A Storm of Fire and Steel, Part One
Night was once again falling across the cityscape of the hive. Emergency lights dotted the Golgotha and Capital Spires, marking the safe zones of the hive to all willing to heed the warnings. Within the black expanse that spread across the Dead Zone, uncontested fires burned through the crumbling hab blocks and factories.
To the southwest lay the blackened Spire Legis, a constant, bitter reminder of the all too recent past. As the Black Legion had rampaged across Angel Hive uncontested, Legis was the first of the Spires to fall, torn apart from within by the firepower of Gregor Vandis's armies and the vile corruption of Chaos. The Imperial counterattack had quickly devolved into a grueling, weeks long conflict that ended in a cruelly hollow victory.
Gren spat at the memory of the fight. Thousands of Vendolanders died in that blasted Spire, and for what? The place was still teeming with cultists, any loyal Imperial citizens were long dead, and the whole enterprise had proven to be a ruse. A full scale attack on the supposed hotspot of Vandis's rebellion, leaving the Capital Spire unprotected. How could they have made such an obvious mistake?
It was Castille's fault, thought Gren, taking another puff from his cigar. Leaving the Planetary Defense Force to guard the capital was a monumentally stupid idea. Thank the Emperor the Blood Ravens weren't so naive to ignore the obvious threat. The Guard were out on their asses chipping away at a fortified position, the laughing stock of the Imperium, and they died in droves for it.
And then Urizen happened. The closest neighbouring Hive had never been contested during the first crusade, and remained a hotbed for cultist activity. General Castille had pulled the Guard regiments into another costly campaign, except this time without the aid of the Space Marines. The results were horrifying. Thankfully the idiot had paid for it that time. There were few tears shed for that waste of flesh.
Gren heaved a deep sigh. The past weighed heavily on him, eating at his heart, now chewed raw. So many faces among the dead, faces he'd known too well to not be affected by their passing. He knew he was suffering from depression, everyone knew. He also was grateful that the rest of the company had given him space, and time to come to terms with his loss. Everyone except Flinn.
The boy was an infuriating contradiction. He'd been with Gren for years now, the youngest trooper in the Company. When there was nobody else to turn to, Flinn was always there, whether Gren liked it or not. He felt an odd compulsion to protect the boy, but the boy was as good a soldier as he was. It was sort of inspiring in a way, the young trooper and the weary veteran forging a bond. Gren hated Flinn for that. Flinn deserved better than him.
There was someone behind him. Gren turned around to see Lieutenant Naals approaching. "Come on, Gren, jump to. We're moving out, Captain's orders. The Colonel's got the whole battalion mobilizing, so get your kit and get down to The Gulch."
"Where are we heading?" asked Gren.
"Angel Forge," said Naals. "We're meeting up with the billets there and then moving onto our objective. Something about a smuggling ring that command wants us to take down."
Gren sighed, putting out his cigar. "Lead the way, sir."
From the empty balcony jutting out of Urizen's Old Spire, Zephus-Hassan watched the last ebbing rays of the sun settle below the horizon, making way for the welcoming darkness of night. The next stage was in motion, sooner than he had anticipated. It would happen tonight. He spoke into the darkness within the tower. "Send for them."
Whatever heard his command scuttled away into the night. It wasn't long before ten great giants, clad in black and gold plate emerged onto the balcony. Zephus turned to face the Legionnaires, speaking in an even, but commanding voice. "The time has come. No doubt the Imperium knows of our presence here, but we must allay their suspicions no longer. A show of force is needed. You, my Chosen, will lead our followers against the Imperium. Tonight, Spire Legis awakens once again."
The Astartes chanted in unison. "As it shall be, Warlord." Zephus smiled. Pathetic imbeciles, each of them. How simple a task it had been to gain their trust. The Black Legion's recruiting standards had fallen so low, it had seemed. Bestowing such titles as "Chosen" or "Enlightened" upon these neophytes had proven an easy form of coercion. None of them were Heresy veterans. None of them had ever suspected the Hassan's true origins.
They were tools, a means to an end, as all servants of Chaos were. Only the strong would prosper. The rest would burn for their Gods. The "Chosen" bowed to him, leaving for their followers. In many ways, Zephus respected the Vandis soldiery more than the Astartes. They fought for a purpose, a tenable goal. It gave them conviction, and a drive beyond the lust for slaughter. They were somewhat respectable in that regard.
But still, just a tool.
The great Forge sat silent, a slowly decaying swathe of manufactories and assembly lines, stretching for miles, delving deep into the surface of the planet. There was no light, save for the reserve power lamps that illuminated Angel Gate, the once mighty entrance to the dead Forge. The Priesthood of Mars had sent their finest to nurse the Forge back to health, but the taint of chaos inflicted by the Black Legion's first, devastating strike was proving to be a formidable adversary. Every step towards reviving Angel Forge was stymied by the tainted machinery, grinding work to a halt.
So the Forge stood silent, over a year since the attack. The 85th Vendoland had billeted three hundred soldiers among the warehouses as a defence against a Vandis counterattack, but none had come. Now, those soldiers, idle and agitated, were being raised from their sleep, mobilizing for a rendezvous with an Imperial taskforce. Troopers hurried to their transports in a confused daze, and within thirty minutes, a convoy of Chimeras was trundling along the abandoned thoroughfares to their destination.
The smuggler, swiftly crumbling under the power of Imperial interrogation, had described the region just south of Angel Forge's defensive wall. It was a series of low to the ground warehouses, nestled between the great fortifications and the highway leading due south to Angel Hive's lesser Spires. Below the overpass, three full Imperial regiments awaited orders.
In command was Colonel Banastre of the 85th Vendoland, "Lucky Bastard" Banastre, as the troops knew him. Castille's protege had been the only regimental commander to make it out of Urizen alive. The 85th had left the command group for dead in the retreat, instead gathering around Captain Lars Uther for guidance in the fallout. When Banastre suddenly turned up three months after the campaign, his first action had been to plant Uther in the tactical room, safely hidden away where he couldn't cause trouble.
The remaining two regiments comprised the 31st Artemian and the Dyneemek 9th, the Jagers, under Commander Lorald. Six thousand troopers, mustered to take out a smuggling ring. Banastre snorted at the response. Typical paranoia by higher ups. The Vendolanders would have handled this situation on their own, but General Derim had insisted. So here they were, in the dead of night staring at a manufactorum while chilling wind nipped at their skin. He dropped down from his observation post to be nearer the portable heater in the center of the makeshift tent.
"Must we wait?" muttered Banastre irritably. "The smuggler told us this was the place. If the guilty are truly here, then why not raid the warehouses now and be done with this!"
"The General was very specific, Colonel," said Major Lester. "We need to confirm the target when they make their drop off before we take any action. We don't have enough information to tell who we might be dealing with just yet."
"And I will do that, doesn't that offworld fool know that?"
"Well, we're technically offworlders too, sir," replied Lester, handing Banastre his mug of hot coffee.
"We might as well be locals with the way things have been going," said Banastre. He was right, of course. The Vendolanders had been sent to the Subsector over four years ago to help train the Planetary Defense Forces and ready the system for tithing. And now it seemed they had to keep babysitting a set of planets incapable of looking after themselves. For Space Marine recruiting worlds, Subsector Aurelia was frankly pathetic with regards to security.
Vox Officer Brannt approached the two officers, turning to allow Banastre to take the link from his backpack unit. "Message from Commander Lorald, sir. They've got a visual on a cargo hauler."
Banastre put the link to his ear. Finally, they could get on with this ordeal, "Give me the details, Commander."
"It definitely matches the description given by our confessor. Industrial cargo freight with an escort of modified civilian vehicles. With the Ork activity along the highways, it seems like they're moving in armed convoys. They've turned off the main route and are heading for the warehouse complex, towards your position. We'll close the gap if they try to double back."
Banastre's eyes flashed greedily. "Well done Commander, carry on." Banastre turned his attention to Brannt. "Switch the 85th's channel, wide broadcast. This is Colonel Banastre, we have a confirmation on the target. First battalion, prepare to advance and mark forward positions."
Lester looked surprised. "Colonel, if we move in now, that could tip off whoever's inside, and it might scare off the convoy. Emperor knows what sort of munitions that hauler is carrying."
Banastre sneered at the Major. "Are you questioning my orders, Lester?"
"No sir," said Lester, backing off. "I'm merely pointing out a potential flaw. It is my job."
"Then your consideration is noted. All units, continue forward. Major, if we wait too long, we lose the element of surprise. I want this over with quickly. One regiment is already overkill for this sort of operation. Now relay my commands."
Lester sighed, "Yes sir, by your orders."
"What the hell is he thinking?" said Orias Nolt. The Artemian colonel viewed the Vendolanders' advance through his binoculars. "They're going to tip our hand and get themselves slaughtered."
"It certainly seems that way," said Commissar Learis. The bulky man stood beside Nolt in the command Griffon. Orias grabbed the vox caster and keyed in the Dyneemek Jager's channels. He loathed calling on another unit, but he felt there was little choice in the matter at the moment.
Commander Lorald responded dryly, "What is it? Speak quickly, before I just regard this as paranoia."
"Leave your emotions out of this, Lorald," hissed Orias. Lorald was still bitter about his humiliation at the meal the other night, and Orias was in no mood to argue. "Just listen to me. This Banastre is going to get his men killed."
"Really?" said Lorald, feigning shock, "I'm surprised you can see that from back there, behind the lines. What do you want me to do about it, throw stones from up here?"
"Unlike the two of you, I am trying to take this seriously," said Orias. "General Derim would not have insisted three full regiments be sent to deal with a problem unless he was certain that the threat was significant. I'd rather have you working with me rather than against me when that fool throws the whole operation. When that time comes, I will signal you, and we can coordinate an actual battle, understand?"
The link was quiet until Lorald had his answer, "Fine, we'll do it your way. Just don't be surprised if I try to offer something as useless as my insight. Otherwise I'd just be trading Banastre for you."
Orias let the comment slide, "Just be ready for my signal." The colonel slammed the vox closed.
Gren and Flinn moved silently across the stockyard, followed by Cayse and Arred, hauling a heavy stubber. Naals was further ahead with the first squad, setting up underneath the arches of the overpass. At Gren's word, the four troopers dashed across the next open stretch, taking cover in the shadows of the adjacent truck depot. The sound of grumbling engines thundered by overhead. Gren could see the flashes of headlamps just over the crest of the overpass barrier. They illuminated the dark that blanketed the empty yard.
The platoon was split between the two squads, with Naals leading the first, and Gren bringing up the second. Once the fireworks started, the Artemians were supposed to bring up reinforcements to bolster the forward points established by the Vendolanders. The Jagers would control the overpass to provide coverage from above. The 7th company was spread out to cover the entire yard, with five more companies ready to storm the buildings.
Gren pressed his vox bead. "Sergeant Gren here, in position lieutenant." Cayse and Arred fed the stubber's belt feed into the catch, training the gun on the massive warehouse doors. Angel Forge was dotted with these enormous, Hab block sized warehouses, stockpiles intended for PDF forces in case of invasion or insurrections. The Tyranid invasion, so widespread, and the looting that followed in its wake had left most of the stockpiles scavenged clean or considered lost. Now, two had been discovered in one day. Gren only hoped that they wouldn't pay for past negligence.
7th Company was all in place, the lieutenants voxing in to Captain Caius. Corporal Carros and the rest of Gren's squad fell in with the others. Carros hefted his missile launcher, waiting for the signal to fire. Caius gave the order, and five missiles streaked out from the patchwork line that the Company formed. The great warehouse door buckled and blasted inwards as the explosives struck, tearing it off of its hinges. Great plumes of smoke and fire from the remains fluttered out from the blast, masking the entrance in a dark cloud.
"8th and 9th companies, advance!" barked Corporal Banastre across the regimental channel. From the second line, formed behind Gren's position, two hundred guardsmen rose from their makeshift cover, sprinting for the breach. The troopers swept by, heads low, bayonets fixed, pressing into the darkened building. They made it halfway across the flat receiving zone when the warehouse doors erupted with gunfire.
Half the advancing Vendolanders were cut down in an instant, torn to shreds by bolter fire, autogun rounds, and rapid firing multilasers. Gren looked on in horror as men were ripped in half, limbs flying and heads splattering against the ground. Casye began blasting into the darkness with the heavy stubber, trying to dissuade the enemy inside from continuing their slaughter. It did little to stem the volume of rounds flying out. The two hundred man charge was cut to ribbons in less than a minute, the whimpering survivors being picked off one by one by pinpoint shots. Then, the enemy charged.
Emergency lights burst to life, illuminating the entire area, betraying the 85th's reliance on darkness for cover. Gren finally saw the face of the enemy. They wore crimson robes and silver breastplates emblazoned with a half mechanical skull. Their faces were adorned with multiple augmetics, their eyes replaced by glowing green ocular implants. Gren paled. This wasn't right, what the hell was going on?
"Cogboys!" he shouted. These were Techguard, the Mechnaicus's personal army of augmented troopers. The Skitarii were gunning down the Guardsmen with frightening accuracy. They moved like lightning, effortlessly crossing the flat stretch just as the 7th Company opened fire. Several techguard were brought down by concerted fire, but the bulk of the force took the shots in stride, ignoring or absorbing the blasts. Gren desperately tried to aim for what looked like vital points on the mechanical troopers, firing his lasgun on full auto.
Beside him, Flinn was panicking, his shots going wide of their mark. None of them had fought the Mechanicus before, and none of them had ever hoped to. They'd heard the stories of the Cogboys personal armies, their Titan Legions, their footsoldiers. The most any of the 85th had experienced were the occasional gun servitor attached to the Enginseers that sometimes were seconded to Guard units. If a mindless combat automaton was a threat, a thinking, adapting augmented trooper was terrifying.
"Pull back, pull back!" said Gren. Cayse took a shot to the head while uprooting the gun, leaving Arred to pull the brain splattered weapon away as the Skitarii overran their position. A moment later, Arred took a shotgun blast to the chest, throwing him back into the nearest truck. Gren, Flinn and Carros fled into the maze of trucks along the loading depot. The Skitarii were pursuing, Gren could hear their pounding feet coming up behind them. The three guardsmen unloaded a full salvo into the first cogboy that rounded the corner, dropping him only after dozens of shots shattered his servos.
"What do we do?" whispered Carros. Around them, they could hear the screams of dying Guardsmen as the well placed picket was ripped to pieces in moments. Naals was screaming over the vox bead for the troops to fall back, or at least, whoever was left. "What the hell are the cogboys doing here? The AdMechs are supposed to be on our side!"
"I don't frakking know!" said Gren. "All I know is, they are shooting at us, we're dying, and we should get out of here as soon as possible!"
Orias threw his binoculars aside, cursing Banastre for his idiocy. Learis had the vox in his hands, waiting for his colonel to grab it. Lorald was already on the line. "Lorald, get me a visual, what is the fool shooting at?"
"It looks like... the Magos? What the frell is going on down there? Banastre's fighting the frelling Mechanicus!"
"How bad is it?" said Orias, grimacing. This was just getting worse with each passing moment.
"He's not moving, but his forward units are in a full retreat. The techguard are ripping them apart. How do you want to handle this?"
"Cover them from the top, I want height superiority. Give the 85th cover for their retreat. I'll bring our reserves up and form a line. I don't know what the Mechanicus is doing here, but we have to make them see reason."
"Understood," said Lorald. "My Jagers captured the transport. They tried to make a run for it when the shooting started. Ill question them if they know anything about the AdMechs."
"That can wait. We will question them later, once this is resolved." Another vox report was coming in, beeping frantically on the emergency channels. Orias sighed, "What now?"
The message was garbled, but after the vox officer recalibrated the receiver, the message began broadcasting clearly. "This is the 46th Armoured Vendoland, we've come under fire! The heretic forces from Spire Legis are moving against the Imperial perimeter! We can't hold for long, there's too many of them, we're spread too thin!"
The line suddenly went dead, but the message was clear enough. Orias slammed his fist into the Griffon's bulkhead. First a smuggling operation, then direct combat against Mechanicus forces, and now a full scale attack from a Spire that was supposed to be low risk. What was going on?
At the head of three great fronts of heretic troops, the Chosen astartes lead their forces against the unprepared Imperials. Only a single regiment had been spared to monitor Spire Legis, and they were now paying the price for their ignorance. Thousands of cultists swept across the perimeter without regard for the mines and barbed wire. The aegis defense lines were torn open by suicidal bombers, letting the cultists surge forward.
The 46th were caught completely by surprise. It had started with a sudden artillery barrage, from guns that had long been disabled. Before they knew what had happened, the heretics had closed the gap with the defensive line. At night, with their blackened armor, the heretics moved like shadows. Where resistance was thickest the Chosen applied their personal prowess, slaughtering the defenders like the maggots they were. The sudden rush was quickly turning the Imperial defense into a confused rout.
Legionnaire Marroth smiled smugly under his helmet. This was too easy. That idiot Zephus might have fooled the others, but Marroth could see right through him. He didn't think they were up to this. Marroth would show otherwise. His chain axe was dripping with the blood of these weaklings. Whole platoons fled at his coming. They didn't make it far before he overtook them.
Marroth would show Warlord Zephus his prowess. After he stood over his body in triumph, of course. He would have to settle for the screams of the Guard until then.
Elle Connor was holding the line. The 4th Company was supposed to be in the second wave after 8th and 9th, but their swift end had forced her to change tactics. She instead wisely consolidated her forces, using a rockcrete wall as a line of defense. So far, the eighty or so troopers she had been given command of were holding, with the fleeing tatters of the 7th company halting their retreat at her presence. Connor stayed in cover with the men, firing her bolt pistol over the lip of the wall at the oncoming Skitarii.
"Not one step back, we will hold this position!" she shouted. With Uther relegated to desk duties, she was given temporary command of the Company. To her credit, not one man had fallen back, and with 7th's remains, her small bastion was holding. She only hoped that it would last long enough for the Artemians to bolster their lines.
The Skitarii were relentless. Heavy gun servitors were laying down a wildly inaccurate spray of fire, keeping the Vendolanders pinned in one position, while the Hyspasists were firing sparing, frighteningly accurate shots. One in three shots must have struck her troopers, slowly whittling away at them. They were holding, but either through attrition or overwhelming force, they could not last forever. With the emergency distress call from Spire Legis repeating across the open channels, Connor's presence was the only thing keeping them from breaking.
She grudgingly admitted to herself afterwards that, had she known what a mess the 85th Vendoland had been led into, she would not have been so quick to pull the grenadiers back from frontline service.
Banastre was screaming orders into Brannt's vox caster, demanding the forward elements of the 85th hold their ground. While he was distracted, Major Lester was quickly trying to organize the rearguard units into a coordinated push. The reports flooding in of whole platoons being slaughtered were wreaking havoc on morale. Armand was struggling to keep things under control, the Colonel was too far gone in his shouting to be any use. They needed a break in the chaos to get things back under control.
Eventually, Lester was able to muster something approaching an organized unit. Leaving the Colonel to his job playing leader, Major Lester made his way to the strike group. The second battalion was prepared to move, their Chimeras revving their engines. Major Crassus was spearheading the group, and Lester joined him in the foremost transport.
"I've managed to pull enough of the battalion back for you, Lester," he said as the Major leapt into the Chimera. "What's the Colonel thinking?"
"I have a feeling you're not the only one wondering that tonight, Ertrand," said Lester. "He's too busy shouting to actually do anything useful. We've got to get more troops up to the frontline before they break through."
Crassus nodded, "And what about this talk from Legis? What's happened to the 46th?"
"Not our concern right now," said Lester. "Driver, get us moving!"
The Artemians roared across the shipping depots, the entire regiment mounted up in their transports. Nolt observed the proceedings from the command vehicle. They swiftly passed through the Vendolander's reserve forces, finally assembling themselves for a counterattack. Were he under Nolt's command, Banastre would have been shot by Learis right here and now. The two groups merged into one concentrated push, facing down the growing firefight in the distance.
The further in they pushed, the more stragglers from the 85th's attack they found fleeing. Many of these looked like they had fled before fighting. The Skitarii were thorough with their extermination, very few wounded soldiers made it out of their field of fire. These soldiers were fleeing for cowardice, rather than survival. Nolt sneered with disgust at their passing.
The front of the column finally met the Mechanicus forces. Orias immediately ordered the regiment to fan out and form a defensive line. They would let the Skitarii come to them, where they held the advantage.
Three more 7th company soldiers leapt over the wall, falling in with the 4th company. Lieutenant Hunder quickly directed them to the other 7th survivors, covering the position's left flank. Connor had Devin and Lonnis holding the right, while the bulk formed in the center. The Skitarii were bringing up their heavy infantry for an assault on their lines. Connor could see the hulking figures in the distance, dwarfing even the gun servitors. She ducked as their heavy bolters erupted once again, bisecting a pair of troopers too slow to get down.
"Commissar, we can't hold much longer!" said Devin. "Canne says the 11th has broken off the fight, no word from 12th. We're the furthest up, there's nobody else to fall back here."
"Then we stay until reinforcements are brought up, lieutenant!" said Connor. "We hold this position, now point your weapon at the foe!" Connor put on a hard face, but the doubt was gnawing at her. She hoped someone would come soon, or nobody would be getting out of here. The Skitarii would see to that.
The Praetorians began their push against the Vendolanders position. Hulking soldiers, wielding heavy weaponry in each hand, were being backed up by organized Hyspasist squads. "Brace yourselves!" shouted Connor. She hefted her powersword, readying it for a swing at the first techguard to come into its arc. The Praetorians lowered into a run, holding their heavy weapons steady. Thumping autocannons tore through their wall cover, dropping troopers left and right.
"Concentrate your fire on the nearest Praetorian!" said Connor. The 4th company obliged, pouring hundreds of shots into the foremost shock trooper. The Praetorian was undeterred by the lasfire, but three melta blasts brought the brute down mere feet from their line. The others would be on them in moments. "Fix bayonets!"
The Praetorians crashed through the low wall, knocking guardsmen aside as they overran the defenses. Desperately, the Vendolanders held their ground in the melee, stabbing at vital bionics and weak joints, trying to bring down the foe. Connor swung her powersword in a horizontal slash, tearing a cogboy's head from his shoulders. A mixture of blood and oil burst from the stump, showering over Connor. Ignoring it, the Commissar waded into the fight, hacking at the metal troopers, tearing great holes in their combat frames, bringing down a Praetorian by jamming the blade in the construct's gyro system.
But for every Techguard brought down, far more guardsmen were slain. This was hopeless, Connor conceded. But the Skitarii would not give them the chance to retreat. They would die here, either in combat or as they fled. Connor resolved to fight to the end, no retreat, no surrender. Her blade lodged in the Praetorian, Connor blasted away with her bolt pistol, delaying her fate as much as possible.
Another Praetorian was upon them, its legs replaced by a set of treads, effectively turning the body into a mobile gun platform. Connor's bolt pistol clicked dry before she could get a shot off. The construct leveled its weaponry at her. Connor closed her eyes and awaited the inevitable.
Sudden sounds of Lascannon blasts raised Conner from her moment of despair. The Praetorian was torn apart by the focused beams, collapsing. Wrenching her powersword free, she looked up to see the welcome sight of a line of Chimeras, both the olive green colours of the Vendoland, and the blue-grey pattern of the Artemians. Smiling, with a prayer on her lips, Connor raised her blade in triumph, giving a great rallying shout to the surviving members of the 4th company.