
His heart should have stopped pumping hours ago when a thrombosis blocked a major blood vessel providing blood to Thorsten's heart. Shallya would not let her chosen Santa and her children down, so she had stayed Morr's hand for that long. Now it was time for Böttcher to move on, he had certainly done all that he could have been asked for as a father, husband, and beloved Santa.
The Sisters found Thorsten Böttcher late the next morning when he had missed on breakfast. They knew the signs, having seen more than enough death in their duties. His passing had been as peaceful as any could be and while it was hard to tell with the dead he seemed to smile contently.
