By Fury's Speed

The command center was going haywire. Uther's adjutants were getting swamped with incoming reports, and he was dodging request after request as he shoved his way towards the vox terminal. "Get me a line to Captain Dalton, now," he ordered the operator. "I want to know what the hell is going on out there! And get back, you fools, give me some space!"

The adjutants obliged, but only after a few forceful shrugs influenced their decision. What was Merrick thinking? He would never abandon an assignment like this, and he certainly wouldn't get Hurst to go along with it. The operator offered him the caster. "This is Captain Uther, Vendoland 85th. Captain Dalton, do you want to fill me in on what my troopers have done?"

Dalton's speech was brisk. "According to your sergeant, half his squad was trapped on a moving transport, and they moved to pursue it using an unidentified vehicle. My men are still securing the Hab block. The place is crawling with hostiles."

"Oh for the love of, where were they heading?" demanded Uther. "Is anyone able to support them?"

"I've sent Lieutenant Modren's Kydorans to follow them. A fat lot of good a Sentinel is going to be trying to keep up, but they were the only units I could spare."

Uther wiped his forehead of sweat. "Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"Yes sir, I fear this is much worse than we anticipated."

Uther leaned over the console, lowering his voice. "How much worse?"

Wadden groaned, sitting upright. The carapace armor had done its job, but he still ached. He looked around. He was inside the cargo container of the fleeing transport. Hurst could hear the hum of the engine, and he felt the bumpy highway through the truck bed. "Vornas, Remer, are you there?" he said.

"Here," said Vornas, his voice coming from behind a pile of crates. "I've got Remer with me."

"And I must say, Bor, you make an excellent cushion. I'm fine by the way, helmet or not."

"Shame, you could have had some sense knocked into you."

"I knew you cared about me."

"Shut it," said Hurst. He looked around the container. The flatbed was filled with crates, but the main cargo appeared to be three long cylindrical containers. "Any ideas on how we get out of this mess?"

Remer leaned against one of the long tubes. "Well, not falling in here in the first place would have been the place to start." He looked up, "Right now I'd say our best bet is to get into the driver's cabin. This container looks like it's self contained. We'll have to go up and over the top, then drop onto the truck itself to get in though."

Hurst was only half listening. His focus was on the long tubes. "Private, do you know what you are leaning on?"

"Not really, no."

"I was being rhetorical you idiot. Get off that thing, now." Remer put up his hands and backed away from the tube. "That, private, is a Deathstrike Missile Warhead. This truck is filled with atomic weaponry."

Remer and Vornas glanced at each other, then down at the truck bed. "I hope our driver knows that, sir. It's getting awfully bumpy."

"Alek, what's our heading?" called Merrick over the wind whipping through the open topped jeep. In the passenger's seat, Alek was pouring over a hololith chart of the Angel Hive freeways. Kippler was on the multilas turret, holding onto the gun and praying the webbing holding him in didn't give out as they tore down the road.

"We're heading northwest, boss," he said. "This highway takes us along a route between Capital Spire and Legis before merging into the trans-hive mega roads."

"They could go any direction they wanted to by then. We'll have to catch them before that happens."

"Right boss!"

The Tauros was a little rusty, but given the condition of the workshop, the recon vehicle was surprisingly well maintained. Dalton's troops could take the building, but the truck was Merrick's priority, orders be damned. The fact that the people holed up in the hab block had the vehicles in the first place was troubling, however. Merrick put behind his guilt at abandoning the Artemians, and kept driving.

The sun cracked road dissolved under the jeep's tires, kicking up large dust plumes as they sped along after the fleeing transport. Below the highway, the last vestiges of human civilization gave away fully into the irradiated Dead Zone proper. But it was not empty. Something had caught sight of the movement along the road. And that something grinned, kicking his bike into action, raising his blade and letting loose an unmistakeable howl.

"WAAAGH!"

Hurst grabbed hold of Vornas's hand and pulled himself out of the container. Keeping low to avoid losing his balance, Hurst crawled along the surface of the container, slowly moving forwards. Remer was keeping watch on the edge, a pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes while he surveyed their surroundings. The truck wasn't slowing down, but it also wasn't trying to throw them off. Hurst guessed they didn't know they were there.

He and Vornas reached Remer. "We drop down onto the latch and work our way around to the door," said Hurst. "Our priority is keeping this thing from crashing, but I want to know where they were going with their cargo. So don't shoot the driver, just remove him."

Remer nodded. "Got it boss," he said. He then pointed behind them. "What about them?"

Hurst looked around. The highway had suddenly become awful busy. Around twenty vehicles were pursuing them. Their ramshackle construction was enough to identify them as Orks. The sudden zipping of bullets passing overhead just confirmed it. "Keep them off the truck if you can, you two," said Hurst. "I'll take the cab before our driver gets us all killed."

"On it, sir." Remer and Vornas swapped out their frag grenade belts for krak grenades, snapping the drums into place on their launchers. "I'll take the bike on the left, Bor. You take the trukk."

The Orks were closing in fast. Their vehicles were plastered with garish red paint and skull sigils that made convenient targets. With their first volley, Remer and Vornas caught their targets easily. Remer's grenade tore through the bike's front wheel, tossing the Ork over his handlebars as the chassis kicked forward. A green and red smear coated the road where he skidded to a halt.

The other Ork raiders veered to avoid the crash, letting Vornas's grenade explode on the front grill of the trukk. The engine's blast took out the driver, and the Orks holding onto the sides began to bail out, either falling to their deaths or leaping to other vehicles to continue their pursuit. Remer had to give it to them, they were tenacious. That just meant he had to try harder.

That was being made all the more difficult by their driver's erratic behaviour. Remer was struggling to stay still enough to fire while the transport swerved wildly to avoid the Ork shots. The idiot was going to die from a crash before an Ork bullet got through his thick metal cab. The Ork bikes were already faster than the hauler, swerving was just going to slow him down. Between a nuclear explosion and a high speed collision resulting in a nuclear explosion, Remer was hoping that Hurst could get things under control.

Hurst had been hoping the same thing. Then the bastard had jerked suddenly, throwing him off balance. He held onto the container's railing with both hands, trying to stay flat to the left side of the truck. The rockrete barrier was coming distressingly close. He kicked out ineffectually, hoping that somehow his boots would keep him from being crushed.

He began to shimmy along the railing, moving towards the cab. The railing was slippery, not helped by his sweaty hands. The truck was struck from behind with a loud clash. One hand slipped, and he swung around. Hurst gasped as his wrist was twisted, but he held on despite the pain.

The Orks were swiftly overtaking the transport. A second War Trukk pulled up alongside them, its side covered in Orks swinging hooks and roped barbs at anything they could latch onto. The driver of the truck veered into the Orks to push them off. Instead, the Orks just used the opportunity to leap onto the truck. Remer snapped another grenade belt into his launcher before promptly darting along the container away from the xenos.

Vornas got one shot off before following him. The greenskins piled onto the container, brandishing knives the size of cleavers and even bigger guns. Remer swallowed, glancing from the pressing orks to Vornas and back. "Any ideas, Bor?"

"I was hoping you had something actually," said Vornas uncertainly.

The Sentinels pounded across the ash wastes, following the growing trails of smoke along the highway. Modren pushed the squadron to their machine's limits, bounding across the land. He barely felt the walker's feet touch the ground before it sprang forward again. They had to get ahead of the truck and find a way to bring it to a stop.

The smoke clouds were worrying. Modren had no idea if the traitors had found friends on the road, or if something else was happening. There had been reports of movement along the trans-hive roads, far outside the Kydoran's operating zone. They had no idea what was out here, information being distributed on a need to know basis.

He tried his vox again. "Sergeant Merrick, Modren here. Respond damn you!" The Vendolander hadn't answered a single hail since they'd set out, whether because he couldn't respond or he didn't want to. Modren didn't know what to think. He smacked the console in frustration and kept the Sentinels going.

Switching channels to the squadron, he spoke again. "Alright boys, the Daredevils aren't going to give us the time of day, so from now on, we're on our own. Follow heading mark two-five. It's an access ramp that will take us over the highway. The road bends east about twenty kilometers ahead, so we'll cut across to get ahead of them, then we blow the overpass. One way or another, that truck is stopped, and Kydoran blood is avenged!"

Merrick weaved in between the scrap strewn thoroughfare. Seemed the Orks had taken an interest to the transport as well. They weren't doing a good job however, but he never thought much of Ork planning to begin with. They were just another obstacle. A large, green, gun laden obstacle.

The specks on in the distance were quickly growing into the large, distinctive shapes of the Ork raiders. "Soras, take out the wheels!" said Merrick. Behind him, Kippler powered up the multilaser. Alek set down the hololith chart and readied his hellgun. The whir of the multilaser rose to a droning whine. Kippler fired.

True to his reputation, Kippler scored an impressive number of hits. The nearest Bike was shorn in two by the flurry of shots before the Orks even knew what hit them. They wouldn't get so lucky again. Noticing their comrade's demise, two more bikers dropped back, flanking either side of the Tauros. Merrick veered into the biker on the left, forcing the Xenos to back off.

Alek was struggling with his Ork. The slavering Xenos had taken a chance and swept in close enough to start swinging his knife at Alek. Alek was simultaneously trying to shoot the Ork and deflect the knife with his hellgun, achieving neither with any grace. The Ork howled and swung at Alek again, who sank into his seat and raised his gun. The knife lodged into the hellgun, sparks flaring out of the barrel.

Kippler paled. "Alek, lose the gun! Now!" This was bad. Las weaponry was sturdy and reliable, provided the weapon wasn't breached. Then, the gun turned into a bomb. An overcharged lasgun was comparable to an IED when it exploded, enough to destroy a vehicle. And a hellgun was worse. Alek struggled to remove his backpack while the Ork wrenched both his knife and the lodged gun away, still connected to the backpack cables.

Frantic, Alek ripped his glove off, revealing his mechanical fingers. The sharp metal edges of the fingers cut through the harness, finally tearing the backpack free. Alek let out a gasp as the backpack caught on his right shoulder. The Ork pulled away, grinning madly. Alek looked up and saw that laughing maw become embroiled in flames, the hellgun blasting apart in its face.

"Nice one!" said Kippler, breathing a sigh of relief. Now he just had to focus on Merrick driving like a madman. The boss was forcing the second Ork into the barrier. Merrick jerked the Tauros into the bike, though it looked like the spiked contraption was doing more damage to the jeep than to the Ork. The blades scraped into the edge of the Tauros. Kippler brought the multilaser around and pummeled the Ork. Merrick pulled away, leaving the driverless bike to smear itself along the pavement.

They finally caught up with the transport. Two Ork Wartrukks had latched onto it. Surprisingly, however, the number of Orks actually on the transport was substantially less than the number splattered across the highway.

Hurst pulled himself around the container and finally breathed easy. Sure, the truck was traveling dangerously fast for its cargo, and there was the several large greenskins crawling over the container, but, he had some footing on the platform hitch. His Hellgun had torn loose from the backpack while he'd held onto the side, leaving him with just his Laspistol. So things were going well, given the circumstance. He hoped that the same could be said for Remer and Vornas.

"I've got twelve, Remer, you're getting slow!" called Vornas. The Orks couldn't get close to them, eating grenade after grenade that blew the filthy Xenos into tiny bits.

"Eat a holy hand grenade Bor, I'm busy." Remer ducked under the Ork's swing and beat his spent grenade launcher into the beast's abdomen. It didn't do much but it made him feel happy. The Ork barely flinched before throwing a punch that hit Remer squarely in the chest, flooring him. So this was death then. He thought there would be more fear and soiled clothing involved. The Ork raised its blade, poised to ram it through Remer's breastplate. He closed his eyes.

And nothing happened. There was the sound of gunfire, but with Orks around that was hardly unusual. It was the lack of a large chunk of metal being repeatedly thrust into his chest that seemed absent. Remer popped one eye open. The Ork was missing, and the others had either jumped off the container or lay splattered across it. Beside him, Vornas shared the look of confusion.

Peering over the side, they realized what happened. As if dropped out of the sky by the Emperor himself, there were Merrick, Alek and Kippler, zipping alongside the transport in a Tauros and dishing out some serious shots at the Orks.

Modren's Sentinels reached the overpass minutes ahead of time. Their shortcut across the ash wastes had paid off; the convoy was still well behind them. "This is it lads, take out the supports."

The Sentinel squadron opened fire, spewing multilas shots and autocannon fire into the thick rockrete foundations and rusted c-beams. The ancient roadway began to crumble under the sustained barrage, until visible cracks began to appear in the overpass's structure. Modren ordered his men to halt, and the squadron backed off.

The bridge broke, splintering in several places as the weakened supports gave way under the weight. Thirty tons of rockrete and titanium collapsed into a massive heap, spilling over the highway under a huge cloud of dust. Modren leaned back in his cockpit, satisfied. Let those filthy traitors pass through that, he thought.

Hurst wrestled with the driver, throwing punch after punch at the man and throwing him off the wheel. The driver pressed himself against the side of the cab and kicked out with both feet, knocking Hurst back. Hurst's laspistol was long gone in the struggle, leaving him with only his hands and feet to hold off the driver. Keeping the truck from crashing into anything and sending everything around them up in a nuclear firestorm complicated things. Hurst lashed out again, beating the man across the face with his metal plated glove.

His attacker recoiled from the hit, bouncing back and trying to shove Hurst off the steering wheel. Fed up, Hurst grabbed the man and brought his helmet down with a hard crack. The man slumped down onto the cab floor. Wadden sighed in relief.

The Orks were still out there, peppering the truck with shots. Hurst didn't have a chance of outrunning them. He would pull the truck around and head back towards Imperial territory. That was their only chance. There was an interchange up ahead, Hurst could see the rising bridges creeping up above the road. He pushed the truck as fast as it would go.

Kippler sprayed lasfire over the truck one last time, making sure no Orks left up there would get back up. Merrick gunned the engine on the Tauros, speeding ahead of the truck to deal with the Orks in front trying to block their path. He gave a thumbs up to Remer and Vornas as they passed, Remer pumping a fist in return. They could do this. Wartrukks were peeling off from the fight, but the bikers were more persistent.

Kippler revved up the multilaser again, peppering the nearest bike with shots. The biker was a big one, the Boys' Nob leader. The dark green Xenos's bike was emblazoned with garish red paint and spiked decals. It was a much tougher and better put together machine than the others. It would be a tough nut to crack with their current firepower.

The Nob dropped his speed and pulled up beside them. The damn thing was grinning, thought Kippler. Rather than pull a gun, the Ork was just holding beside them. The Xenos spoke in broken Gothic. "'Ere we go! Dis iz what I've bin waitin' for, sumfin fasta! Come on, Humies, show me wot you'z got! WAAAAGH!"

"Is he serious!?" shouted Alek as the Nob pulled ahead.

"Not as serious as I'm about to get, open up Kip!" growled Merrick.

Kippler shook his head. "No good boss, I can't dent that thing. Run him down before he thinks his idea through and changes his mind."

"Frak this!" said Merrick. The Tauros shot forward. Merrick rammed the jeep into the Ork's rear wheel, trying to spin the bastard. The bike was too heavy, and the Ork peeled away laughing.

"Hehehe! Ya Humies 'ave got sum teef! Come on, bring it!" The Nob angled into them, and the two vehicles became locked in a pushing match. Merrick pushed against the Nob, who happily backed off before bashing into them again and again.

This close, Kippler couldn't get a shot off, so he stayed focused on the road. They were traveling under the overpasses, and a large curve was coming up. Several Ork bikes screamed around the corner, before pulling to a halt. The truck and the dueling vehicles zoomed past them. Kippler looked back at them before turning forward again.

His eyes went wide. "Boss! Pull back, now!"

Hurst saw the rubble too late to stop. Keeping himself from panicking, he hit the emergency release for the trailer and prayed to the Emperor that it would land safely. He braced for impact.

Vornas and Remer stumbled as the truck pulled away, leaving the trailer skidding dangerously fast along the road, its hinges carving deep scars in the pavement. "Jump!" shouted Remer. The two guardsmen threw themselves from the container, hitting the ground hard, still being dragged along by momentum. Remer rolled over and covered his head just as the trailer pitched to its side. This was it.

Modren winced when the truck hit the blockade. The front end smashed through the rubble, tearing itself apart as it did. Whatever was left of the truck slid to a halt in front of them, a smoking metal hull, streaked with blood.