Chapter 2
General Theodore Faustus of Army Group West sat in his office, smoking heavily on a pipe. The room was dark except for a bright light from a console showing a holographic situation map. Outside the office walls, action and excitement pulsed through the hallways of the bunker. That, thought Faustus, is what war sounds like. Not just the blasting of artillery but the rushed footsteps of an officer, the clacking of a Munitorum scribe, the crackle of vox transmissions, and of course, the special, mechanical noises of the machines tended to by the Mechanicus. Faustus studied the map. Osmea, the primary, temperate continent of the world, was the focus. Beyond were several other smaller continents. Red text overlaid several settlements, and a clear line was formed, demarcating the areas still under control of the government, and those held by the bloodthirsty secessionists. And right in the middle of it all, a massive, accusing finger stretched upwards, its jagged red colored peaks pointing at the sky. VALENCI, the label over the hive city read.
Where once his ancestor, Count Faustus, had pored over the same maps, leading the same army, he felt that he had the ability to apply his own forces to the enemy on that same landmass, at the correct operational directions, and at a tempo that would be physically irresistible for the enemy. Finally, Faustus believed that his enemies underestimated how the PDF could, and would fight. Faustus was determined to hold the line, but Lord General Tobias Hyde had ordered him to do more. Not only would the PDF hold back the heretical tide, but they would gain honor and glory in the name of the Emperor by going on the offensive. Faustus expected the offensive to be stubborn, challenging, and bloody. But that too, was war. Faustus reached for his private vox.
"Is Marshal Cooke there?" Faustus could hear the faint pandemonium of the briefing room, then Allen Cooke's familiar voice came over the line.
"I'm listening, General."
"Is Girard here yet?"
"He just came in. Tell him to come down and see me, now. How are we doing otherwise?"
"The officers are as nervous as animals in a storm."
"Good. I like them that way. Just send Girard to me." Faustus ended the vox connection and put the equipment down. A waft of smoke hung over the map, as if the battle had already begun amid the cluster of shimmering arrows, lines and labels. He thought of his son, Maurice, the newly appointed commander of a mechanized brigade within the 12th Regiment.
A young looking, handsome Colonel. The type of officer who used to make the ladies in the imperial courts swoon. Maurice, his son.
The General had made certain that there was no favoritism. Maurice was a Faustus, and the traditions of the Faustus family, dating back tens of thousands of years, demanded that he be a fine officer forged in his own fire.
Major General Tomas Girard of the 12th assault regiment stepped into the room. As he carefully approached the island of light that was the map, Faustus motioned to him to take a seat. The chair was positioned just so that whenever the guest had to turn towards Faustus, one of the small lights that lit the map dazzled their eyes. Faustus was not a cruel man, but he understood the importance of establishing and maintaining control. He believed in precision, and focused on the smallest details and their importance to even the largest military operations.
"Tomas. Are you aware that your engineering brigade is still in its staging area, holding up another unit?"
"Sir, the roads are too crowded. The supply columns from the front and the materiel support brigades are… undisciplined. The river crossings are a complete nightmare."
"Tomas. Do you expect that movement will be any easier, in heated combat? Do you expect the heretics to control traffic for you?" Faustus paused for effect and to draw in breath. "We aren't on Saria anymore, this is a real war, with massive mechanized armies most of us haven't seen in our lives. Moving to battle with the most challenging of foes, on a complex plan. You, as a shock regiment, are one of the most important formations in this entire army group, yet you cannot maneuver a brigade in time? Tomas, if you cannot maneuver around Engiseers and field kitchens how can you possibly expect to reach hive Varenci! Fix the problem and ensure it will NEVER happen again."
"My Lord, this will never happen again and will be fixed as soon as possible." Girard took in a breath, and seemed to pause to think before continuing: "I must tell you that your son's brigade is the best in my command. Well disciplined and his troops move like the wind."
To most other men, that would have worked. Not with General Faustus. "What concern of mine is Colonel Faustus? He is one commander of many. Major General Girard, did you review your timetables and routes personally, in detail?"
"My lord, I flew the routes myself!"
"Did you personally review the march tables?"
"My lord, the liaison from the Officio Tactica-"
"Yes, or no!" Faustus roared.
"No, My lord." Faustus took a long draw of his pipe, letting Girard stew in his distress.
"I expect a greater focus from you. Only through tactical skill will we be successful. This campaign will be enshrined in Guryoran history. Do you wish to be remembered as Inept?"
Girard squirmed, clearly unsettled at the thought. His eyes finally settled upon the glowing map, as if he could find some solution to fix his reputation to his commanding officer there.
The strong Carian military culture celebrates great tacticians, and shames failures. He deserved it, thought Faustus, however it would not do for him to return to his unit in that state. Morale was never one of the PDF's strong suits, but through increased pay and training, Guryon Defence command had painstakingly incubated a million man strong shock force. Still, elite or not, the will of the soldiers would be tested in the coming days.
"Tomas. I frankly admired you in our training. You seemed to be able to turn defeat upon its head. Your corps is one of our few shock armies which we rely on to liberate our cities, our planet for the Emperor. In his name you must always be there, first." Faustus looked at his subordinate, and took a puff on his pipe. "Precision saves lives, Tomas, it is one of the most important aspects for an army commander to know. Especially planetside."
"I understand, Sir." Tomas said. "I will not forget." Tomas rose and saluted, before Faustus dismissed him.
With Tomas gone, Faustus attempted to gather his thoughts before the final briefing. He found that his thoughts kept straying to his son, as if Tomas had cursed him. He loved and worried about the boy despite himself. The general offered up a quick prayer to the emperor in an attempt to assuage his concerns.
Spare my boy. And I will do everything for you.
Faustus felt ashamed of himself. He knew he hadn't a moment to squander on nostalgia and personal matters. He needed to concern himself with the movement of tens of thousands of war machines, of hundreds of thousands of men. There was no time for emotions.
His intercom vox beeped, on the line was awaiting the newly promoted chief of staff, Lieutenant General Pavel Wilder. A brilliant man, almost obsessively self disciplined and steadfast in his faith. Faustus had rescued him from the crushing weight of life inside the defense forces of hive Valenci after seeing his skill during an inspection of the troops. Faustus felt a bond to Wilder, a deep but quiet affection. In a way, he believed they were similar. Both were precise in their own way. Wilder was the first officer who Faustus trusted enough to depend upon, fully.
"Sir, they are all here and ready at your convenience."
"Good. I am on my way."
Faustus laid the Vox to rest and put down his pipe, before looking at his map one last time. The pale blue arrows of his plan cut through the carefully detailed hopes of his seditious enemy. He had waited for this all his life, but he had never quite believed the day would actually come.
—
The briefing room stank with the smell of wet uniforms and the audience shifted restlessly as Haspel, the Front's chief of intelligence, described the enemy positions in stark detail.
"And thus, we face a partially prepared defence. It is clear that the most extensive defence preparations are in the southern sector, where the traitor 22nd Corps has dug in. We do not, however, predict that this obstacle will seriously hamper our progress if we keep to the plan. The center, on the other hand, seems to have been planned to be the site of several heretical rituals. The traitors were hesitant to disrupt these rituals, however there has been a fervent change and all-out preparations are underway."
"Any sign of the first corps, in the North?" one of the officers asked.
Some of the officers winced. An entire corps of the shock PDF troops throwing in with the insurgent forces was a deep cut into the pride of the PDF and its nascent assault arm.
"The shock first corps only had a brigade in the area, which seems to have been pulled into the reserves. There are no indication at present of other traitor ground forces opposite Army Group North."
"Are there any further questions?" Haspel asked. Major General Tambov, in command of the 11th Assault regiment, which was planned to be one of the spearheads in the south, stood up.
"Colonel Haspel. You would stand there and tell me that the 22nd's defense preparations make little difference. Perhaps you would like to ride in one of my lead Salamander scout vehicles?" He said with a chuckle. Faustus observed who laughed along with him. Of course, the man's subordinates joined in.
Faustus noticed that the commander of the 9th Assault regiment, Sarah Hofer, remained stone-faced. Hofer and Tambov, despite leading two of the first shock regiments created in the PDF, were as different as the day and the night. There was a rivalry between them that Faustus carefully exploited. He waited for the laughter to lie down, before stepping in.
"If you're so worried, General Tambov, then perhaps you would like my chief of intelligence to command your army for you?" Now it was time for Hofer's subordinates and allies within the command structure to smile. "The tech priests have assured me that they will be able to get you across the canal. I do not underestimate the difficulty of the 11th's mission, but I am sure you will accomplish it. Lieutenant General Wilder, please review the army missions."
The chief of staff switched places with Haspel. "The path to Hive Valenci, our primary objective, will be challenging. The first attack begins at 06:00 to seize an initial objective line here." With a pointer, he indicated a line just west of a wide, dark blue gash running north to south in enemy territory labelled "Stelraine River". Another, smaller man made canal arced up from the southeast, running through several towns and facilities in enemy territory before connecting to its east side. It was labelled, simply, 'Canal No. 17;.
"Our army group attacks with three reinforced armies in the first echelon. The 1st shock army, spearheaded by the 9th, 10th, and 12th Assault Regiments, will advance through the enemy's initial defense lines, before striking southwest with the goal of securing supply routes and, if possible, locating and engaging the traitor 1st assault corps in order to tie down its forces. If the 1st is not in the area, then by the end of the first day you are to push to the eastern bank of the Stelraine river and hold positions there, while sending a vanguard down into the central sector in order to tie down any traitor reinforcements or supplies."
Wilder moved his pointer down to the south. "The 2nd Shock Army, spearheaded by the 11th, 14th, and 17th Assault regiments will advance to canal No 17. From there, any and all crossings are to be seized. At minimum, we need 7 crossings by the end of the day. Where none are available combat engineers will perform bridge laying. Once a stable bridgehead is achieved, the 2nd Shock army is to push as deep as necessary into the enemy lines to push their artillery away from the bridges, and hold for reinforcements from the second echelon. Once these arrive on the second day, a supporting attack is to be conducted north in order to cut off the traitors in the center of the enemy lines."
Saving the center for last, Wilder slid his pointer to several symbols on the map.
"In the center, the 3rd Shock army will form the primary thrust of our assault, with the 12th, 13th, 15th, and 16th Assault regiments forming the vanguard, are to create and secure a bridgehead, at which point the primary directive will be to search out and destroy or disrupt these ritual sites. It is clear that the traitors know they are outmatched, and in order to prevent… unknown elements… from compromising our plan it is necessary that we disrupt these by the second day at the latest. From that point, the 3rd shock army will cross and maintain several bridgeheads across the Stelraine in order to support the crossings on the third day of battle."
Wilder took in a labored, wheezing, breath before continuing. "On the third day, the goal will be to cross the Stelraine River and create a stable front line against Hive Valenci. Surrounding it on three sides, we will squeeze the enemy out into the open where the Aeronautica can prey on them. I do not need to tell you that time is of the essence as untainted citizens remaining in the hive are subject to unspeakable horrors for each moment we delay."
Faustus believed that it was the best he could do with what he had. A threat of encirclement combined with an armored thrust into their ritual sites combined with a deep southern push to split the enemy army in half.
"Questions?" Asks Wilder. This time, there were none. Faustus, however, stepped on stage.
"I understand that many of you have your doubts and concerns about the possibility of Xenos or otherwise unknown forces at play on the side of the enemy. We have, of course, prepared for such a possibility. As long as the plan is followed and we meet our objectives on time, we will be able to deliver the Emperors judgement upon those who would betray him." Faustus then turned to the commanders of the heavy artillery and navy liasons.
"Once they are found, our primary targets are the enemy's command and supply infrastructure. These heretics have no knowledge of how to support an army, and are likely straining the supply systems of the traitor regiments. The rest sit upon the lost bunkers and facilities they have gotten control over and struggle to understand. Without that, these secessionists will be revealed for what they truly are: a vile mass of hatred and heretical thought, writhing under the hand of the emperor. Without this ability to control their pitiful forces, any Xenos or otherwise will lose control over the battle. I know in my mind and my heart, that once we have begun, no force in the galaxy can stand against him on terra. Each of you represent the deliverance of his will against our foes, and I could not be prouder to see you in action." Faustus thought of his son. A flashing instant of worry, affection, and pride all welled up within him. He searched for the right words to close with, to tell them how proud he was of them, to take care of their men, and prepare them.
"Do your duty." He said, strolling abruptly to the door. They all jumped to attention. As he entered his office, Faustus wondered if they truly understood what was about to happen, if it was even humanly possible to understand.
As the meeting convened behind the General, Wilder stepped into one of the many labyrinthine stairwells in the bunker. He gasped for air, sweating and near exhaustion. Unbeknownst to his fellow officers, the man was asthmatic, and through sheer strength alone he was able to get through the briefing in that hot, stuffy room filled with pipe smoke. He needed air, clean crisp air that would purge his lungs. He climbed the stairwell slowly, gasping.
Wilder finally left the stairwell, near exhaustion, and labored up the ramp to the bunker doors. The interior guards saluted with their weapons out, and the duty officer behind a glass panel leapt to his feet to salute. Outside the bunker, the air was filled with the noise of Valkyrie engines as the craft lifted off and moved their personnel to their commands. Under the howl of the engines, countless vehicles groaned along to their planned destinations, making the earth feel like it was moving.
It was a massive strain on fuel supplies, but it could be weathered. It was far more important to keep the element of surprise. To move all of their troops perfectly into place, then wait in silence was the equivalent of shouting to the enemy that an attack was coming, and final deployments could even show where the main spearhead would be. Instead, the plan kept forces on the move, shifting and repositioning to give the appearance of a desperate, hasty, confused mass of defenders. Checking his pocketwatch, Wilder estimated that the vehicles belonged to the 16th Assault group, slowly making their way to their jump-off point.
The night air had reopened the passages to his lungs, and Wilder sighed in relief. To him, Faustus's plan would be like depriving a being of oxygen. The insurgents would be winded, and never allowed to regain their breath. In just a few hours, the first avengers would be on their way to strike enemy targets from the SDF ships.
And yet still the enemy did nothing.