U40, close to Vampire Coast

"See for yourself captain. Here are the lines we have from Bogey one, and here they are from a Daphne class. Now these are a little fuzzy, I'd say he is at least two convergence zones out, but they still fit."

Both captain Bauer and his sonar operator looked at the FRAZ display's screen. Frequency bands were shown vertically like a waterfall. The ones on top moved slightly and were projected against a hash of echos, the ones below were still. All of the lines matched both in thickness and frequency band. Like a fingerprint they were unique, allowing one to make out a target's class and sometimes even the particular unit. The sounds displayed here had traveled far and had bounced between the surface and the deeper levels at least twice. They were still far too good to ignore or take for something else.

"Why do we have the data on an decades-old sub from Earth?"
"Our sonar system is a variant of the one found in the 212 class. Atlas Elektronik probably just copied the old database when they made this sub."
"I see. But how did a bloody Daphne enter stage left? It is not that they drop out of a cracker box."
"Something like the Waratah or Jimmy Hoffa? We know that some stuff was taken from Earth before. Didn't the French lose one of their subs and never found it?"
"Hmm, could be. But if that is it the boat it is older than me. Who resurrected that clunker? Doesn't matter, we kick this upstairs. Imagine we would have reported this on Earth, I would have a place in the looney bin right away. Here it would not be the strangest thing we have seen, by far."
"Yes, Sir."

Pi=3.151

Tevil Magestalker pushed his mouth full of cold snow. His teeth hurt, his gums would give him hell for a day or so and he shivered even more than usual in this icy hell. At the same time it kept him from causing a cloud whenever he breathed. Doing so would mean he'd be spotted and that would be a very bad thing. The nearest Druchii were about 40 kilometers away and if he or anybody in his company would fuck up none would leave alive.

He lifted his well-camouflaged head up a bit and was rewarded by quite a sight. The closest thing to a road was a kilometer from his position. There might even be some pavement under all the ice and snow, but he had never seen any sign of that. Instead the many feet and hooves that had passed this terrain had compacted the snow and ice to something the hardness of concrete. The road emerged from a huge conglomeration of tents, hovels and barracks. Into that fed a number of ways, one emerged. The valley that led through the mountains into Naggaroth proper did not allow for more.

As on any given time of a day during which the sun never set, the road was full of all manners of beings. Troops marched towards the far-off front line, wagons that were pulled in both directions, slaves who carried loads on their backs tried not to get underfoot. The latter would be a spectacular event as the most noticeable carrier of supplies were the mammoths.

The Chaos army had tried using them to break the Druchii lines a couple of times. That had failed and so they had exchanged their howdahs with nets holding sacks, barrels and boxes of all kinds. Seemingly unaffected by the cold more than a dozen of the huge beasts were within Tevil's field of view. Some were on the road, others were at the Chaos depot. Oh yes, that would do. Sliding backwards on his belly he reached the bottom of the small hill. He was met by several platoon leaders and a mage who was even more pale than usual.

"Table has been set people, time for the barbeque. Lady Virron, you can cease the spell now. Novovas, take your platoon up, don't expose yourself, do not shoot unless they make us. Garas, open fire once your FO is set up. Make it quick, make it count."
"With pleasure, Sir."

Tevil made his way up again, trying to find a spot that allowed him to see the enemy and his own combat group. This time camouflage was less important, having an idea what was up was. Things would have to happen fast. Magestalker saw the platoon take the same position he had occupied a few minutes before. Their outlines were broken up by off-white cloaks, hoods and bandages hid the rifles' straight lines. Even so they would be detected soon but

Whump
Whump

Whump whump whump

The explosions behind him were loud enough, any attempt at hiding would be moot now. He could see the first faces that turned in his direction, the first arms raised and the first shouts of alarm formed on their faces. Before anything came of it the first mortar rounds exploded 50 meters above them. Small, seemingly inconsequential detonations ripped the shells open, a bit of vaporized oil added to the visual spectacle but harmed nobody.

White streamers started directly below the small fireballs. They fanned out a little as they made their way to the surface below, forming white, dense clouds where they went. At the tip of each cloud was a fragment of white phosphorous. Pure white phosphorous could not exist in the face of oxygen and now that the protective oil was gone it started to burn most fiercely. Wherever the fragments settled fire rose within seconds, they were that hot and the Chaos Desert, while snow covered, that dry. Be it tents, hovels or supplies, nearly everything went up in fire. Not everything touched by the white death was going quietly. Most Mammoths were hit by the incendiary and the fragments burned themselves through their thick fur and skin. They were not extinguished by fat, muscles and blood. The fierce, unknown and unbearable pain drove the huge animals into a frenzy. Running here and there, trying to turn over on their backs and attacking anything in range they were a threat to anything in range. Their antics hindered any firefighting attempt that might have started, their mad stampede trashed material about so that it would burn better and their burning fur spread the conflagration even further.

Tevil loved every bit of the sight before him, tried to take in every detail of the destruction he had ordered. It took him nearly 30 seconds to realize that no further rounds were fired. Quickly turning he saw that the mortar teams were already breaking down their tubes so they fit the sleds while everybody else not watching the perimeter was cleaning up. A good company, he had welded them together through several hard campaigns and this year's nightmare.

"Novovas, you stay here for one more minute, then you skedaddle as fast you can to the rally point. Get a bearing first."
"It will be done Sir."

For the first time in two hours Tevil was able to lift himself up and use these magical boards. When they had been introduced everybody scratched his head about their use. Once they had mastered them they scratched again asking themselves how they could have missed something so obvious. And while they had made climbing the slope a real hassle the skis allowed getting down very, very quickly indeed.

"Saddle up people, we go for the rally point. Lady Virron, your concealment on the way in was most successful, but I believe the time for discretion is out. I need a winter storm and I need it now."
"You do not know what this will take from me."
"No, I do not. I have an idea what they will take from you if we are caught."

In the end Tevil Magestalker managed to bring most of his company back to the Druchii lines. The rest he never saw again, they must have lost their bearings in the storm. Malus Darkblade would have happily traded all of their lives for what they had bought: time. There was one more assault, a nasty one he managed to throw back by using ammunition like it would go out of style. The next day most of the Chaos Army left its encampment and went back towards the desert and sustenance. Malus knew well enough they would be back.

S-647 Minerve, periscope depth, close to Lustrian coast

The sonar had failed to locate any new contacts, so Lieutenant de Vaisseau Andre Fauve felt compelled to search for targets in other ways. Before he could raise the periscope to look for customers he had to make sure he could so unobserved.

"Raise ESM Mast."

A hydraulic whine went through Minerve's command center.

"ESM mast raised Captain."
"Very well. Anything?"
"No radar I could identify captain, these strange transmissions from above are back and..Merde."
"Merde is not in any report I know matelot."
"Sir, we are being hailed."
"What?"
"Sir, we are picking up a transmission on VHF17. It is in French, English and German."
"What does it say?"
"Daphne Class submarine, this is the German Navy, you are to surface at once and contact us at VHF17. Comply immediately or we will have to consider you hostile."

None of the parts that made up Andre Fauve's mind wanted to do so. The dominant one followed the orders given by Kemmler, surrender was no part of them. The other, the observing one, considered himself beyond the pale. He wanted nothing more than to get back to the place beyond the veil he belonged to. Both parts had been handed important information: Minerve would be actively hunted. One part knew exactly what to do now, the other started making plans.

Fassberg, Empire

The brewery wasn't as big as some. The one in Nuln was somewhat bigger and it was dwarfed by the likes of Jever in Frisia or Holsten in Hamburg. Instead it was tailored to make craft beer. Some brands made in volume for the local market, a market suitably enlarged by bridge and truck. Others were far more special and sold for a more discerning clientele all over the Reiksbund. The halls were a mix of the new and the old. The walls and the ceiling were of wooden construction, some of it lovingly decorated by carvings. The inside was mostly taken by stainless steel reactors, tanks and pipes. Wooden plinths held touchscreens to control it all. A single forklift was working overtime while workers pushed sacks and barrels around by hand truck.

There was something of a lab in the brewery's back. Rows of test tubes, Petri dishes and hoods allowed for quality control. A number of smaller barrels and reactors allowed for experimentation and was the place where Fassberg's created its new creation. A long table held pride of place in the middle of the room. Its surface was covered by a several small kegs and scores of bottles. Some were marked by gaudy labels, others held simple tapes with handwritten marks on them.

There were two beings on the opposite sides of the table, and they couldn't be more different if they tried. One was a slender human of average height, his head mostly covered by receding blond hair. His eyes were surrounded by the crags that laughing will give. He seemed rather harmless till one spotted the compact pistol on his belt. The other was as broad as he was high. His feet barely reached the ground, his shoulders seemed to be twice as broad as those of his drinking companion. Most of his face was hidden by a spectacular beard which currently parted to allow the passage of a rune-covered stein. There was an epic belch when the contents had passed the gullet.

"Now that isn't half bad, even if I say so myself. You really do not put in the crap some manlings force in what they call a beer. And it is quite strong too, not so far from Quad X if I am not mistaken. How do you do it Markus, distillation?"
"Hops, malts, yeast and water, that has to do it for some 500 years now. And no, no distillation. It would be hard to call it a beer then Josef. We freeze it, the alcohol stays liquid and we discharge the water. Rinse and repeat until it has about 40% proof."
"You have it down, I'll give you that. And you and your Germans are the only manlings who can claim you did not steal that secret from my father."
"We do it like this for even longer than we restrict our beer to the big four."
"Yes, and very very clean. Your brewery is really spotless as far as I can see."

"Stainless steel is easier to clean. But it is not mine, I just help the local brewery till they know what they are doing. It belongs to Freiherr Donald Trevayne, he is nice enough to give me the run of the lab when I want to brew up something special. "
"But stainless steel does not add to the taste like a good barrel would."
"And right you are. If I need that, we use some wood pulp and make very sure it is out when we bottle it."
"Sneaky little bugger. Could work. Now it is your turn, why don't you try this one."
"Give it your best shot."
"It is indeed."

A huge hand opened a silver flask and poured something so dark that it might be oil into a glass. It formed a nice head though, surprisingly white.
It met the lips of the German who took several smaller sips, pausing between each. The glass was half empty when he gulped the rest down quite quickly.

"Now that is what I call a beer. And a surprise. I mean this is a real dark one, so I expected quite bitter. It is that, but quite a lot of other things too. I should know better, but I'd say there is a bit of very dark chocolate in there. It is very good."
"That it is, this was some of the last Bugmann's Dark Choice from the old brewery."
"Wow, that's an honor. How did you get that taste in then."
"The only way you cannot do, not for now."
"And that is?"
"Magic. So many beings believe Bugmann's is special, that has to have consequences. And yes, my family has its little secrets. So, there is a bit of magic in there. Good one too."
"I'd say so. Sorry, I cannot compete with this. But you might try this one."

It was a couple of hours later that the two had worked themselves through even more of their creations. The dwarf did not show too obvious signs of it, unless one realized that his speech had slowed down considerably. His human counterpart was worse off, his head was mostly balanced on one hand. Currently he was listening.

"Don't get me wrong Markus, the Dawi will be thankful to you Germans for all time. You killed the bloody Horned Rat, that took the Tagorathi away mostly. You gave us lots of mighty weapons and helped out here and there, so our Karaks are safer than ever. You even protected Valaya, and yes, I know who did the heavy lifting on that one. You get filthy rich doing all of that and safer too, all of that I understand and respect. But one thing I cannot understand. Why don't you do something about the greenskins? Why do you even hold us Dawi back when we want to make them go away for good?"

"Would you...would you kill small children Josef?"
"No, of course not. But what does that have to do with it? They are small and cowardly yes, but it makes them no less dangerous."
"They were Josef, they were. And yes, I know about what happened ..happened to your..Ah, fuck this give me a moment."

The German went away for a minute and looked relived when he was back. He brought another unmarked bottle with him

"Here, you try this while I gather whats left of my wits."

The bottle poured readily into the stein and a huge head topped it quickly.

"That is a pale lager, what we Germans call "Hell". I asked for..for the rights of a Bavarian village for the naming rights, the town of Fucking. So if this works out it will be..Fucking Hell."
"Ha. So you wanted to say about the Greenskins and children?"
"What? Ah, yes. You have seen the face of warfare ...change, didn't you Josef`? Your ax is mighty, but I see you carry a K-47 too. Your people have the first gun trucks, they have..they have motorcycles with sidecars, they have barbed wire, machine guns and protective masks."
"So? The greenskins have their own factories these days. What happens when they make them too?"
"They won't."
"Why?"

"Because they are no great learners. They are not stupid..no. But they are born.., no they grow with a lot of the knowledge they need for their lives, they inherit that. But that is the knowledge for the old world, the one we unmade. For the new world their knowledge is not worth much. Some special cases are a bit better, but mostly they have a hard time learning and they do not live long. They won't produce their own rifles, their own masks and whatnot, not if we do not help them. And we will not. And their big cousins batter their noses against the Wallmeister and disappear. I have no idea what will become of the Orcs. Either they become less aggressive or they will batter themselves to death. And the other ones will live in their reservation...fuck their Autonomous Zones and this world will grow around them. They won't. No need to kill them Josef."
"You Germans are too soft."
"Ha, shut up and drink up."

The stein made its way to the beard and its contents disappeared quickly enough. While they did the dwarf's eyes opened wider than they had all evening.

"So there is a little magic in your beer after all. Not bad at all, really now."
"What magic…." bonk.

Josef Bugman shook his huge head. The manling couldn't hold his beer, as most manlings couldn't. But he would not hold it against him, this Markus Koch had started something great. The dwarven brewer just hoped he got to finish what he started.