Middle of Middenheim Valley, roughly same time

Archaron was alternating at watching the battle by what a long stay in the Chaos Desert had left of his eyes with using the senses more tuned to the empyrean to get an idea how the Battle was going. And so far he was happy. The additional forces he had been granted to unexpectedly were not winning the battle singlehandedly but they were keeping the Germans attention just fine. His army outnumbered the defenders many times and the mages at his disposal would be able to overpower what little protection there was on the sides of the defenders easily enough.
Finally the goal that he had pursued for several human lifetimes was within his reach and he would not fail. And if he were the single surviving member of the Chaos army of the coming battle-he would extinguish the flame of Ulrik.
He was about to switch sights again when one of his aides bowed screamed to get his attention.
"Sir, there is a message from the 47th scouts. There are many enemy flies incoming"
"It's a trap"

A-10 Warthog, 500 meter AGL, same time

Raimond Wurz was having a blast. He had not become a pilot of one of the most impressive CAS planes to sit on his ass. His posting to Germany had not promised any action and when the Weltensprung took him and his planes to the new world he had not been convinced that the Germans would have the cojones to do much with him.
To his joy he found that he was wrong-the Germans had found additional pilots to replace those that were not taken with Germany and had done their level best to keep his squadron supplied. And now in front of him was what only could be described as a "target rich environment".

Huge war machines dotted the battlefield, some of them far bigger than any tank he had ever seen and still moved. Blocks of infantry followed long skirmish lines, cavalry was ranging in all directions. Nice as this was these were not his chosen prey. While originally tasked to go after any siege engines several terse calls by his FAC`s made look for different targets. The Germans were having problems with some overgrown demons and it was his job to paste them. Lining his plane up with the left hillside of the valley one of the beasts filled his HUD. The sight made him draw breath in astonishment-these demons were looking like bad customers all right. From a distance and in a well-armored warbird this was ok, but how the ground-pounders stood up to them he could not say. Luckily he had just the right medicine to deal with it.
The GAU-8 Gatling cannon was a beast by its own, nearly 6 meters long and weighting 1800 kilogram it had been built to shred Main Battle tanks. To this end it fired up to 70 30 mm shells a second at high velocity. The gun was accurate enough that Wurz could use it very close to the German soldiers.

Pressing the trigger for half second bursts the pilot managed to hit the first Bloodthirster in his HUD with a dozen shells. Most of them were depleted U-238 and when the heavy metal shells hit the bronze armor of the Demon they promptly became so hot that the Uranium started to burn.
Fragments of Uranium burning at 2000 degrees were cutting through the chest of the demon, wrecking such havoc and causing such pain that the beast relinquished its hold of reality immediately vanishing from this world.
Turning his A10 into a wide curve Wurz tilted his place so he could see the survivors of his strafing run. Instead of running for cover they simply stood and made gestures that would indicate a challenge in a human. Stupid fraggers, they did not seem to have any ranged weapons. The Warthog pilot was willing to accommodate them if they wanted to play hero.

Storch 3, 250 meters AGL, Middenheim Battlefield, same time

Nathan Alpers kept his docile Storch on course without thinking about it. He needed his wits to look for the Orcs that had been reported on the left flank of the battlefield. Indeed he had found a mob who formed itself into something resembling a line in preparation to assault the hills on the right side of the field. While it was probable that the troops there could stop the attack by themselves there was no reason for them to do so.

"All Pirate elements, this is Lookout 1. Enemy forces at coordinates….. in a line. Will drop purple smoke at both ends." Pushing the button that released the first marker he reversed course and overflew the Greenskins a second time. Even at his low attitude they could not do much beyond making rude gestures. There was a flash of green lightning that missed his Storch by a mile but that was it. Marking the other end of the line was nearly automatic.
"All pirates, this is lookout. Markers set."
"Lookout 1 this is Pirate 1. We`ll give them 12 barrels of Hell."

Nathan got his plane around in time to see the two AC-160 Gunships approach the hillside and bank their former transport planes slightly. He could not see the muzzle flames that erupted from their flanks as he was on the wrong side of them, but even from here the results were clear. The 12 guns on both planes had a combined rate of fire of 200 rounds per second. Most of these rounds released a deadly spray of shrapnel shortly before hitting the ground.
The long line of Orcs together with the brushwork and soil around them were transformed as by the magic brush of a mad painter. Where half a second ago green leaves and a green vigorously aggressive horde competed for attention now was the green blood mixed with the mud revealed by the destroyed plants. It was a sudden horrible and necessary massacre-and it would pale against what would happen soon.

40 Kilometers North of Middenheim, 300 Meters AGL A400 M Transport

Paul Müller watched the growing strip of daylight that was revealed by the opening ramp of his plane. This was the second time he would jump into battle and he could only hope that it would go better than the last time. This time there would not be any Landwehr Grandpas to pull his ass out of the fire.
The green light and the "Gogogo" sent him out of the plane. Contrary to training he just ran out of the plane, it worked best for him. The immense jerk from the parachute harness came before he had time to worry. On the way down he saw that the pilot had indeed found his mark this time and that the ground was fit to land on. He managed a by-the book landing and gathered his platoon without too much ado.
He directed his soldiers to dig at the place his Lieutenant had chosen and started making up the range charts. No enemy was in sight and that was as it should be. Before long a couple of CH 53 helos arrived and unloaded their Wiesel tanks which made Müller feel much better.

B-52 Bomber 4000 meters above ground, Holding station above the Great Forest

Mike Kozlowski started to get annoyed-he had been flying a racetrack-shaped course for the last 15 minutes without getting the word. What was happening? The radio reports they could get from the battlefield were mixed and gave no clear indication. The good news was that the fog was gone-the bad news was that some of the German ground troops were in close contact with the enemy.
He was debating with himself whether he should raise control and ask for a go-ahead for a visual bombing when radio came alive on its own.
"Grey Lady, this is Control. You are good to go, repeat you are good to Go"
"Understood"
"Bombs, this is the Captain. You have anything for me."
"I have just got both beacons Skipper. Come to course 73 for 59 Miles and descend to 1500 feet for the IP, then course will be 81 degree"
"Got it, here we go folks"

Pushing his 8 throttles a bit forward the Pilot brought the huge Bomber around and pushed its nose downwards. A long time ago one of the possible modes of attack for this bomber was low level to evade radar. Today the reasons were different but the effect was the same – taking the plane low to the earth was one of the most exhilarating things Kozlowski could think about. Taking the bomber to 500 meters above ground the quickly moving terrain gave him a feeling for the speed he was moving and made him work to keep attitude and course.
"Skipper, Bombs here. IP coming up in 10…9…. Come to new course"
From the Initial Point or IP the bomber would not deviate from course until it had released its bombs. The plane was mostly in the hands of the Radar Navigator now who steered the bomber to battle.

As the Chaos Army had hid behind a fog and as visibility could not be guaranteed the plan of attack for the Grey Lady rested on two radio beacons placed on both sides of the battlefield. They had been placed so that the biggest possible part of the enemy was between the two when the bomber would arrive. Having lined the B-52 up with the two beacons the Radar Navigator had an easy job. Dialing in an offset of 500 meters from both beacons he armed the weapons in the cavernous bomb bay.
The payload for this and similar trips had been discussed at length. Cluster Bombs had been ruled out for the dud rate and cost, FAE`s were too dependent on the weather. Iron bombs had been favored then, but a discussion with imperials about what worked best against magical enemies had shifted the decision on another track. To the Colonels best knowledge no B52 had ever used it but there was no good reason for it not to work. The tests runs had been impressive to say the least.
"Bombs here-opening bomb bay-bomb bay open. Stand by for release"

The huge bomber cleared the ridge line to the left of the battlefield by a scant 200 meters and then even descended a bit. It was bigger than anything flying ever seen by Imperials or Chaos worshippers, screaming with all the force of 8 turbofan engines and coming in at a speed that could not be measured by the onlookers. To the beings in its path it did not look like any Angel of Death their mythologies might have produced, but there it was coming for them.
The bomber was barely free of the ridgeline when he started to drop a continuous line of 250-kg canisters. They lacked any stabilizing fins and therefore tumbled as soon as they hit the airstream-which was the Grey Lady had come down so low to conduct her business. When the canisters hit the ground they ruptured from impact alone and each of the 130 spread a viscous gel in an oval of 25x75 meters. It struck to anything it touched.

Composed of a nasty mixture of gasoline, benzol, polysterene and some other substances it was known in the world left behind by the Grey Lady as Napalm B. Within the few seconds that it took the Bomber to cross the valley the biggest part of Archaron`s army was coated by it. A wall of fire rose up from the bombers path that consumed everything it touched. Burning at 1200 degree the flames killed everything directly under the bombers path to ashes within seconds. Flesh ignited itself, body fat burned with sooty smoke, bones crumbled to ashes. Many of the Siege engines either started to burn enthusiastically or started to melt from the furnace heat. Most of them were empowered by denizens of the warp who now felt the pain of their engines destruction and cursed any moment they were still struck in this reality until their release to their natural realm. Those in the direct path of the napalm were the lucky ones dying quickly and without much pain. Those at the borders of the destruction were those for whom the full horror was reserved. Finding limbs aflame the being realized that there was no way to get rid of the sticky substance, no way to quench the flames and no choice but to endure unbearable pain. Most of them would die soon enough from shock and poisoned proteins but every second they still lived was one too many.
A few mages under the bombardment managed to erect shields of protection or had items of power who provided similar. They found that the napalm would burn for nearly 10 minutes and the combination of intense heat and the total lack of oxygen killed nearly all of them.

Middenheim Battlefield same time

Any other General in history would have been devastated by the horror which had just been inflicted the Chaos Army. Archaron had no way to estimate the amount of losses as the fires sown by this flier were still burning but it was clear that the great majority of his army had just been killed.
A human would have been wrecked by empathy with the killed and maimed, crippled by self-doubt and stunned by the sudden reversal of fortune. Archaron`s mind had not been human for a long time now and for him the only question was how to use what was left to him to his ends. Watching another group of fast moving planes cross the battlefield who dropped an endless stream of small bombs across one of the units spared by the great fire he knew what to do.

"Close with the walls at all speed, that is the only way-assault the walls point-blank. They cannot hit us when we are too close to their allies. Forward to victory."
Whether it was common sense, barking madness or magic no one could say-but it worked. What was left of the communications chains the Chaos Warlord had established managed to bring the order to the rests of the army quickly. And against all odds, against anything making sense the rest of the army went to the Charge. The walls of Middenheim were just 2 Kilometers away, how hard could it be.

Walls of Middenheim, same time

Count Boris of Middenheim was not sure if he should be elated or horrified. He managed to be both at the same time, something which set his mind askew. His face reflected the flames that soared over the field in front of him, consuming the forces of Chaos utterly. Even at this great distance he was able to feel the heat in his face. In a few seconds it had transformed a horrible army into an even equally horrible pyre. It did not just burn the Counts enemies, it also burned the Counts notions how war was waged. He had the haft of his mighty hammer in his hands for assurance. It was a weapon of great reknown and was only equaled by the rune sword that was his right to wield. And yet it seemed so impotent contrasted to the massacre he just watched.
He had spent most of his life learning how to rule and how to wage war-and he could clearly see that the old lessons were for naught now. He watched the charge of the remaining Chaos horde impassively. An hour ago an army of even its reduced size would have seemed a capable threat against his city-and now?

"So this is what you mean by cutting the throats of your enemies in one go, Herr Proktor"
"We are not through totally yet but we are getting there."
Silently the Count watched his riflemen and the German heavy weapons teams ready themselves. He watched the outgoing fire that seemed so useless against such a distant enemy and saw the masses of enemies that dropped like ninepins wherever the bullets fell. Fountains of dirt like instant poplar rose wherever the German mortars dropped their deadly loads-and still the enemy advanced.
They reached the first line of barbed wire which had been strung before the cities walls. They seemed so frail and useless from here but the binoculars revealed the Marauders who could not free themselves, the horses brought low and the knight who hacked impotently at the wire.
The bunch-up resulting from this brought an even better target for the defenders who exploited it for all it was worth. The Chaos army just managed to get over the wire by dropping its dead and wounded on the lines and then climb over them-but still this delay cost them dearly.
No Enemy had yet even reached the foot of Middenheim`s mighty walls.

"So, this is how you wage war Herr Proktor. Dealing death from afar, playing spy games with the enemy so he does not know where he is and where to strike, never exposing yourself to danger, never telling the truth? Do you even know what truth is, do you have any notion of honor?"
Count Boris was used to the Cold Winters that ruled Middenland and encountered many a winter storm. None of them was as cold as the voice that answered him or the eyes that refused to break contact despite his rank and fury.

"You doubt my honor Highness. Do that as you must, but I have a different one from you. My honor is to defeat the enemy, no matter what it takes. My honor is to protect as many civilians as possible, no matter what it takes. And my honor is indeed to achieve this by taking the least possible casualties to our soldiers-that is my honor. I do not crave glorious personal combat so that somebody can laud my courage; I do not need to tell the enemy where and when I deign to meet him so he can kill my soldiers most efficiently just to save me the trouble of shaping the battle. And if this is not honor enough for you, you might examine your concept of it…highness."
"Oh, so there is a heart in you after all. We will speak of this further, you and I"
"If you so wish highness"
Count Boris continued to watch the massacre of Chaos below. He could see the new face warfare on his world and he did not like it any.

Storch 03, 200 meters AGL, Middenheim battlefield,same time

Nathan Alpers had switched sides-of the battlefield of course. The Orc threat on the right flank had been drowned mostly in its own blood and the rest could be handled by the troops on the ridgeline. The left flank of the field was another matter entirely. Here the Bloodthirsters had closed with the Germans too much to be effected by the Napalm bombardment. The A-10 planes had started to make great inroads on them but usually could only get one per strafing run. As the Demons were into very close contact with the ground forced even they had to be careful. But there were more ways to skin the rabbit. His big brothers were expending their last munitions on the Bloodletters and their hounds that had been slowed by the next line of barbed wire so this needed a different solution. He currently had a group of 5 Demons in his sight who seemed to be only angered by the German rifle fire and even autocannons were not so effective as one could wish.

"Barbara 1, this is Lookout 1. I need a fire mission of 5 guided munitions in 1 minute, Interval 10."
"Lookout 1, Barbara 1 acknowledged." After a short pause which allowed Nathan to reverse course and fly alongside the battle even more slowly ""Lookout 1 from Barbara 1-out"
"Turning on the light then"
Normally this would have taken another crewmember, but that would have reduced endurance. Nathan left the plane to its autopilot and used the "Coolie hat" on his joystick to turn a laser on his first target. Counting mentally to impact he was not surprised when the upper chest of a Bloodthirster disappeared with an explosion from the inside. Barbara was the codename for the artillery detachment of Combat Group Loy. They had just fired 5 155 mm laser guided shells that he would have to introduce to their targets. He could not allow himself to be distracted as he had less than 10 seconds to point the Laser at the next target-the shell was already in the air. He managed in time but sub-optimal aim and shell diversion meant that this shell "just" ripped a leg off. He had a hard time to switch between targets in time but in the end it did not matter. The last Demon just popped from existence before "his" shell could land.

Shaking from mental exhaustion the pilot took the helm again from the autopilot and wondered what else this battle would bring.
Flying back to the middle of the Valley he spotted several Tornado Bombers bombing a part of the Army on the far side of the fire. The long boat-like container under the fuselage ejected submunitions to the left and right of the planes leaving a carpet of death and injury behind them.
An explosion pulled his head to another bearing; it looked like the A-10 were going after the few surviving siege engines with Maverick rockets. Time to sew this up.

Leopard 2 MBT, left flank of the Battlefield, a little later

"Commander, this is loader. We have 5 HE, 5 frag and 4 KE munitions left" Ulrich Stoiber had expected this, it did not mean that he was happy with it. The ever-increasing caliber of Tanks main guns meant that there were fewer shells. Where a Leo 1 had 68 105mm Shells he had 40 120 mm. And this battle was so intense that he used up ammo like there was no tomorrow.

The last Bloodthirster had come too close for comfort. He took the risk of a short flight that made him immune to the tanks guns who could not elevate enough. Before the Luftwaffe could do anything he had been among Stoiber`s Platoon and had charged the tank next to him. The whip had removed the remote weapons station and would have killed the commander is he would not have dropped into his turret in time. The huge axe of the demon had crashed into the Leopards armor again and again chopping of bits of Steel, Titanium and ceramics. The crew shot the Bloodthirster with their Coax but if there were any effect nobody could see them. The Demon was actually too close to the tank to use the main gun.
Ulrich had maneuvered his tank behind the Bloodthirster and had elevated the gun so far that it cleared the other tank in case of a miss. Because they were so close he could not shoot the center of mass, but shell hit closely under the tail of the Demon. It would have ripped the beast apart if it would not have released its hold in this world immediately. His crew would talk about the "120 mm Enema" for years to come.

But now he had made sure the shaken crew of the attacked tank was ok and had reported their status to the Colonel in charge. That had given them new orders-form a line perpendicular to the Middenheim walls and attack the Chaos Army in the flank. Just that he had very few munitions to do this. No matter-orders were orders and his tank was not unarmed just because his main gun was down to 1/3 ammo.
Having aligned his tanks with the edge of the barbed wire in a line Ulrich checked the situation one more time-everybody there, nothing that could challenge his tank in sight-so:

"Platoon, this is Ulrich-on my mark-charge this rabble to the other side of the wall. Don`t stop for anybody-and turn the music back on"
And so, to the sound of the Panzerlied, 5 tanks charged the remnants of the Chaos army in line abreast. Machine guns tore through them massed enemy, grenades from 5 automatic grenade launchers send shrapnel into the enemy`s legs and occasionally the main guns send their challenge to the world. All of this made the Chaos army stop what they were doing. What broke their morale were the tracks of the tanks-they did indeed not stop for anything.
The Chaos warriors had already been stressed past the point where any human army would have functioned. Only superhuman hate and endurance and the fear of punishment as only the Chaos Champions could deal had kept them in line. Being shot from two sides, with iron monsters bearing on them that ground to paste all that was in their way was too much. The unit cohesion, such as it were finally broke and the warriors ran into whatever direction promised salvation. Few stood, some simply paralyzed into it, others as they wanted to stem the tide. The latter usually died when they became too hard to get around, but a few stood.

One of them never showed any despair. Until the last minute he tried to get his warriors to storm the walls, until the last second hacked his mighty sword either at the thrice-damned barbed wire or at fleeting soldiers. It made Archaron stand out-and that is not a good place to be.
"Loader, load KE"
"Up"
"Gunner, target is rider at 11 o clock"
"Commander, are you sure, KE?"
"Do it"
"Yessir-on the way…"

Inside the cannon chemicals mixed in violent reaction, producing pressures usually found in the deep layers of gas giants. A cylinder was accelerated down the smooth tube with an acceleration that would kill anything inside the shell. Leaving the muzzle at 1600 meters per second the outer light alloy shell was stripped off by air resistance, leaving a slender dart made from Tungsten Carbide. It connected with the breast plate of Archarons armor. It would have penetrated more than 300 mm of homogenous armor-it did not penetrate the primitive looking plate, such was the favor of the Dark Gods. But it did hand over its kinetic energy to the warlord who was ripped right out of the saddle by the shot and dropped more than 50 meters from it. Whether the armor contained anything living before was the matter of debate-no movement could be seen after Archaron landed. It was certain that there was nothing left when the tracks of Ulrichs tanks ground the Warlord flat-whether turning the tank on the armor a couple of times was overkill or simply making sure was never decided for sure.

40 Kilometers north of Middenheim, a few hours later

"Here they come again" Paul Müller had been tired and exhausted already but adrenaline made take his firing position in no time. Another small group from the defeated army tried to get back into the hinterland. His paratroopers occupied this position exactly to prevent that. The night that had covered the battlefield with darkness had not improved the chances of the Orcs any-they stood out like sore thumbs on thermal and were well visible on night vision.
The paratroppers had tried to get the first groups to surrender-to no avail. Hoping to find an enemy they could reach at last they had all charged the German positions-with the usual results. One group had been big and determined enough to require the services of the claymore mines in front of Paul`s position but none had reached their lines.

Then newcomers were different-Paul could not remember to see so big Orc ever. They clustered around one example who seemed to be bigger than a Grizzly. He took his rifle to the shoulder-by now everything was routine enough that he could shoot without missing much-and when the command came shot "his" Orc. Whether it was his hit that took him down or one of the others did not matter, going down did. Firing at another and another took all of his attention until only one was standing. Staggering on his legs like a drunk under the rifle impact he did not die until one of the Wiesel tankettes applied its autocannon.
Paul would never know, but this were the shots that ended the Storm of Chaos.

River Reik, 10 days after the Battle of Middenheim

Aurelius Ethelorn, Noble of the House of Eras looked at his ship with the sure knowledge that there was none better. It was just fitting that this ship and the small fleet of its sisters were transporting him and his entourage on this mission.
His House had always been one of the most noble of Ulthuan going back to the time of the civil wars itself. Nobody would ever talk about it, such would be gauche but the silent understanding of his family had always been that the Phoenix crown would have rested at least as well on their brows as on the ones that received it.
Even when fate had decried that his house would be denied this lofty position he would always sacrifice to serve the interests of Elvenkind.
His eyes followed the smooth wave described by the deck he was standing on. Not only was it pleasant to the eye but it served to reduce the stresses caused by the wave this craft pierced so elegantly, such was the wisdom of the elves shipbuilders. The planks of the deck were fitted so well that it was hard to see where the seams lay; such was the craftsmanship of its builders. The sails would be filled by winds commanded by magic; such was the magnificent lore of true elvenkind. It was a good day to be..."HOOOOOOT"

The ship that had issued the mechanical shout was ugly in the extreme. Its free-board was scarcely a meter and its segmented body had very broad, inelegant proportions. What could be seen of its cargo was the red shoddy look of iron ore and the almost comically small deckhouse emitted a small amount of black sooty smoke. The few deckhands that could be seen wore different clothing and that they were well-fed was a polite way to describe their figures. It was an ugly, plodding ship going upriver to feed one of Germany`s forges with material, a ship of no elegance, no history and no arms. It was also overtaking his small fleet and signaled its intentions by the deep "Hoot" emitted somewhere from the deckhouse.
It was an affront to the noble's sensitivities that such an ugly craft would be faster than the elven build ships or that this ship would dare to challenge the right-of-way of his betters but there were few things he could do about that-for now.

The intervention by the German ship brought his mind to a different track-one that reached several weeks into the past.
With the near-perfect memory given his kind he was back in the elegant room in which the Phoenix King did his real business. Besides Tyrion`s ever-handsome self there was Admiral Aislinn and several other prices who led parts of the Elven host as well as Osterion who handled the relations to those reals considered friendly or at least harmless. The most important attendant besides the Phoenix King was Teclis. The polar opposite of Tyrion in appearance he was the most powerful mage the high elves had.
It had been after the age-honored rituals of greetings and the pleasantries which Tyrion used like a tool that the hammer dropped when Tyrion spoke up.

"Nearly a moon ago the German ambassador informed us of a huge fleet of Druchii that may have a course for Ulthuan. We did at first not pay much attention to this information but send a number of Gryphons to check it out. At first they were unable to verify the German claims as there was a storm where the asserted Fleet was to be. It took a massive intervention of Teclis to lift that veil and it indeed revealed a huge Fleet of our misguided cousins."
Admiral Aislinn took up the presentation from there

"After we knew what was coming-and from the Gryphon-riders report is is the largest Druchii-fleet seen in a long time-we had to assemble a suitable fleet of the Seaguard. Unfortunately by the time sufficient forces were marshaled the Druchii had made their target clear. They have taken harbor in the Bay of Drusilla. There is not much of anything there but that means that the landing was mostly unopposed. By now the entrance of the bay is protected by 2 Black Arcs and field fortifications on both sides-attacking these would be hideously expensive. Their supplies and reinforcements are another matter."

"The warning was still not without value. We increased the forces protecting the royal family and could indeed bag two assassins who were about to slay the Phoenix King and the Everqueen." Teclis had taken over when the Admiral had said his piece. This is a most worrying development. All portents had shown a new crusade of Chaos already for last year. Then the Germans came and the prophesies were not worth the Vellum they were written on.
Now it is obvious that the fell powers just delayed their assault and we have to find ways to curb their designs. We should be able to counter this invasion, in the end it is one of many. But we have to see to the developments in the Old World also. While many of you see few worth in the fate of the Empire and the other humans our aims will not be furthered if these realms fall to Chaos. This would doubly be true of the newcomers, the Germans. We cannot spare many troops or mages but it is obvious where the humans lack most-wisdom and leadership. We can provide them that at the very least, but we need a wise and worldly noble to undertake this mission."

Aurelius should have cleared this throat at another moment, really.

Altdorf, upper Market, 2 Weeks after the Battle of Middenheim

Sabine West was walking along the row of booths of the Altdorf market. It was quite a spectacle to the petite German physical therapist had done some shopping here during the last days. She had learned the ancient art of haggling and was highly looking forward towards the results promised to her by the tailor whom she had delivered some cloth to.
She was happy that she did not stand out too much-her current outfit had been influenced by some imperial fashion anyway and she had followed the advice against wearing trousers. It still gave the locals the willies.
Now she was on the way towards the small Kurfuerst alley, a small street that had by tradition hosted lots of foreign restaurants. To the Kislevite eateries, the Estelian open-air restaurants and the Tilean pasterias the Germans had added a Beer Garden, a Paulaner, a Wienerward and of course a McDonalds. The latter was chock full with Imperials who all wanted to check this newest fad and the stains on many an expensive traders robe showed that not everybody had mastered the art of eating a McRib yet. The street by itself was full of foreigners, with Germans making up a good proportion.
She was heading for the Paulaner, she wanted to meet her fiancé there who after some time in the field wanted some food he could relate to. Trying to find ways through the crowd around her she did not look backwards and therefore was surprised at the hand that clamped around her shoulder like a vise.

Wilhelm van Hals was in a fool mood. The reknown Inquisitor fulfilled his duties faithfully in Stirland during the last days and had been successful in rooting out heresies, corruption and fellowship of Chaos. It was only to be expected that a man left to his own devices would have to confiscate the means to follow his calling.
His reputation for the zeal by which he followed any suspect and the intensity he applied to the investigation of any wrongdoings had roused the attention of the mighty of the Order of Sigmar-some of them enamored with his methods. Unfortunately the corruption that had taken the Empire had even influenced the holy Order of Sigmar and some of its decadent members were criticizing his methods as "too harsh" and his confiscations as "self-serving".
So the higher ranks of the Order had called him to Altdorf while they debated his fate. He was taking it with ill grace. In order to work of some of his zeal-others might call it frustrations-he had taken his entourage and had started to patrol the streets of Altdorf in the search of the witch, the cultist, the heretic to bring them to justice.

One of his greatest assets was Johann. The child of a mage he had burned many years ago had proven remarkably adept to sniff out people with a connection to the Empyrean. Wilhelm was still sure that it was a mistake to give permits to mages who pretended to work for the good of the Empire, but at least he could check anybody Johann pointed out for a permit and woe betide anybody who did not have such a permit.
And now Johann pointed out a petite redhead that by his words "reeked of the fell powers". Hans Moser one of his henchmen approached her and gripped her shoulder so she could not get away while Wilhelm watched.

"Where is your permit witch?"
"What permit are you talking about?"
"Your permit for witchcraft strumpet?"
"Are you mad? I am no witch."
"That is what they all say-we take you with us"
The witch was moving under Hans grip and was obviously trying to get away. Hans put a leg behind her and shoved so that the witch dropped to the cobblestones. She got something out of her clothes and pressed it against the henchman.
The scream that came from the burly man was loud enough to stop any conversation on the market and the adjourning district. It was so shrill, so full of pain and astonishment that nobody would have related it to the big man if he did not see it.

Luckily the rest of his men were on the ball and fixed the woman with a capture collar. This was a proven piece of equipment with a long handle that terminated in a collar with spikes on the inside which had a funnel-shaped front. Easy to get in and hard to escape it stopped the most determined wrongdoer.
Time to assert himself. Shouting with a voice that would have put most professional market tenders to shame he worked the crowd which started getting excited. "Here you can see what happens when you let down your guard-the witch can walk into you midst and ruin the honest. To the pyre with the witch and crrrk"

The ratcheting noise was not very loud but very close to his ear and stopped him in his tracks. Turning his head the source of the sound turned out to be a nearly two meters high man wearing a incongruously colored shirt which even screamed its affliction to Chaos into the world. What else could the words "Aces very high" and the picture of a man without skin mean-and who was "Iron Maiden"?
What was not much of a riddle was the gun which the man had just cocked and pointed into his face and his "Stop what you are doing asshole and unhand my fiancée" had enough command in it that it nearly made him do just that. But who but a fiend would support such an obvious strumpet of Chaos.
Well maybe the somewhat smaller foreigner who wore at least parts of a Landwehr Uniform. The brown-haired soldier also hand a handgun but so far pointed his above the heads of everybody. He was accompanied by a Dwarf with a long knife in hand who looked ready to support the newcomer.

"Better do what he says boyo. This is no witch but the fiancée of Major Gerber. Threatening her could be a very stupid move" His Reikspiel was noticeably better than those of the foreigners whom he suspected of being Germans.
"Can you not see that she is a witch of the worst order-did you not see what she did to my man? If you protect such a corrupt creature you might become suspicious yourself."
That had worked every time when he used it-nobody wanted to be part of a witch hunt. It did decidedly not work on the Germans. Before he could think about whether he could take them with his men several more joined them from the crowd.

"Can we help in any way?" One of the Germans was holding a handgun which looked bigger than the small strange looking guns shown so far and his uniform was even less known than that of the Landwehr. The next was a slender blonde with receding hair. Holding a businesslike compact weapon at his men he kept a sensible distance and looked like he knew what he was doing. Another had a black somehow Bretonian looking hat and was obviously competent with his weapon. The last man was an even stranger sight. Older, with broad shoulders he wore a robe that would not look out of place with the Order of Shallya-an order only for women.
The robed man bent down to Hans who was still lying on the cobblestones making mewling noises checking on him and also went to the women his man still held to the ground. Ignoring his enforcer he checked on her also, obviously trusting the others to watch his back.
When he stood up he went face to face with Wilhelm.

"Mrs. West is indeed a healer. The Order of Shallya is working on her permit, it will be issued soon. I suggest you unhand her immediately"
"What are you clown-a castrati in the service of Shallya, a clown wearing clothes he is not entitled to or.."
"I suggest that you take this up with Reverend Mother Herad at the Temple. If you want any treatment from the order in future I would want to be a little respectful if I were you. And now unhand that woman or I step aside and watch your brains color the wall behind you Burner of Women. It is all the same to me."
"You saw what this…women did to my armsman-it must be sorcery of the highest order."
"Sorry to disappoint you zealot, but Mrs. West sensibly packed a Taser, a totally mundane device that gives off strong electric shocks to its target. From where she was she could only apply it to this idiots groin. I do not think that permanent damage will occur, but he will have a hard time getting it up any time soon. That should teach him to be more polite in future. And now it is time for a decision-release Mrs. West and check with the order that all is well-or die like the ignorant asshole that you are."

It took some more talking but the result was never in doubt. A short visit to the temple later showed that the Order of Shallya indeed did accept Sabine West as a magic healer, even when neither the German woman had any idea that she might have talents before. Everybody agreed that this called for a Beer or two at the Paulaner.
Rather later than planned but happy that all was well the Germans started their introductions:

"I am Joakim Vos and with the 1st Landwehr. I work with the ground pounders in the overgrown commuter train that this guy over there commands."
"That is the train Hammer to you. I am Major Henrik Gerber and indeed command the train and the first Landwehr-so far. Thanks again for the help to my fiancée-this is Sabine West."
"Train Hammer-I heard things about that one. I am Nathan Alpers and usually I fly a Storch out of Lager Middenheim."
"I think I saw you flying a couple of times. I am Ralf Winkler, medic with the 32st Landwehr from papenburg but currently working for the Order of Shallya. Long story-ask later when we had the Beer. May I introduce my wife, Christine to everybody."
"Ulrich Stoiber, I am from the 183 Panzer Battalion and just got back from Middenheim. We are all in for the Ceremony on Baekertag I gather?"
"Oh not me I am afraid." The blonde man who so far had mostly kept quiet sat next to a stunning brunette that had accompanied the German when he entered the restaurant. "I am Markus Koch and I am trying to teach some brewery over here. Countess Vallya here tries to continue this in Nuln-and she is negotiating unfairly." The joke got a lot of laughter from the assembled Germans and an elbow in his ribs from the brunette who took in in stride.

It was a lot of beers, sausages and pork knuckles later that the slightly tipsy Germans walked from the restaurant into the cool evening air.
They were greeted by the lantern wielding night-watchman who made his rounds. Above them an airship was light up by the two moons and a steam engine issued its lonely cry.
"Jesus folks, we are not in Kansas anymore"