Ulthuan Embassy, Altdorf, same time
Aurelius Ethelorne looked out of the window to the street crossing before his embassy and he did not like what he saw. The thin line of imperial riflemen had taken up positions minutes before and the howls and squealing that became ever louder told him why this was so. He was close enough to hear the commands and encouragements of the human officers and warrants.
"Look to the ground men-there you see one meter of pavement before you. This meter of pavement is what I ask you to defend. Can you defend one meter of Altdorf, now that you have been given such weapons men?"
Another voice: "Hey men-you know what the polished knights borne by their all-so nobles call us: Dirt. And that is what we are-dirt. We work with our own hands for our food-dirt. We have no families who were already friendly with Sigamar-we have to fight for our reputation ourselves-Dirt. We are just dirt and nobody can defeat us."
"The third one, raspy and brutal "First one to turn gets my bayonet"
Humans, so primitive, so brutal, so limited in their ability to see the common good..
And then the men lifted their rifles and started shooting at the unseen enemy. At first the salvoes were like aloud ragged "Bang" but then dissolved into a rattle when the riflemen fired at their individual best speed. Behind some barbed wire and some sand-filled sacks a machine gun opened fire in short salvos that sounded like ripping cloth-and still no enemy could be seen. The bright brass shells accumulated at the feet of the riflemen who were shooting at frantic pace and the din of their firing drowned out most of the enemy`s sounds and still nothing could be seen. Surely the humans were panicing and wasting their ammunition at ghosts and shadows-and then the flood came into the square before the riflemen.
A flood of dirty fur, of rusty armor, of tooth, claw and ugly weaponry. A flood of rats far too numerous to be counted, too many to stop with ordinary weapons. A flood sure to rout the thin line of oh-so-common human soldiers and leave his Asur to their own devices.
A line that did not break-but kept firing shot after shot. A machine gun that had stopped firing measured salvos and that ripped great gaps into the oncoing mass. A line where every second soldier stepped forward to the wire and found the foremost Skaven with their long rifles and dreadful bayonets-and none broke. Still the riflemen shot through the gaps and the Skaven simply did not live long enough to break the front rank sufficiently. Remarkable, perhaps they knew they were watched by their betters and this stiffened their spines?
It was the flood that broke-not the thin grey line. Leaving their dead and retreating as fast as they could, hurried onwards by relentless shooting.
The humans cheered, they looked after their injured-and then they started shooting again. The flood of teeth and claws was back fighting its way over their own dead loosing members nearly as fast as they could replenish them through the narrow streets just for the chance to grapple with these humans that refused to yield.
The flood came forward-and then retreated before it even had reached the wire. The spheres that were hurled at the imperial line seemed to come out of nowhere. When they burst on the ground between the riflemen and the machine gun they emitted sickly green clouds of vapor, quickly engulfing the humans. When they vapor dissipated many humans lay on the ground, either writhing in cramps or laying in the final stillness of death. Nobody manned the machine gun that had made up such a large part of the human fire power-and then the Skaven were back.
Shrill squealing of fresh courage and bloody promises filled the air and the Skaven attack resumed in earnest on a much weakened line.
And the line did not break. There were fewer men-but they still fired. There were fewer bayonets to hold back the tide-the barbed wire did for an uncountable second. There was no healthy body to man the machine gun.
But one of the sick ones crawled over to it, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. Another human with a hand clearly not capable of anything lifted a belt by his arm-and then at a distance of less than 20 meters the machine gun spoke again.
The little factory of death fired far too quickly that individual shots could be heard. The rats too close to it were literally ripped in half and the bullets that maimed them did not stop with their first victims. Working from the flank of the last assault the unexpected defense did what the most courageous riflemen could not and took the starch right out of the Skaven.
Still too many enemy were pouring into the streets from behind-this was not going to end well.
Aurelius Ethelore looked at the human line that was between him and death with a face as even and as unmoving as fine marble. Anything else would have been unseemly. And yet behind the calm façade emotions, conventions older than some civilizations and rational thought clashed over what the ambassador had seen.
His voice did neither waiver or rise to particular loudness when he spoke the first sentences to be heard since 30 bloody minutes "Why do the lessons of these new times always come at such pain and cost? Anyway, that settles the matter. Aeolus, take your bowelfs into the street, at the level of our gate, parallel to the riflemen. Tyriael, your Silver Helmets go in front of the Imperials-they shoot better than they use cold steel."
"Highness, are you sure? We are supposed to be your guard and as close to you as feasible"
"Fine then, then you will be right around me."
Prison, Altdorf, a little later
The airstrike had collapsed the old Altdorf Prison on its foundations and Henrik Gerber was pretty sure that any entrance from the Skaven Undercity into the city above was well and truly sealed. That did not mean he could ignore the pile of rubble left nor the houses surrounding the Plaza-there were simply too many Skaven in there.
From what his wireless set and the steady trickle of casualties accumulating at his command post told him the house-to house clearing was successful but bloody business. Even with their modern firearms and body armor all too often an oversized rat would successfully hide behind some furniture or corner and ambush the soldiers. It would have been a problem anyway but the Landwehrmen were forced to wear protective masks due to the CS they used and the Poison Wind employed by some Skaven. While a lifesaver against the wind and a dire necessity against the irritants the masks restricted the field of view and did not enhance hearing any.
So there were more and more soldiers who stumbled out of a house clutching broken arms or were carried by their comrades. Henrik and his subordinates had their work cut out reorganizing the assault groups to keep them effective. Still, the top-down assault tactics, the teamwork and the modern weapons were a winning combination-house by house the rats were killed or tried to flee-the latter case usually put them in front of some machine gun covering the lanes and streets.
Clearing the rubble left of the prison would be worse and footing would be less sure and there were no clear paths but a myriad more places to hide. The Landwehr Major did not look forward to this part of the operation.
It was then when his second wireless set crackled to life again. "Hammer actual from Bund Actual-do you read me?"
"Loud and clear Oberst Grube, go ahead"
"There are more flyboys who want to join the game Major. Most of them should be used outside Altdorf-they are just a little bit too much of a good thing to work inside Altdorf. But the Helicopter Brigade South wants to play - get a set to channel 129 and you can talk to them directly."
"Thanks, I`ll see what I can work out with them then."
It took him a while to set up the correct channel and get recognized. When he was finally connected right he was talking to "Old Man" Crüwell himself. Henrik knew the General from several official functions and field exercises and worked very well together.
"So General, what is on the menu today?"
"Oh, we have 6 Tiger with Cannons, 70 mm Rockets and the odd HOT pod. I can also recommend 5 Hinds with cannon, some Laser Guided missiles and we have a special on Willie Pete. When we arrive we should have 30 minutes on station before we need to refuel."
"Now that would come nicely. Do you have you Map handy?"
"Certainly"
"Good. First we need your copters to patrol the following roads: Reiklandstreet, Geheimnissstreet and Tilean Way and have them shoot anything that is furry. The Skaven are using these roads for large scale movement and we need to isolate the damn Rats and then pick them apart in detail.
Use Cannon only. This bleeding city would burn like hell if we use anything else. I have one target for you Willie Pete`s-I guess they are the new laser-guided ones?"
"Yes, they are."
"Ok, I`ll hand you off to the FO, you can discuss the details."
The Landwehr Major switched channels again. "First and third company-prepare for the assault on this heap of stones-make sure you are at least 20 meters away till then and find good cover. This is the 15 minutes warning."
A few minutes later his FO informed him that he was indeed painting the prison with his laser and that the strike was inbound. "Head up people-the Airedales come in. Danger close-repeat danger close"
He was just about hearing the characteristic "Whup Whup" of the helicopter blades when several contrails showed the incoming missiles. Build on the engines and airframes of old "Sparrow" air-to air missiles the rebuild had reduced range, changed the seeker to laser guidance and drastically changed the warhead. When the missiles own small radar told them they were at the prescribed attitude and distance from target small burster charges released a payload from hell. Countless small pellets made of white phosphorus ignited once they had contact with air and distributed themselves all over the ruin that had been a prison. This might be the only place in all of Altdorf where they could use this weapon as it was big enough not to ignite houses that were not meant to.
The Skaven that still remained in the rubble were the careful ones, the injured and the frightened who had not relished storming machine guns with no chance for survival or victory. As they had by now all realized that they could neither advance nor retreat they were getting more and more agitated during the stand-off. The explosions of the missiles were subdued compared to what they had already witnessed-the effects were not. Anybody hit by the burning pellets was in for grisly injury or slow death as there was no possibility to quench the phosphorous until it had burned out. But even the ones not hit were affected. A lot of wood and other residue that had not burned before ignited, adding to the heat and smoke.
The Phosphorus released a white, very dense smoke that irritated the sensitive Skaven noses, brought them to bad coughing from seared airways and made their eyes tear uncontrollably. Together with the heat the fire gave off the Skaven had just been put in hell-and that was the start of their problems.
From the hatch of his tank Henrik Gerber watched the hell of his devising and tried to calculate when the warhead burned themselves out sufficiently. Taking his best estimate he took up the wireless again.
"All assault elements-make sure your masks are tight-then go on my mark. Kill them all and let the Horned Rat sort them out. Go Go Go"
He watched the teams of Landwehrmen go in, saw the muzzle flashes light up the smoke from inside and heard the "krump" of the grenades. He had given his men any advantage he could think of-he could just hope it as enough.
Railway, between Berlin and Altdorf
The train that roared down the tracks towards Altdorf was on no timetable. The dark smoke issuing from the engines exhaust, the blur of their driving gears and the roar they issued spoke of an effort at the edge of mechanical reliability. It had the highest priority and made all others take side tracks long before it reached the area. To it`s not-so-considerable length two new 2-D-2 steam engines had been hitched, these brand-new locomotives were meant to pull very heavy passenger trains or fast cargo-and here they did it in spades. The cars behind the two engines contained ammunition, spare parts and medical equipment, all direly needed in the Empires capital.
Inside the lead engine the "Stoker"-actually the auxiliary engineer- watched the gauges with a mixture of awe and dread as several of the needles were deep into the red and the train was doing a steady 165 kilometers per hour, about 35 more than it should.
Kurt Müller was not looking as if he was in any way concerned about this-he just cared about getting to Altdorf in time, or earlier. He had seen the elephant, knew that it was a big and dreadful animal and that what he did counted. He was, after all, a veteran and had seen and done worse.
Bad Oldesloe, St. Johns ambulance center, North of Hamburg, roughly same time
The room in which the old men sat around a table was cozy in the German way: Lots of Wood on the ceiling, a wooden bar and floor, wooden massive table and slightly ornate chairs. Soft lighting was diffused by cigarette smoke that wafted through the air close to the lamps. The walls were covered by decals and certificates declaring the "1st. Katastrophenzug Stormarn" a ready unit of disaster management. Other were letters of thanks of various cities and individuals. Centerpiece was a cartoon of a very old man bearing the headline "Club der alten Säcke" (Club of the old Coots)
Otto Letsch, of wiry strength, hazelnut skin and still full hair showed the stooped bearing of somebody who had bend over his wireless set for far too many hours before being pensioned. Around him were old men like himself. Uwe Teut the former Chief of Police, big bellied and with shoulders and arms that still showed that he had been a trainer for unarmed combat in the SEK, Heiner Maser who`s skin showed decades of drinking but who`s mastery of a field kitchen was still without fail and Ernst Rudolf who build wireless sets for leisure from scratch looked at each other and came to a decision before the talk began for real. Otto Letsch made the start, as usual.
"Think they will need us?"
"Does a beastman shit in the wood?" Uwe Teut had contacts to the disaster management center had not diminished with his pension was definitively in a place to know.
"Actually a little bird sang to me that the day after tomorrow a train will leave for Altdorf with anything we can contribute. The District Administrator is waiting for the go from Berlin, but it is sure as sure they will call for volunteers."
"So should we start?"
"Makes sense, gives us more time to get the people here and things into gear."
"Do we want this? This is a bleeding war zone?"
"When we arrive it will be no longer-or we will not be send there."
"But is remains a risk to the medics who go."
"Yes, it is a volunteer's only thing that is for sure."
"Wasn't it always. Well, let`s start to make the calls then"
"You call the members, I call the Staff at Center and see what vehicles and men can pry loose from what they poached for the Landwehr."
"Done and done"
Otto Letsch may have been old but he was easily able to adjust to newer modes of communication. Taking up his I-Phone he went through his list of contacts and made the first call of many for that night.
"Hallo Roland, sorry to disturb your evening. We plan a small outing to Altdorf-do you think you can get your employer to give you a week or so leave? I cannot promise that the district will pay-could be you will have to take it out of your leave."
"Yes, they are still shooting over there, they should be done by time we are there-I hope."
"Splendid, see you in two hours then."
None of the members of the Disaster Management Platoon got paid normally, none were below 40 these days, all had decent jobs and many had doting wives they did not like to leave alone. Others were mothers of children who needed them as much as their husbands-and had jobs on top of that too. They were asked to go into a warzone where nobody could tell them what was going on, only that civilians needed their help.
None of those called that day refused.
Like an ancient but well-maintained machine the Platoon which actually was much closer to a company in manpower assembled a task force of 50 medics and everything to house and treat more than 500 people –within 8 hours of the call from government which came sometime after the old men had their meeting.
North of Altdorf, a little later
Heinrich Hemmler watched the flight of the two helicopters. Guided by one of the Storch planes that the Germans used so much these days the ungainly looking aircraft put their noses down and rushed over a piece of terrain the Hauptmann could not see. What he could see was the muzzle flashes from the helicopters cannon and the dropping pf some cylinders from the stubby wings. The "braaarp" "braap" of the cannon and the surf-like explosion wave from the cluster bombs were unmistakable for the Reiksguard officer by now. His Wireless operator chimed in "Sir, the Germans tell us that there are several groups of Skaven coming our way. They state they can only give us one more run, then they have to refuel."
"Acknowledge the report Wireless and give them my thanks. We will take care of their leftovers."
Very soon the groups of Rats came into view, but lack of formation and often weapons showed them not to be the next assault but the sorry remains of the helicopter attack. Hemmler let them come closer than he would have allowed a real attack and signaled only when the enemy was less than 200 meters away. Already frightened out of their mind the Skaven were not able to mount anything like a coherent answer to the ambush and mostly died while running in circles.
Contacting Oberst Grube: "Sir, situation as follows: We have repulsed the last assault of Skaven, the latter ones were no longer organized or dangerous. We have received ammo resupply from Altdorf. So far our losses are negligible. From the reports of the Air Observers it seems that this was the last organized body of the enemy. I suggest leaving 1st Company in a blocking position together with the artillery and take 1st and 2nd company and the tank company out to hunt the stranglers down."
"Report acknowledged, make it so Hauptmann."
When the Reiksguard Hauptmann went up the rise of the next hill together with his men the sight of so many dead Skaven filled him with satisfaction of a job well done. The feeling remained till he crested the top of the hill and got his first look of Altdorf. Smoke columns rose in many places and it the sounds of combat could be heard even here.
"Oh Sigmar, I hope there will be a city to return to."
Inside Altdorf, same time
Skritznik was still feeling great, in fact greater than ever. He had taken the city quarter he was in by storm. His Skaven had carried him and the Screaming Bell from triumph to triumph and whenever organized resistance sprang up he either smashed it with his mighty warp lightning bolts or the bell struck fear into the belly of the humans. He could hardly imagine why the Skaven had never come up from their Undercity earlier. The riches of Altdorf were there for the taking and he would cut a decent part of that wealth out from him. For somebody who trashed the humans so thoroughly only the sky was the limit and his next snort of warpstone powder gave him an exquisite vision of an older version of him sitting together with 12 other Skaven in council-splendid.
He was rudely torn from this inner sight by a squealing Clanrat. "Master, Master-there is another barrier by the humans in the block, yes yes. Humans defend it, very dangerous yes."
The Clanrat never saw the warp lightning that killed it nor did it hear the squealing roar of Skritznik. "I will show the puny humans who is dangerous here. Bring the Ogres to the front-forward to victory."
When the Stormrats brought Skritznik and the Bell around the next bend he saw that there was indeed the next barricade, this time even higher than the other ones he had seen so far. Also the doors and windows of the lane leading to the barricade showed signs of being barred-just in some places even more weapons were visible. The humans behind the barrier wielded long, nasty looking poles with hooks at their end and stood their ground in spite of the certain doom bearing down on them.
"Lazy Packmasters-make the Ogres attack, now now. The rest of you run run, kill kill. You are hungry my children, are you not. So attack, attack now.
The whips of the packmasters were studded with warpstone barbs, making even the tough skin of the Rat Ogres rips and bleed. So huge that their stooped backs reached the roof rails of the houses that bordered the lane and ugly even by Skaven standards they roared their pain and hate to the world and started a lumbering run at the suddenly insignificant looking barrier. They were not slowed by the missiles that rained down on them from the roofs nor the few arrows and bolts coming from the barricade. They seemed a magnet to catch the defenders attention and so the Skaven infantry that followed could do so without great danger. The blood of these Rats was up, after a couple of easy victories they wanted more of them-and they wanted meat-fresh meat. Their bodies were burning up calories like nothing and the supervision of the Grey Seer had kept them from taking their fair share-they needed to feast soon and here was meat that had just not laid down and died yet. Time to change that.
And to aid that time to put more spine into his Skaven-and the fear of the Horned Rat into the humans. Feeling lucky and invincible he turned around. "Strike the bell-Strike the bell thrice, thrice."
The Skaven on top of the bell lifted the mallet over his head to strike-and then he dropped from the bell, his chest an open wound.
On the roof next to the barrier Joakim Vos tried to change targets in time but the Grey Seer had jumped of the bell like greased lightning. There were more pressing concerns anyway. "Jens, make sure that nobody takes the job with the hammer on that bell will ya."
"Got it Boss"
Turning around he saw that the Rat Ogres had almost reached the barricades-almost as the front one clutched a bloody chest which had been ripped open by a 40 mm grenade. Switching to "burst" he sighted the head of the second one. Breathing half-out and then stopping to breathe at all he steadied his rifle and pulled the trigger. The "boom" that followed was louder than usual and seemed a little longer. The barrel and bolt carrier recoiled inside the rifles housing while two more rounds were stripped from the magazine and fed through the lock before the assembly hit the hydraulic damper at the end of the recoil. The third bullet was out of the barrel by then so that the recoil did not disperse the shots. Hitting an area the size of a hand the three bullets were made to tumble by their passage through dense bone and broke into several razor sharp fragments which made their way through the Ogres head. Enough of them found the tiny brain to slow the Ogre down-the second burst made sure it was slowed down forever.
By that time a second Grenade made sure that the third Ogre would never reach the barricade.
Looking down the lane the Landwehr Sergeant saw it chock-full of Skaven all trying to press forward except for the ones close to the Ogre. Seeing that things would not get better Joakim pulled a small pipe out of vest and blew. Small as the pipe was it, the shrill sound cut through the battle like nothing else. The results took a few moments to become clear as the opening moments of Joakim`s plan were unobtrusive-several small objects rained among the Skaven from the houses they had so far not managed to enter. Only when the frag grenades exploded did things become clearer. The grenades had cleared some places close to the houses and into these the harbor toughs emerged. Laying about with cutlasses, loading hooks and clubs they had few coordination, no tactics and no style-but they had heart. Punching into Skaven which had gone from aggressive assault to frightened confusion and hurt in seconds the sudden appearance of fighters in their midst was all they needed for a fully-fledged panic. The panic glands in many involuntarily gave of the scent for flight-but there was no way to go and no will to fight. Clawing their way out-any way out, no matter whether that meant attacking another Skaven or human the rats were far more dangerous to themselves than to the defenders.
Joakim had a second look at the massacre under him and then made his way along the roof to the mouth of the lane-there was still the matter of a Grey Seer and his bell. Dropping to his belly at the last roof he pulled up the ladder sight of the under-barrel grenade launcher. About a hundred meters distant was the bell. Adjusting the elevation for this range he pulled the trigger for the grenade launcher. Inside the shell a propellant charge exploded-and the hot gasses produced by this explosions were confined by a stout chamber around them and could only escape into the rest of the casing through a series of holes that reduced the pressure outside greatly. It pushed the fat 40 mm grenade before it gently down the aluminum barrel which spun the grenade like a top. Leaving the weapon at a little more than 400 kilometers an hour the grenade "counted " revolutions before arming.
It was just slightly off-it hit the Bell at such an angle that the tip of the grenade was pushed away from the magical weapon when the shaped charge ignited. A copper plasma jet faster than 8000 meters/second that could have cut through centimeters of steel was wasted into the air. Swearing a blue streak the Sergeant slid the barrel of the Grenade launcher forward and inserted a new shell. This time the grenade flew true and impacted dead center. The shaped charge vented its fury into the Bell-and it went somewhere else. None of the participants of the battle could know that, but a much bigger bell shaped like the one before them gave a mournful ring that sounded over Skavenblight.
Joakim was looking at the results with disgust when a screaming figure ran from the first house towards the Screaming Bell. "Thorgim, no. Come back you stupid stumpy" did not bring any results and the Sergeant had feared that it would not. The dwarf had been hard hit by the results of his demolition and had mumbled something about "need to get a new hairdo" several times during the last days. He did not hold his rifle in his arms, but a satchel that contained a shitload of explosives. Screaming like mad he simply ran past the Skaven between him and the Screaming Bell.
Stopping the cursing, stopping the feeling of the regret Joakim pulled his rifle up. Calmly as if he were at the shooting range he shot the Stormrat that stepped into the dwarfs way, the one that wanted to throw his spear, the one that got up his shield-and the one that looked the wrong way. No shots he took was more than a second from the next-and none missed. The dwarf ran as if he was neither aware of the threats to his life nor of his support. He ran as if for his life even when every step brought him closer to death. The thing he noticed-not that he had any chance not to-was the green lighting that barely missed him but singed off any hairs of his head and sent him tumbling.
Shaking his head as if getting rid of water he suddenly started to spin quickly-once, twice-and then the satchel flew in an arc that terminated just under the Screaming bells car. The explosion was directed to the sides-and ripped the last of the Stormrat guards apart. It was directed upwards and bodily lifted the Screaming Bell up some meters before it smashed back down, its fall only slightly cushioned by the Grey Seers. Breaking into many parts it vanished into a second explosion of green.
Seeing the dumbstruck dwarf standing in the middle of the road with no hairs and no enemies made the Landwehr sergeant laugh with pent emotions, until the warm breath touched his neck.
Turning around he found himself face to face with one of the giant rats that accompanied the Skaven, its approach masjed by the total concentration he had needed to shoot a way for the dwarf. Rat and man looked at each other for an eternal moment-then the rat bit down. It took Joakim on his left arms which he had put forward to ward off the threat. The strong jaws and sharp teeth of the rat could not pierce the spidersilk armor but their force was great enough to push the Ulna against the Radius bone, causing immense pain. Screaming the Landwehr Sergeant punched the head of the rat repeatedly without result. Then the extended two fingers and pushed them into the eye of the rat it finally released him and jerked back, but this was too much for the shoddy roof the two were on. Men and beast fell to the street in a pile of loose shingles, to lay motionless on the ground.
Close to Ulthuan Embassy, about the same time
Tyriael, noble of the House of Ethelorne was aghast at what his master made him do. Instead of defending his hearth and home he took them out in what looked like an attempt to support human troops. And not just any human troops, but imperial footmen, the lowest of the low. These troops were often recruited from the gutter, given the choice between gaol or the serving the regiments. A brutal training regimen made them perform nearly like soldiers-until the chips were down. What were to happen then was everybody`s best guess. These might be a little better-the new model units were said to contain real volunteers-but still they were quite close to naked apes.
And Aurelius Ethelorne, of a lineage that was founded at the very beginnings of Elvendom, Prince of Ulthuan and designated representative of Asur to the Reiksbund wanted to support…these?
When his Silver Helmets passed the gate that led to the Ulthuan embassy he got his first good look at the battlefield beyond the Plaza he had been able to see from the Embassy. That the Plaza was more or less covered with ugly pelts left by their former Skaven owners he already knew, with weapons like these even the imperial footmen were able to do well. But the line of the fallen did not just stop there, it went down the street far past the plaza and reached as far into the road leading to it as he could see. It looked like the humans did not panic when they started to fire their weapons, they had simply killed an ungodly amount of Skaven.
His mind was still on that and the placement of his unhorsed Silver Helmets so that he had only lesser attention on the conversation between his liege and the imperial in charge of the humans. Aurelius made a gesture like he had seen some German soldiers using-lifting the right hand to the brow-and could be heard
"I am Aurelius Ethelorne, Prince of Ulthuan. I gather that you are in charge here?" The human gave the same greeting-did he consider himself at the same level?
The officer with which the ambassador spoke seemed terribly young, even for a human and his eyes did not seem to focus totally at the Elf. But even when he had a hoarse voice and red-rimmed eyes he had a straight spine and talked like he knew what he was doing.
"Lieutenant Hans Emser at your service Ser. As long as the Captain is out I am in charge of the Reiksguard City Detachment 3rd company."
"Well met Lieutenant Emser, you and your men have defended us ably, I think it is time that we lend a hand. I would like to add my forces to yours. As you can see I have a troop of armored Knights and a lot of Bowelfs."
"Ah Ser-the bowmen are all right where they are, they can shoot above our head I recon. The Knights would go best there where the wire is covered by the damn Rats-pardon my Breton Ser-I will deploy my men to the flanks. And whatever you do Ser-do not get between the machine gun and the Skaven. That is not a healthy place to be."
"Thanks for the advice and I do believe your dispositions are wise-I will see to my part then, Lieutenant Emser."
"Please hurry Ser-I think I can hear them getting it up again."
"I will. I will send my mages to your injured, they should be able to help"
"Thanks greatly Ser."
When the price rejoined the Silver Helmets Tyriael went to him. "What are your orders Master"
"We go behind that breach over there. Make sure nobody is in front of the machine gun. Hold until relieved. That should about do it."
"Yes my Lord."
It was obvious that Tyriael was not happy with the situation-and equally obvious that there was no time to do something about it-the flood of fur, claws and teeth was back in.
The Elven longbow is a terrible weapon. Able to reach out past 200 meters or so the arrows could pierce light to moderate armor with ease and a good bowelf could shoot it at least 12 times a minute. As the bow needed a lot of strength to use and the flight of the arrow was highly ballistic a lot of training was needed for this weapon, the Asur would not think anybody more than trained in the basics till the 10th year of intense practice.
Aeolus led the High Elves that made up the Embassy`s staff in a bow unit. Back by 20 meters from the wire he sighted the incoming Skaven. Using years of experience he judged their rate of advance and distance to give the necessary commands.
"Lift bows."
"Draw"
"Let them fly"
The arrows were first rate, as could be expected from the Asur. Tipped with razor-sharp steel, wood precisely cut along the woods grain for extra strength and fletching that was just so the arrows rose and dropped in a small cloud of missiles that homed in on the front rank of the enemy.
In their flight path they were overtaken by small pieces of cooper-clad lead that raced at many times the arrows speed. The results were remarkably similar-the lightly armored Skaven dropped whenever hit. Their frenzied run at the defenders was already slowed down by trampling over the fallen of the last attacks, coming under intense fire while tripping on the entails of other Skaven did not do the morale any good. Still, the threats of the leaders were still fresh in the mind of the Clanrats and the huge numbers of Skaven that carried the attack was a salve to their nerves. The attack come forward till it got into the Plaza itself. The biggest group that had coalesced around a warlock technician was promptly under the fire of the machine gun that literally ripped the rats in two in many cases. Others managed to avoid attention long enough to close with the defenders. Those that reached the barbed wire found the same thing as their predecessors: It is not easy to cross when you have tools. It is nearly impossible to cross when you do not have appropriate tools. When you are under fire all the time you might as well lay down, die and save yourself the hassle.
Which left the ones that made it in front of the Silver Helmets. Rarely were two groups of enemies so much polar opposites as these two groups. On the one hand the skitterish Skaven, dirty and smelly, wielding rusty arms against beings that were as clean as freshly unpacked, moving with the grace of cats and using arms that were so well made they made human artisans cry with envy.
Tyriael checked a last time if his line was aligned right and then stepped into the fray. Torn between his personal small war and having to look after his master he still managed to sidestep the halberd thrust at him and then insert his sword into the opening presented so carelessly. Turning the sword just so much that it would come out easily and the wound bleed freely he put his shield into the way of another strike. Pushing it aside he managed to strike his sword along the halberds shaft, taking of claws and fingers. The sword thrust through the throat was just a formality.
As usual for him time had slowed to crawl and he had all the time necessary to see that Aurelius had already dispatched his fair share of Skaven, to see that the Skaven to right and left of the Asur were retreating from the terrible slaughter wrought by the human rifles and the next weapon moving his way. Loping of the halberds head he punched the shield into the Skaven´s body just to see him drop to the pavement. The lower edge of his shield crushed the Adam`s apple analog on the rat and left him to a death by suffocation.
Pulling back into line something pulled at the hem of his robe but not enough to slow him down too much-and then there were no more Skaven to be had. He was still silently enraged at the loss of "gravitas" inflicted by the loop of barbed wire that had ripped a hole in his robe when Aurelius stepped closer to him.
"That was a nice exercise, we should do that more often."
Still bend down, ripping off more of his robe so he could move again Tyriael was angry enough to influence his better judgment. "Sire, you cannot be serious. Neither do we have a worthy foe not do we fight alongside honorable allies. This is just a butchery to save those too bad to save help themselves."
"It is good thing you speak Sperenthiel Thyriael, otherwise I would have to get really upset. We have a foe that wants to kill us and is nice enough to come into the open and confront us-what more do you want? And what is your problem with the humans?"
"They..they are unwashed hairless Apes highness of no breeding and no culture."
"They are the unwashed humans who suffered loss of about 4 in 10 Soldiers they brought here defending us-defending us from this-an expensive gesture encompassed the slain rats-and did not break. They were attacked by poison against which they had no dense-and did not break. They had to go into close combat against an enemy many times their number-and did not break. Even for us this would be quite an accomplishment And what exactly Tyriael makes you think they might not be honorable? I tell you what-the weight of 5000 years of prejudice makes you think that way. And if we keep thinking like that we will not have 5000 more years, but in 50 be but the source of amusement to these "hairless apes" as you call them.
And now get yourself together and organize your fighting line-or do you want to be found wanting in the face of "hairless apes" that so far have put us to shame today?"
Tyriael was about to say something-anything, and anything he could have said would bring him to shame. The crashing of several mighty lightning out of the blue sky in just a short distance kept him from doing something terminally foolish.
"Looks like the rats tried the celestial College Ser, they are over there. I don`t think they`ll do it again. But Sers, I think they are coming again here, so…"
"Yes Lieutenant, thanks for the warning"
