Hag Graef, Naggaroth

The air was cold, dry, and burned any exposed skin Ernutan Doomshakler presented to it, which was not very much. The stars watched over the battlefield that was Hag Graef in great if uncaring brilliance.
Rifle fire crackled out now and then but nothing really threatening. The area around the command post was reasonably safe as it was nearly two kilometers away from the parts of Hag Graef currently fought over.
Ernutan's color party kept their distance, having learned their Lord's strange preferences quickly enough. Those who did not found themselves back at the front where the life expectancy of low- to mid-level leaders was roughly 11 days.
That a true dwarf would prefer the canopy of stars and fresh air over the shelter of good rock and the company of comrades spoke volumes about Ernutan's state of mind. There were very few good comrades left, he was surrounded by DawiZharr whose name he no longer bothered to learn.

Oh yes, his division was killing the pointy-eared dandelion eaters, lots, and lots of them. But this was their city, they regarded killing from ambush a supplication to their god, and the survivors were good. So all the news in the command bunker were shades of bad, and even the best decision he made using his most refined tactics only resulted in fewer warriors killed and tortured. It was like trying to hold fine sand in one hand. You could only slow the loss, not stop it.
Yes, he needed some fresh air and the absence of bad news for a moment to be able to get on with the slaughter.
At first, he did not hear the sounds consciously, and his tired mind needed a second to parse them. When he had finally discovered that he was indeed hearing the sounds of retching and puking the sounds, that was joined by quiet curses and something that might be weeping if the true dwarfs did such a thing.
Angry at a world that would not allow him a single moment of solitude, he stepped towards the ruins that were the source of the disturbance. When he entered the remains of a hallway he got a glimpse into hell. Down in a room was... something.

He had seen an autopsy of a DawiZharr once, one of Lord Mordred's pet humans had performed it. He had dissected the body, he pulled away muscles, nerves, and organs so that everyone could see the ravages of the heavy metals in the Dark Land's soil. It had been a grisly sight in its own right, but the corpse had not been alive.
The Dark Elves had managed to produce a similar result and nailed it to a wall in a building he would have deemed safe a few minutes ago. And by careful work and magic, they had kept the DawiZharr warrior alive. He could not cry or make any other sounds but labored breathing given that his vocal cords and tongue were not in their usual positions. The eye that was still in its socket managed to convey the pain and despair well enough. The dwarven flame thrower was not far from the victim, it had not helped him any.

One of Ernutan's guards looked at him and raised an eyebrow in a wordless question. Doomshakler did not trust his voice enough to answer and simply nodded. The guard pulled a revolver from his holster and aimed for the victim's head when something made Ernutan shout a warning and jump from the hallway.
He was not in time, the heavy bullet ripped the head apart and something that sounded like breaking glass a heartbeat later. The flamethrower exploded half a second later, dousing everybody in the room with clinging fiery death. Ernutan felt Hashut's breath passing him by, leaving him to his task of sending more of his warriors to die.

MOBA One, Mannslieb

"No Rogers, no Bucks." Jürgen Mannheimer smiled when he typed away at the keyboard before him. There were a million questions to answer, a lot of statements to endorse or correct, a lot of "likes" to give.
DLR's budget was one of the Federal Republic's biggest, and it was always under pressure and scrutiny. All was fair in love, war, and budget appropriations and so DLR had decided to make MOBA One's trips a bit more spectacular.

Once the huge former mining vehicle had proven to be reliable, they had sent it on a hell of a scientific excursion. They could have gotten results from making shorter trips from Oberth Base, but that would not have the same impact on the public. Instead, the powers that be had sent MOBA one on a trip that went all around Mannslieb before it was over.
And to make sure the taxpayer took notice of such heroics they, among other things, made room for a social media manager. Especially since the younger demographics were participating so much more this way than via the TV they thought old-fashioned.
The ground below him started to tilt upwards a bit, and the drive was noticeably louder now. Given her huge mass and size, MOBA One had a very unique ride, more like a ship or a plane than a ground vehicle.

Together with the low gravity, it took some getting used to, but Mannheim was far too excited to care at present. MOBA One was just climbing the outer perimeter of the Heinlein crater. It was situated at the side of Mannlieb that was forever hidden from the Warhammer World.
The crater had shown up when Nathan Alpers took Polarstern around the moon for the first time. Even then it had taken DLR's analysts some time to see what was special around it.

While there were craters galore on Mannslieb's surface, none of them was precisely circular, but for one. And MOBA one was just climbing the crater's wall to have a look.
When the huge vehicle finally came to rest, the sight was spectacular. A perfect bowl, 32 kilometers in diameter was not something you see every day. Heinlein's ground was covered by a light coat of dust, showing how very old it was. All the dust on its surface had to come from space, there was no wind to blow it about. What was practically totally absent were the many boulders that peppered Mannslieb's surface.

Mannheimer had to write a lot about the mission and everything else to keep his viewers glued to the screens. DLR

might be willing to indulge the taxpayers, but they would not forego safety protocols. So Jürgen had to wait together with many, many people while a drone made its way down the slope before them, while measurements were taken and decisions made.
It was nearly towards the end of an overlong shift that a couple of astronauts followed the drone's path. They were taking it slowly and carefully. Their spacesuits were rather tough, but atmosphere and rain never had a chance to dull the edges of the stones and boulders that dotted the upper rim of the crater. Dropping on them was probably safe, but when your very survival depended on the integrity of a few layers of high-tech fabrics, caution easily won.

The three astronauts moved from the crater's rim to the smoother part, and that was where their caution failed them. When the first person placed his second foot on the thin layer of dust his feet could not provide enough traction. Instead the thin dust layer gave way and pulled the legs with it.
Given Mannlieb's low gravity the fall did not injure and the slide down the crater seemed to happen in slow motion. Twisting on his front and pushing down with his arms the astronaut managed to hold his descent. He was obviously looking at the trail left by his merry slide when he forgot that he was on live TV.

"Heilige Scheiße," the man cursed.

Mannheimer, who looked at what the astronaut's camera revealed, could not agree more. Below the layer of dust was a gleaming white surface that was visible wherever the fall had removed the dust. All the carefully laid plans for MOBA One's excursion were scrapped, and the huge vehicle remained in place for nearly two weeks.
In the end, their findings combined with bits and pieces of data from Nathan and Hypatia revealed that this was a radio telescope left by the Ancient Ones. A radio telescope 32 kilometers in diameter, on the "quiet" side of Mannslieb. It would be really useful in learning if the Warhammer World's neighborhood held any tech-minded civilizations.

There were more than a few surprises when the Raumstreitkräfte and DLR got around to place a receiver in its focal point.

Pi: 3.149 Naggaroth

The icy wind flapped the tent's insulated sides and worked on the flue that doubled as a tent pole like on an oversized flute, producing sounds like a mournful organ. Despite the best what German design and slave work could accomplish, gusts of wind sent icy tendrils through the tent. It was illuminated by a single oil lamp that painted flickering shadows all across the walls.
Malus Darkblade saw and felt none of that. He reread the letter he had received from Malekith himself and needed all his willpower not to scream in frustration.
In not so many words, the letter told him that he would not receive the reinforcements, weapons, and munitions he had asked for. The battles with the Chaos Dwarfs, in his own city no less, meant that he would receive less not more.

At least two sentences hinted that Hag Graef had more than its fair share of modern weapons. Reading those lines had sent dark shivers down Malus's spine, which had nothing at all to do with the weather. And now he had to make a decision about a change of plans and on how much a risk he needed to take.
A look at the last report about his stock levels decided the matter. He took Tevil Magestalker's report on Neustadt from the locked box where it had stayed till he could make good use of it. Originally he wanted to use it on this Torsten, son of Breitkopf, to send him a larger share of supplies. Maybe even sending them off the books, giving Malus capabilities that the Witch King would not know about. Now he would use this report in a rather different way.