Pi=3,149
The sight was far too enticing to turn the eyes to something different. The binoculars revealed every detail even at this distance. The creature was beautiful, had been designed by the Prince of Pleasure himself. The arms were the color of fine marble, slender and with tastefully defined musculature. The stomach was flat and the torso the perfect background for a pair of perfect naked breasts. The fact that the legs terminated in claws and one arm in a pincer did somehow not detract from the allure and many mortals had fallen sway to it. None of this made the sight remarkable to the Druchii observer. That was given to the coils of razor wire that wound their way around limbs, neck,and torso. The Demonette had more power than any human, neither that nor the pincers and claws were able to free the creature. The sharp edges left red lines on the marble skin and it was an open question of the Debauched One would strangle herself or if the wire would cut the throat first.
This was such an exquisite sight that Malus Darkblade might be excused to take a bit of time enjoying it in the midst of battle. This one was a foregone conclusion anyway. While most Chaos Warriors had not entangled themselves that thouroghly the wire slowed them to the point of stopping. Some were running left and right, trying to find a break, most were part of a huge mob that went nowhere. Both his mortar teams and his rifle companies were ruthlessly exploiting that. He had taken his forces back to the depot at the railhead that terminated his lifeline into Naggaroth. His troops had gathered everything that had been in the caravans to his lines and what was in the depot itself. For the moment he did not need to worry about beans and bullets, he had the tools to vanquish the foe. The razor wire, called S-wire by his pet German for some reason was a special boon. When one had enough of it the wire coils stopped the enemy better than a wall. It would neither yield to rams nor be destroyed by fire. The enemy could try to cut it, but his marksdruchii made any such attempt a costly one. It could be bridged by long planks thrown on it, but that created bottlenecks his warriors would ruthlessly exploit. In all
, (insert comma)
it slowed the enemy and funneled him into the Druchii firing lines. As long as there was ammunition it nearly did not matter how many enemies assaulted his position, they would not pass. And that gave Malekith's chosen general the time to watch such a beautiful sight as a Demonette cutting herself to pieces. Life was good but for one thing.
When his staff had taken an inventory of the depot they checked the manufacturing dates of all ammunition. The oldest one should be expended first after all. They should not have bothered, they did not find a single box older than two months. There seemed to be very few stocks back home, whatever was produced was shipped to the front line as fast as possible. Malus shivered at the thought of having any break in production. Something had to be done back home, something that sped up production. And that included securing production from the thrice-damned German who had the gall to call himself a Dread Lord.
Site Alpha, Kislev
The water molecules had arranged themselves into nice hexagonal grids. A lot of heat had bled elsewhere to make that happen and it would take a similar amount of energy to change that state of affairs. Individually the ice crystals were not that strong, but the great mass of them easily fended off the immense pressure from the Sea of Claws. Given the water's low temperatures the ice would take rather long to melt and probably would not do so till the onset of winter.
Until this was no longer so. Starting in a single crystal the bonds that held the water molecules in place weakened and the molecules themselves started to move more energetically. This spread out pretty quickly from the spot until the area was several meters in diameter and stopped there. Inside the dance quickened with every passing second till the first bonds dissolved and the molecules were free to move where chance would push them. In this case, chance took the shape of the Sea of Claws that felt an outlet for the pressure it had asserted against the ice. With a groan, a four-meter plug of ice dissolved into water and smaller pieces of ice and admitted a column of water that spilled in the void behind it. The column was joined by several others in short order and many tons of water entered the site every second.
Habbakuk, Site Alpha
On any other carrier,the structure would be called "the island" and handle both ship and flight control. And while they were imposing structures, they were always rather cramped as so many functions were crammed into them. None of them were wooden structures with ice backing and wooden balconies with nice carvings of bears and dragons. The island was bigger than any found on a carrier before and it still looked insignificant when compared to Leviathan.
A few beings rested their chests against a railing on the Island's top deck. A Druchii warrior, a few Kislevites and a German watched the four streams of water that emerged from the ice dam. An Ice Mage watched the German with at least the same fascination. The water that entered the dock would have filled a good-sized swimming pool a second and all that mass impacted on the ice ship's bow. It neither vibrated nor did it acknowledge the impact in other ways.
Valeral Morosov was finally curious enough to ask the engineer.
"You look worried Jacub Stephanovich. What is up?"
Pushing his upper body erect the German paused before he answered.
"In an hour or so the dock will be filled with enough water to lift the ship. And then we will see if she is structurally sound or not."
"Structurally sound means?"
"If she stays as she should or breaks in several parts."
"Why should she do so, I froze the ice well."
"And I never said different, this ship is strong. It is just that we never had the chance to calculate her weight distribution properly. It is possible, even if I do not think probable, that she is much lighter at the bow and stern or in the middle. If that is lifted up by the water the weight difference will break Leviathan's back, no matter how strong you made the ice."
"You spent a lot of time on this computer Jacub."
"So I did and I do stand by my math, that is solid. It is just that I rely on data by people who are dead and left incomplete plans we did not faithfully execute. I made a couple of assumptions when I set up the calculations and in an hour we will see how good they are."
"No pressure, right?"
"None at all."
Valera's hands were slender and lacked callus. They were still remarkably strong when they clamped on the engineer's shoulder.
"You did your best Jacub, as did we all. That has to be enough."
It took 37 further minutes before a creaking and a groaning could be heard all over. At the same time, there were vibrations that ran through the ship and nearly stopped Jacub's heart. It took nearly an hour of checking till the construction crew confirmed that there were neither leaks nor signs the ship was breaking apart. Leviathan had left its docking foundations and like any birth ,this was neither without pain nor a smooth process. Now that it was afloat it had to learn to move.
Guest quarters, Neustadt, Naggaroth
Now that Tevil knew what he was looking for he realized the extent of the madness around him. There were nurses that took care of slaves who were too old or too crippled to work any longer. By now he had found two more of these places of waste, and he just knew there would be more. Children who were clearly old enough to work were taken from their duties to be taught things they would not need for years if ever. They even got time to play. The workers in the steel mill received extra rations when they worked longer and some of them even had something of a paunch. While nobody should have thought a mere human could do what was necessary this was just crazy. Did this Thorsten, son of Breitkopf not know there was a war going on?
Tevil's pen went over the small piece of parchment in precise moments. Malus Darkblade had to learn of this, the sooner the better.
Breitkopf`s bedroom, at night
There was a very nice glow between the two bodies that meant that most of their sheets were still off . One was male, with a too-broad middle and good-sized shoulders, the other a lithe woman. Both were about five minutes away from sleep, if not less.
Anja's head rested on Thorsten's shoulder and her eyes were nearly closed when she asked the question that hid in her brain during the last hour.
"Thorsten, why did you not send for Magda today? It is not that Morathi's toy is not talented or that you were too exhausted."
"Miss her? I thought she was nice to you last Markttag, but that nice?"
The pillow barely missed the engineer's head.
"Not so funny love, even if she put on quite the show. Seriously now."
"I try to limit myself to once a week. In small doses she is nice, but I think she could be addictive, that will not do."
"You know that I am not jealous, don't you?"
"Yes love, I do know that. And still…."
"Still what?"
"Anja, to this very fucking day I do not know what made me join Claus Tolles back then. I mean yes, building up an industry from scratch "inventing" everything and tinkering to my heart's content is a dream for an engineer like me. And having access to nice, thankful lovelies was not to be sneezed at either. But enough of a dream to give up living in Germany and helping the bleeding Druchii? I have no bloody idea what made me, and for several years, ever since Claus blew most of us up I asked myself why I was that dumb. Then I met you."
"And now?"
"Now I have your love and about 450,000 beings I am responsible for. Me, being the protector of so many people? Their bloody patron? Fuck me sideways, I could not bear it without you. And I would do a piss-poor job of it if I think with my prick only, or drink too much or whatever and that includes lovely Magda."
"Don't burn yourself up, love."
"As long as you are with me, I will manage."
"Wouldn't want to be anywhere else Thorsten."
Underground, 250 KM from Karaz-a-Karak
The troll was illuminated by the flickering muzzle blasts of two machine guns and occasionally the beam of a headlight. It raced through the tunnel mad with hunger, pain and the need to kill those who had entered its domain. It ran at a speed no man could hope to match, its arms terminated in nasty claws, its teeth would grind through Dawi flesh, armor and bones with equal ease. That was if he did not vomit, its stomach acid would simply dissolve all before it.
So far Kargan's Thunderers managed to keep their distance from the beast. While their Dneper motorcycles were quite under-powered by German standards they managed to outdistance the monster quite handily. That was until they ran out of space or one of their rides suffered a breakdown.
Presently Kargan fitted a new belt into the machine gun before him. Normally one of the easiest tasks there was and he had done it a million times. In the midst of a flight over broken pavement and in the close confines of a sidecar things were difficult enough. Finally, he managed to fit the belt and close the cover. He punched his driver, Fagrin, and slashed his hand across his chest. Fagrin used his handbrake only to slow the motorcycle while pulling the handlebar in the right direction. The front wheel slowed when the brake bit, the sidecar tried to overtake the motorcycle from momentum and so managed a very tight turn. The Dnepr would have turned over if Kargan would not have shifted his weight as much as possible.
And then they faced the monster again. Kargan disengaged the travel lock pulled the machine gun against his shoulder. When he pulled the trigger the familiar buzz hammered against his abused eardrums. The venerable weapon sent ten rounds per second downrange and the sidecar mounts were stable enough to make sure that their recoil did not spoil the aim too much. It would have downed most mortal enemies, but the Troll had already absorbed an ungodly amount of bullets without slowing down. This time the bullets were different though. Instead of invisible killers nearly every one of them left a glowing trail in the air, making it look like some railgun. The tracer spoiled Kargan's night vision and did not aid his aiming any. That had not been the reason for the change in ammo. The bullets did not have very far to go and every third of them carried a tiny bit of phosphorus with them.
The troll's skin and whatever made up its body was substantial enough to stop the bullets within it. Which did not keep the tracer bullets from burning their full allocated time within it. The monster was hit by at least a fourth of the 200-round belt that went through the machine gun within ten seconds. And wherever they came to rest they kept the famous healing Trolls were capable of from happening. The speeding monster dropped to the ground and spent the rest of his life screaming in pain and clawing at its own burning flesh.
Kargan's grin was hidden by his beard, thankfully there was no need for the infernal masks in these tunnels. The smile did not last long though.
"Now that could have gone better."
"It did surprise us, what did you expect? No time to get out the grenade launcher."
The long leather coat and the armored vest did a lot to hide Fagrim's shoulders, they were still broad enough to show the shrug.
"No big deal, we got us another Troll."
"Yea, lets hope that is the last of these pests. Get going we need to meet Glorim."
The motorcycle made its way through the tunnel easily enough. Once it had been more than five meters in diameter, once it had two set of rails that allowed the Dawi to travel in safety and transport their riches with ease. Now the lack of maintenance and earthquakes had dropped huge boulders in the path. The rails had been forged into greenskin weapons and the sleepers had probably fired the forges that made them.
The slender Dneprs still managed to make their way forward. The 121st Thunderers, also known as the Angels had accepted another mission.
Thorgrim Grudgebearer, High King of all Dawi had decreed that the Undgrin Ankor, the Deep Ways of the dwarves were to be restored. They had been destroyed during the time of woes. The Slann had tried to remake the world in the image of what they believed the plan of the Old Ones to be. The earthquakes that had been the byproduct of their doings had hit everybody hard, but the Dawi had suffered the most. When they had restored their Karaks, when they had bound their wounds and assembled their warriors the tunnels had been either blocked or hopelessly overrun by all manner of beasts. Some of the paths were still in use, but they were a dangerous way to travel.
The new times had given the Dawi new tools. The jackhammer and TNT, electric lighting, ventilation and railroads, the K47 rifle and the hated gas masks. They mean that the Dawi could now clear the ancient ways of debris and pests alike and restore the Undgrin Ankor to its former glory and even enhance its usefulness. The Angels were the tip of the spear as much as the Deep Way from Karaz-a-Karak to Barak Varr was concerned. Dealing with small bands of Greenskins, the occasional Ragnarock Spider or Troll and scouting the bigger threats was what they had been doing for the last weeks. And they were doing good, their modern weapons, armor and transportation made them nearly invulnerable. Their time in Skavenblight and elsewhere made sure that they understood the difference between "nearly" and "really".
Kargan met two other 'cycles when they made their way down the tunnel and together they managed to reach the point where the maps indicated a good resting point might be. The entrance to that was nearly blocked by an ancient machine that had derailed and turned sideways. The Dneprs managed to pass it to a side, but barely so. Behind the obstacle darkness swallowed the light by the headlamps as if it was not there. When they entered, they saw that the way station was huge, the walls and ceiling so far away that their lights barely reflected off them. The rest of the Angels arrived soon thereafter, the dozen motorcycles fit the waystation with lots of room to spare.
The Thunderers checked the way station and its many entrances carefully, placed tripwires and a few claymore mines before they made their camp. A kerosene cooker provided enough heat to convert German EPA rations and some condiments into something worth eating. Self-inflating mats made the granite floor bearable and some beer cans had survived all that this mission could throw at them. By now the Dawi had ditched their long coats and the coal-scuttle helmets, and while most of them were seated around the cooker their weapons were never far from them.
Kargan wiped some foam from his beard before addressing his driver.
" Did you check that old steam engine Fargan?"
"Yes, must have been one of Knut Krakkerson's machines. I think they ran this route. I would like to know what he would think about what we are doing today."
"Ah, like all the elders he would have told us that we are soft, cannot hack it and rely on German equipment too much."
"He would have a hard time arguing with four Trolls in one day I'd say."
"Would have called us lily-livered as we did not chew them to pieces with only our lower jaws like they used to do it in the old days I'd wager."
"Won't take that wager for sure."
The two beer cans met in the middle, and while they gave no resounding clunk the sheer fact that they had decent beer in the middle of a detached mission was a probably a sign of Valaya's favor. Or the business of Warsteiner, which made a bit more sense.
After crunching the can in his huge fist Kargan found his driver thinking about something.
"What's up Fagrim?"
"Why did they blow it?"
"Blow what?"
"Kargan, we are good, we both know it and we have the scars to prove it. Still, we are not so much better than the elders who think a dead Troll is a good excuse for a booze-up. Or the Slayers who thought a Troll would make for a good doom. Still we managed to take four without too much drama and can do it again tomorrow. Our equipment allowed us to kill the trolls who held this waystation for a long time. All the Greenskins could not do it, otherwise the rails and the engine would be gone by now. We did it in an afternoon, because we have machine guns, motorcycles and grenade launchers."
"So?"
"Kargan, Krakkerson's machine is here for a hundred years or so, and it was old when it was abandoned. And when Knut built the engine it was certainly not the first steam engine built by Dawi. Between the "Rocket", one of Earth's first practical steam engines and the first machine guns like the one on our ride the humans took some 120 years. They had the whole bloody Industrial Revolution during these 120 years. And during most of that time they could have handled the Greenskins, the Tagorathi and a bleeding Troll better than us. So how could we miss that? Why did we not use our knowledge to make steel in real amounts and why did the Ironbreakers wield Hammer and Axe and not shotgun and grenade? How could they miss the chance to make the Dawi the preeminent race on this blasted world? Why do we have to use old motorcycles that Germans think quaint and count ourselves lucky? THAT is why I say the elders blew it."
"Did you think this little speech up just now or did this need to brew for a while?"
"Kargan, a lot of the younger Dawi ask the same question. Maybe not because of Knut Krakkerson's steam engine, but because of decent diesel engines, because of good weapons. Or just because currently our best works is copying human achievements that are outdated. With German help of course, don`t ask the guild into researching anything original."
"You are preaching to the choir here Fargan. I am twice your age, yes, but have hardly become so venerable that there is no place for new thoughts in my head. I am just not trying to have it all at once. Now tell me, was that why for real or just because you like to hear yourself speak?"
"For real if you have answers."
"Oh, I have been thinking about this ever since Skavenblight, like every Dawi should. Talked quite a bit to the humans in my squad back then too. So, I have my answers, tell me if they are good. So first the biggie: A lot of our machines run a bit on magic. Some more, some less, very few have none. In some cases it is pretty obvious, like the Rune of Flying on the Gyrocopters. There is no way these things would fly with a heavy, low-powered hot bulb engine without that. In other cases, our forging seems to have hardened the steel past the point where the alloy would have allowed for or machines work despite tolerances that should prevent that. So, we use magic for our better achievements and magic is hard to produce in numbers.
Even worse is our tendency to build the absolute best we can, or at least what the Master in question thinks is best. Mass production, "good enough" and designing an item with ease of production is not something I ever heard our machinists talking about. Krakkerson built that machine with a very small team and took many years to finish. He could have gotten himself a larger workshop, hired more people and do it faster. But that would have gone against the guilds, would have meant compromises and whatever magic he imbued in this engine would have been lost. Up from the fact that the guilds think any technology that is not tested a hundred times dangerous folly.
So, there you have it. Some reasons are good, some are our own stupidity and all of them are us."
"So?"
"So, we have to become different or we will no longer matter. And I will shave before I want to see the Dawi exist because the Reiksbund shelters a few lovable tinkerers."
"So, what do you think we need to change?"
"Now, there is the meat of the matter, isn't it lad? But before we bicker about that let me put some of that beer away."
A human would have had problems with the debris-strewn ground and the low light. For Kargan it was lit well enough and he made his way past one of the pillars. He was about to undo his fly when he felt something that made his hairs stand on edge.
"Fuck me sideways, even a Troll cannot be that dumb."
A flashlight worked in together with a sleeve that rubbed the dirt away to reveal a rune in the pillar. Laying his hand on the stone Kargan listened to something that was audible only in his mind.
"Hashashok"
His mind was focused by the old word of power and the warp provided the little bit of energy the Rune needed for activation. In turn it activated the many glowstones set into the walls and pillars of the way station.
Kargan grinned when he heard the Angels' cries of alarm which quickly gave way to more subdued admiration.
The way station had been nothing special in its time, just a place to rest, to change mules and get some food. It had been a den of Trolls for a long time and they had trashed the floor and what furniture might have been in here beyond recognition. And still a yellow warm light lit the station, allowing the Dawi to see its site for the first time. It had a huge, vaulted ceiling covered with intricate reliefs showing the Dawi of their day. Each pillar that supported that ceiling was a statue of a worthy ancestor, combining function with beauty. Everything above was just so after such a long time.
"Looks like the ancients did a couple of things right Fagrim, don't you think?"
"Aye Kargan, that they did."
