300 meters from Pierre, an hour later
Andy Thrope checked the glowing hands of his old watch again, the third time he had done so during the last 15 minutes. This time the hands were reasonably close to the time agreed upon and so he pulled the two threads from his pocket. And yes, this time he could easily discern the white one from the back one. This time it was not the false dawn that promised an end to the waiting, this time it was the real deal.
"Gentlemen, I believe it is time. Give them hell."
It took two minutes for the order to make it down the chain of command. When it reached the smelly end, artillery crews pulled the cords on guns this world had not seen before. The Germans watched the sales of large-diameter, high-pressure steel tubes well enough, selling only with end-consumer certificates and all the other red tape only their bureaucracy could come up with. They had neglected to do the same for smaller pipes and Pierre Laval`s crew had used them to construct another offering to McGuyver.
They had welded fins to one end of the pipes and a formed a fat cylinder from sheet metal at the other end. It contained a nasty mixture of home-brew explosives and balls from failed bearings. Behind it a small charge waited for the go. The projectile was pushed over a rod that ended in a sturdy tripod. When the order came the charge threw the projectile forward at a leisurely speed while it forces the rod back against some sturdy springs.
The projectiles did not have to go very far. Most spent themselves against the embankment, some managed to detonate behind it and a few exploded before the Royal wall. One of them wiped a Rebel squad out without leaving any survivors.
Before the Royal wall
Walter Theodoric St Helier blew into his whistle with everything his lungs would provide. The signal sounded tinny and too quiet to his ears and he suspected that anything would do the same for the next days. One of the bombard`s projectiles had been too close for comfort, so there was a medium-speed tinnitus in his ears.
He blew till he saw the black shapes rise from an even darker background. He grabbed his color-sergeant and pointed to the closest breech that the Rebel artillery had provided and then took his half-squad up the embankment. There was no defender to be seen yet and he doubted that he would hear much of them even if they`d made any sound. He stopped before he had cleared the crest and so did his soldiers. He waited till he was reasonably sure that the darker blobs that moved had all arrived and then used his whistle again. When the third tone had gone out and mingled with similar signals all down the line Walter got busy. The pouch on his belt released two grenades. He pulled the cord through their handles and then tossed them over the crest with all of his strength. He repeated the process before he rose and used the whistle again. Running down the far side of the Royal defenses he stormed the madness of an abattoir.
Like all competent armies the Royals stood to at dawn, making sure they would not be overwhelmed by an attack. The gun crews had been around their pieces, the archers assembled, ready to man the parapet when needed and the knights had entered their holding areas in case a counterattack was needed. The Royals had been roused like an anthill when the Rebel artillery struck and were still milling around when the hand grenades exploded by the dozen.
The Royals were good, with a level-headed commander and a good chain of command. The naval crews were out of their depth but well-used to taking losses and keeping it up. If they were given just a few minutes of respite they would have reorganized themselves into a fighting force capable of resistance. They did not have those minutes.
Walter went over the crest and found himself between two gun emplacements. One gun was on its side with most of its crew absent or forever still. The other was a milling mess of men and this was where he led his men. His revolver kicked his hand and nothing happened besides sound any fury. His second round hit a Royal who wielded a rammer like he knew how to use it in a scrap. Another round his something that moved and then he was among the enemy. His sword pierced the arm of another sailor when something heavy hit his back and dropped him on the ground. He managed to turn in time to avoid a boot that hit the ground a centimeter besides his head. His Webley touched the Royal`s instep when it went off, showering Walter with blood and bits. Somebody pulled him from the ground and he found himself face-to-face with another Royal. This one had some armor and fancier clothes, so he might well be the officer commanding the battery. All of this was of less importance than the saber in said worthy`s hand.
A saber that moved rather fat in his direction and was barely intercepted by Walter`s blade. He managed to push it to the side and its tip was kept from Walter by the handguard. He resisted the temptation to lung forward, the ground was far to uneven for that. His half-step was more than enough to bring him into closer range and the two exchanged a flurry of thrusts. Walter`s armored vest sported a cut at its side and the Royal`s armor had two brighter spots seconds later. His opponent made another lunge only to see his blade lifted up and to the side by Walter`s . Walter managed to push his sword directly into the Royal`s eye on the counter-thrust. He freed his sword and saw that his men had taken the embankment, at least for now.
"Spike the guns lads, now."
Enough of his squad recovered their wits from the melee to take the nails and hammers they had brought for the occasion. They hammered the nails through the gun`s touch holes. Even if the Royals managed to drive them back the guns would be unusable for the next hours.
Walter fit the flare gun above his head and shot a red rocket into the sky. The bulk of the Rebel army had waited on that.
100 meters from Walter
Pierre saw the rising rocket and was glad for it. The Royals before him started to get organized again and he was not too sure if his squad could keep this position forever. Now he just needed to do it for a few more minutes.
He had to remind himself to hunker down though. He checked that his squad was in cover as well. Strange way of fighting, laying down. No matter if with pike, with sword or bow, all weapons he knew could be used only when standing up in front of the enemy. His new one was different though and the Royals that were pushing up would find out. By now the light was enough to silhouette the enemy nicely against the sky. He waited till he could see them clearly before pulling the first trigger. Cordite was an ugly stuff that degraded barrels and decomposed easily in humid conditions. It was also far easier to make than double-based propellants and so a few grams pushed a solid slug of lead down a steel tube that should have served a very different purpose. The pipe did not have any rifling but the slug had. It started turning immediately when it left the barrel from aerodynamic forces. The projectile would never be too accurate, but to a hundred meters it did well enough. Pierre`s target was less than half that distance and the heavy slug ripped an arm off at the shoulder. Pierre aimed for another target and swore when he missed. His thumb pushed a button and he ripped the rifle`s stock down, exposing both barrels. Small springs pushed the baseplates out and Pierre replaced them with new rounds. He managed the to bring the shotgun up again when a Royal started the climb up the embankment. He would never get to finish it as his brain pan and his body went different ways. Pierre`s last shot went into a back as the Royals decided they had enough.
The Rebel`s that streamed past Pierre`s position relieved him of any notion it had been his squad what made the Royals do it, he could hardly care less.
Pierre had joined another branch of the Rebel army now. They infiltrated, they attacked the weak points in the enemy`s line, they left Royal pockets behind for the army to mop up.
They were the tropes de assaut, the Rebel Stormtroopers and Pierre was proud to be part of them.
Southern Chaos Desert
Robert de Grail crawled forward over snow so deeply frozen and so old that it was well on its way to become ice. He moved carefully so as to avoid making any sound at all. The scouts had asked for him and their message made it clear he`d better be quiet.
He would never take orders of their likes, but they were so close to the target set by the Lady. They had trekked through the endless whiteness, they had endured the cold while never being sure if they were on the right path. Robert had led them according to the lodestone that the Lady had set in his mind. They had not encountered any more enemies, the wind and the cold being deadly enough. Robert`s party had lost more members and some of those remaining were very badly off. He needed to be careful if he wanted to do what the Lady asked him. If that meant he´d crawl at a scouts request he would do that.
He met one of the fur-clad scouts at the bottom of the next snow dune. There was few skin visible through what furs the former warden had pulled around him. Even so Robert could see the black skin in the scout`s face, he would lose most of his nose the next time he got warm. He raised his head very slowly above the dune`s crest, making sure that only white showed to what was below.
He had to keep a scream of frustration from his mouth. The ground before him, the ground that lay between him and the mountain was covered with beastmen of all description. Most of them watched the brutal ritual that was performed at the stone circle in their middle, but by far not all.
How could he ever get through them?
Southern Chaos Desert, Bäckertag 9. Kaldezeit
The valley was an oasis in a desert of ice and snow. Eternally mist-shrouded heated by volcanic activity and insulated by magic it allowed things to grow, small mobile things to eat these and larger mobile things to eat those. In its middle, a number of hugely muscled and ridiculously mutated beastmen demonstrated that they would butcher and devour even their own kind in ways that supposedly amused their gods. If it failed to do so it would keep the rank and file suitably awed and allowed for a full stomach.
The Ungor could not see the ritual that took the center stage of the oasis. He detested that, not as he thought that seeing the ritual would do him any good, but this denoted his lowly status. To add insult to injury he was so far at the oasis edge that occasional snow melted on his pelt. He could endure far worse, the additional reminder of his lowly place on the totem pole was now welcome at all. Around him a small group of other Ungors endured the same and their mood was bad going to worse.
It became worse all of a sudden when a spear sprouted from the chest of one of their number all of a sudden. It had hit far enough off center that it was not immediately lethal, instead leaving him gurgling on the oasis floor. Before he could shuffle off the mortal coil more spears arrived and the mist and snow parted long enough to allow a peak at the attackers. Fur and claws, the crude weapons and the challenges left no doubt. One of the other tribes had broken the peace of the ritual as happened ever so often. The cowards threw more spears, hitting only once more. By then the Ungors at the edge of the ritual had risen to challenge and a few Gors led weight to the charge. The attackers lobbed another salvo before running like the lily-livered oath breakers they were. They got lost in the snow for seconds before more spears and a few throwing axes pointed the way.
That got the beastmen`s blood up for good and the excitement mounted when challenges and the sound of more warriors indicated the chase was over. The mist revealed the attackers all at once, a huge mob of Gors and Ungors who needed to kill something, anything. They met an equal force and neither questions nor quarter were asked for. The fight quickly escalated when beastmen close by wanted to aid their tribe or were simply taken with the opportunity to kill.
A few hundred meters from the fight a small group of humans watched the fight that grew with every second.
"You did the Lady proud Dame Louna. Combining Whyssan`s Wildform and an illusion made our scouts look enough like beastmen that they could provoke this."
"Do you believe they could retreat in time?"
"We will see when we reach the rally point. Their sacrifice has opened a path, we must not waste that."
Imperial Palace, Altdorf, same time
The Emperor`s study was mostly in darkness presently, a single lamp on the desk provided enough illumination so that the room`s sole inhabitant could transfer some wine into a goblet.
It was one of the very few solitary moments that the Emperor`s life held. His days were full of bustle, of the people who tried to get his attention to push their needs and the need to learn. What time was left he tried to make available to his family. This late-night session should not have happened at all, yet sleep eluded the Emperor.
One of his duties consisted of visiting places and beings important to the Empire and today this place had been the new Altdorf paper mill. He had not really known what to expect and had been a bit overwhelmed by the mechanical monstrosity that occupied most of the space in a building nearly as large as Sigmar`s Temple in Altdorf. The paper mill housed a newly-built Zander PM9a machine. It was imposing, nearly 200 meters long, roughly ten across and as high. When it was running at full throttle it made an ungodly amount of noise and so all explanations were short and needed to be shouted.
He had understood the process well enough, it was the same as papermills had used in the Empire before the Weltensprung. Fibers in a water solution were placed on a sieve, pressed and heated. Here this was done in one continuous process and not in several steps but the principle remained the same. He had problems with what came after that so he had to ask twice before his mind acknowledged the answer.
"We make a paper strip eight meters across Sir, at a speed of two kilometers per minute. The paper moves through the machine at 180 kilometers per hour. We make more paper in two minutes than the Empire used to in one year."
It had been a powerful reminder of how much things had changed during the last ten years. Who would have believed it when he led his Griffon down "Unter den Linden" for the first time? The Germans, the Empire and their trading partners were making goods in such amounts these days that it defied imagination. Be it foodstuffs, clothes, medicine, weapons, it was made in qualities and amounts that needed German words to describe, Reiksspiel totally lacked them. They had transformed his Empire into a realm that was hard to recognize. Things that were taken as matters of course, such as famines, epidemics or the ever-present threat of Chaos armies had lost their hold on his people.
All of that was good, very much so. Yet with such capabilities came demands, of such variety and often contradictory. He was to finance more railroads and more roads, shape the Empire`s rivers into liquid highways and keep them safe. His government had to see that there were power stations making an electricity that nobody had heard about a decade before. He had to set up schools that taught the next generation of Imperial citizens to fill roles nobody knew ten years ago. And by the way it would be a great generation as child mortality had taken a blessed nosedive. He had to feed them all, with far fewer farmers than ever before as the factories which made all that marvelous stuff needed workers.
He would somehow have to keep his own merchant caste in line when nearly 80% of his realms GNP was in German hands in one way or another. Not that those worthies would have known what a GNP was in 2520, but now they were very sure that this was a disgrace. Oh, and he had to listen to Germans who told him he should protect worker`s rights and the environment…
The light was sufficient to guide another quantum of wine into that goblet and he hoped very much that this one would allow him to sleep.
Close to World`s Edge mountains, Bezahltag 10 Kaldezeit
The ground trembled under Gragosh`s boar`s feet. Black dust rose and fell like waves from an unseen sea. The air was riven with cries and challenges and as far as the Waagboss` gaze fell there were stout Orcs. Orcs marching in huge mobs, orcs riding fierce boars, Orcs pushing crude engines of war. There were gaps between the Orcs, gaps filled with the bustling small shapes of Goblins. There were occasional green lightnings indicating where Wyrdboys channeled the magic of so many greenskins in one place.
It was a Waagh, a good and great Waagh, a Waagh that would mosh everything in its way. It was Gargosh Steeljaw`s Waagh and he would make it the biggest and best Waagh ever. Last year he had been a boss like many others, trying to make his tribe the biggest and best there was. He had been engaged in the eternal struggle of the Orcs in the World`s Edge mountains and the Dark Lands. He had won a great victory against the Facestompers when it dawned on him that this was stupid. Why did they wage war against other Orcs when there were easier pickings and greater rewards.
There were stories that there were new humies about, that they had better weapons and some strange magic. And that they were, stories. None of his boys and nobody they asked had ever seen these iron chariots the size of houses. The strange birds that did not flap their wings had never hurt anybody and if things went seriously south one could always retreat, quick-like.
That was a good idea, and it made for a good tale. Some tribes joined by their own, others needed a bit of encouragement. Three months ago, it had happened. It had been after he had moshed Bonefraggers chieftain good and proper. When his boys had celebrated his victory, all of them, even the Bonefraggers it had hit him like a club. For a moment he had been unable to breathe, for a moment he thought he would burst. And them the scream had left his throat, a scream that shook everybody who heard it.
"WAAAGH"
All of them had joined in, no exceptions. Ever since then more boys had joined, more tribes had declared their allegiance. And then came the point where he had to make good on his boast, when he had to lead the Waaagh to greener pastures. The Dark Lands could support only so many boys in one place and so they went. There were a few Goblins on their way to the World`s Edge Mountains. They did their best to get out of the Orc`s path, a few were not fast enough. They told of humies on horses that had rapid-firing rifles, they painted pictures of iron chariots and they told the tale of the invisible fortress.
Gargosh believes none of it. If the humies were so all-powerful, why had they not conquered the Orc`s lands like the stumpies had tried to? The Waagh managed to traverse the Dark Lands easily enough, but Gargosh was happy that the Red River Valley was close. The boys were really getting restless without a fight and he had to give them one soon before they went after the Waaagh itself.
All during the last days the huge mountains had grown larger with every step taken in their direction. They were vast, topped with white and like a huge wall that separated two worlds. They might be huge but they had cracks and he had heard about them. There were the major passes like the Black Fire pass, these might indeed be well-defended. Instead he would go for a smaller one, called the Red River Valley. There was talk of Goblins there, vassals to humies. They might actually like to join the Waagh and if not they would provide some sport.
Neither the Waaagh, the mountains nor what went for future planning took his attention though. That was taken by the bones. Before Gargosh there was a steel pole, one of many forming a line across the plain. There were human scribblings on it, but also the simple drawing of an Orc skull crossed out. The Waaghboss got the idea somebody wanted no Orcs beyond that line well enough and he was rather willing to ignore that. The thing that made him sit up and take notice were the many, many bones strewn across the plain before him and by the looks of it they were all Orc bones. What in Mork`s name had happened here?
"Wass up Boss"
"Wot the fuck 'appened 'ere?"
"Some blokes 'ad an 'ell of a knees-up, boss."
"And where are the uvvers, then, eh? Such a bit of fellas and only they die"
"They buried their own and left us fellas ter rot?
"Yer fink they 'ad a right good fight, then, eh, mate? Or is this just a spell of some kind?"
"Must 'ave been an 'ell of a fight."
Gorgasch did not like it, not a tiny bit. Somewhere between here and those mountains was somebody or something that killed Orcs. Lots and lots of Orcs. He could not see it, he could not imagine it. But whatever it was, there were a lot of boys behind him who wanted a good moshing. And going back was not going to give it, it would actually have him travel through a countryside his boys had eaten empty for now. He would not survive that for a week. And what kind of Orc went back with his tail between his legs without ever having seen the enemy.
This was a proper Waaagh, he and his boys were hard. And of they were not hard enough it still would be a good moshing.
"Forward boys, forward ter a right good fight"
"WAAAAGH"
The Orc`s warcry easily overwhelmed the freight-train rumble the came from the sky. It would not drown out the rest. A hundred meters before the Orc`s charge a line of explosions ripped huge fountains from the ground. It did not slow the Waaagh any.
The air was riven by the Orc`s cheers and the plain trembled under their feet. The strange clouds that rose on the horizon so very rapidly were caused by something else.
The horde`s charge had been observed by satellites, by drones and an occasional recon flight. They were now in range and the formalities, such as they were, had been observed. The speed and course of the horde was computed by systems originally meant to track far stealthier, far faster target. The data had been fed into a couple of computers and their output transmitted to a number of emplacements. No soldiers actually tended the weapons at that moment, that would have been so 20th century and the "Wallmeister" did not go for that.
Still, they unleashed hell. When all the computers agreed their users might just know what they were doing nearly two dozen boxes were aligned and their contents fired. Huge solid propellant boosters fired and pushed the missiles on top of them up while giving them a spin for stabilization at the same time. This was what had caused the white clouds that did not really register in Gorgash`s mind.
All missiles flew nearly all of the path to the Orcs before exploding. There were huge explosions, instead they were tightly controlled ones ripping payload should away and ejecting bomblets from the spent weapons. Each missile gave birth to more than 600 bomblets and there were a great of missiles in the air. Gorgash had taken years to gather the horde he wanted to take to the soft humies. His Waaagh had needed two months to get to this point. It died in less than two minutes.
The few dazed survivors ran aimlessly around for a while before getting roughly back where they came from. Gorgash was not among them. Neither he nor any other Orc tested the barbed wire, the mine belts or the machine gun emplacements.
This was the 2532`s first attack and the Reiksbund crew manning the fortifications at the World`s Edge Mountains began to circulate the hypothesis that the really aggressive Orcs were darwining themselves from circulation.
