A City of Bitter Faces
Deep in the swirling eddies of the Warp, a massive asteroid hurdled towards Meridian. Whole sections of the craft had become unstable from the violent currents, and the metal decks shook with each wave of demonic energy. Yet somehow, this ramshackle amalgamation of rock and metal held together, either through mad science or sheer force of will. Such was the way of the Orks, and nowhere was their philosophy better represented than in their creations, such as the Rok.
Within the caverns and artificial hollows of the Rok, millions of Orks, Grotz, Snotlings, and all forms of the Greenskin ecosystem teemed. Under the dim and unreliable lights, Ork society functioned as it always had. Weapons were sharpened and loaded, and then tested on the nearest Grot. Riots and brawls happened in every corridor. The strong got stronger, and the weak were crushed underfoot, if they were too stupid to get out of the way. In the lower decks, where the warp shielding was not as powerful, the Boys fought the guaranteed Daemonic incursions as practice between systems. If something challenged an Ork to a fight, they would willingly oblige.
In what could be construed as the 'bridge' of the vessel, Warboss Smashface stomped around in a circle, clearly impatient. The MekBoy had shown up with some new invention, claiming it could get them where they needed to go faster. Smashface would have much rather been down roughing it up with the rest of the boys, but the Mek's idea had caught his attention. He hadn't counted on it taking so long to set up.
Smashface banged his hammer into the floor to get the tinkerer's attention. "Oi, if dis ting takes any longer teh set up, I'll get yer closer to da humies just by frowing ya! Wotz taking it so long?"
"You can't rush perfectshun, Boss," grunted the Mek. "But if my here tellyporta box works, den we'z could jump right into da fight wivvout needin' dem drop ships! Ye just walk in one side, and da fightin's on the ovva side. Instint Transmishun, Boss!"
"If itz Intint Transmishun, why iz it takin' so long teh set up?" said Smashface, growing increasingly angry. He idly smacked one of the Mek's Teknishin Grotz, sending the Gretchin flying into an exposed electrical coil sticking out of the Teleporter. The smell of burnt skin filled the bridge, and the fried Gretchin slid off the device into a pile of ash on the floor.
Smashface snorted. "Well, if it doesn't zap us closer to da fightin', at least we can use it fer cookin'. Still, hurry it up, before I decide teh zap ya too, ya git."
"All right, all right boss, jus' a few minor tweaks... cross wiring da zappa... realign da locata... kick da grot fer messin' with da wires, and... der we go!" The rickety machine clattered to life, arcing with bolts of blue electricity as it shook like an agitated squig. The Mek dusted his hands off, looking quite pleased with himself. "Isn't she beautiful, boss? Nuffing but hard work an' a couple dead grotz to make da best tellyporta in da clan!"
Smashface still wasn't convinced. He sniffed derisively at the machine. "But does it work?" he demanded, prodding one of the tesla coils. The electrical shock made him quickly reconsider touching other parts of the device. "How do ya make it send ya where you want to go?"
"Ooh, just like dis, boss!" exclaimed the Mek, pulling up a large screen attached to the teleporter with enormous cables. Playing with an array of dials, the Mek explained the teleporter's function. "With dis here Gitfinda, we can send da boyz to da biggest fightin' spots right fast. So says I type in "humies", da Tellyporta finds da biggest clump and sends ya der! Foolproof!"
"Evah done it?" said Smashface, arms crossed. The Mek looked rather sheepish. Around him, his Grot aides slowly receded into the shadows, anticipating trouble.
"Er, well, not yet boss," admitted the Mek, hands in his pockets. "We needz a few test grotz first."
Smashface leered at the Mek, a big toothy grin forming on his huge jaw. The Grots scattered. When the Boss smiled like that, things usually ended with somebody pasted to the floor. Smashface smacked his meaty hands together menacingly. "I don't fink a Grot'z needed, Mek. I fink dat da perfect candydate iz standin' right in front'o me."
The Mek looked around, confused. "Der's no one here 'cept me, boss."
"Exactly."
Before the Mek realized what trouble he had just landed in, Smashface grabbed the scientist Ork and shoved him onto the teleport pad, locking him in the machine. "I fink dat dis' is da perfect time fer a test run! Wot do you say?"
"What?" shrieked the Mek. "Boss, I hasn't calibrated da tellyporta te work in da Warp! It's no tellin' where I'd end up if we fired dat fing in here!"
Smashface wasn't listening to the Mek's pleas. He was too focused on trying to figure out all the different dials on the console. Settling on a convincing looking combination of buttons, the Warboss hit the big red button marked "activate". The Mek's cries were drowned out by the intense whine of the teleporter, rising to full power. The Ork was enclosed in a brilliant orange light, culminating in a massive exploding burst that blinded the whole room.
Things went dark, sparks flying from circuit boards and light fixtures. The intense energy drain of the contraption had blown the deck's fuse boxes, leaving a significant portion of the ship in darkness. There was a loud clang in the blackness, and the whining machine spluttered to a stop. The Grots hiding behind the consoles produced a small emergency light.
"Zog it, lookit wots left!" exclaimed one of the Gretchins.
Shining a light on the center of the room, the Greenskins surveyed the remains of the teleporter. The pad was gone, along with a large chunk of the control console. What was still there was scorched black and mangled in a pile, mashed together like a miniature black hole had formed in the room. Smashface stood unflinching in the middle of the blast radius. He spat out one of his tusks, and turned around to face the Mek's assistants. His face was slashed with embedded shrapnel, bleeding from every cut. To the Grots, he was possibly the scariest looking thing they had ever seen in their short lives.
"So, I take it da fing won't be ready fer a while?" he said to the smaller Greenskins. "Fix it, or you lot will be da next group te go through, got it?"
"Yes, Boss, right away Boss!" said the Grots hastily, snapping off salutes. Smashface grunted, half stumbling out of the room. The Grots wandered over to the teleporter, inspecting the warped ball of metal. "Wot do you fink happened to da Mek?"
"I dunno, but I fink dat da Mek will be hoppin' mad wherever he ends up."
"Get up, we're leaving."
Lieutenant Pierce stormed down the length of the barracks, banging the butt of his lasgun on each bunk to get the troops' attention. Beryn groaned, lurching upright. Stretching his arms and heaving an exaggerated yawn, he asked, "What for, sir?"
"There's an Ork Rok inbound for Meridian," said Pierce curtly. "It was supposed to be here in a few days time, but it decided to give us a surprise welcome. Get your kits together and meet me down by the transit station in twenty minutes. Anyone dragging their heels can take it up with the commissariat. Got it?"
"Yes sir!" responded the platoon.
Beryn jumped to his feet, grabbing his battle dress from the lockers. "All right, lads, you heard the Lieutenant. Hop to!" The rest of the platoon gathered their gear and scrambled out of the barracks. The entire complex where they were billeted was bustling with activity, everywhere Beryn looked, more soldiers were spilling out onto the streets, laden with gear. Dozens of other squads soon joined them along the promenade that lead down to Angel Forge's rail station. Engineseers and other techpriests raced towards the station to help load the trains.
The Colonel's voice boomed across the PSA system, interrupting morning sermons. The Vendoland regiments housed in the Forge area were being relocated to Golgotha Spire, two hundred kilometers southeast. Beryn helped the platoon load their gear into the already stuffed boxcars, even as a small army of loading cranes lifted the regiment's armored vehicles onto several flatbed cars behind them. Kalan hopped up beside Beryn, pulling troops onto the train, already beginning to pull out of the rail yard.
The 46th Vendoland was moving out in its entirety. The five hundred survivors of the Legis disaster loaded onto six trains and pulled out of the station. The organized chaos vanished as soon as it had occurred, allowing a heavy silence to fall over the yard. As if nobody had ever been there, the train yard lay silent. But the departure had not gone unnoticed.
Three figures skulked out of a nearby alley, checking for any watching eyes. When none were found, they dashed across the promenade and forced their way into the station's service room. Merrick, Hurst and Talros crouched in the alcove below the stairs leading to the observation deck. Above, a bank of servitors aided the techpriest in organizing the Vendolander's mobilization.
Talros was dressed in the olive green uniform of the Vendoland regiments, same as Hurst and Merrick. The Arbiter's deception went even further than just the dress. He even carried himself differently. Gone was the proud, arrogant stature of a social elite, replaced with the slumped shoulders and weary scowl of a tired soldier. Talros had slid into his role as a grunt trooper like a second skin. However, that was before the sudden alarm that had robbed them of their cover. The Mechanicus would not tolerate three supposedly deserting troops wandering around the Forge after their comrades had left.
"This complicates things somewhat," whispered Talros. "We will need to apply an extra level of discretion."
"What are we looking for, exactly?" asked Merrick.
"Anything that can implicate the Mechanicus in an act of treason. Even they are not above Imperial Law, and I intend to see justice served."
Hurst peered over the lip of the stairwell, laspistol gripped tightly. The servitors paid no attention to the intruders, continuing their automated functions. The Techpriest was gone, however, and that worried Hurst. A priest could have any number of augmetics applied to aid in hearing or security, enough so that there was no chance of not being noticed during their investigation. His disappearance could be anything from moving to another station, to sounding the alarm.
The trio moved silently through the observation room, searching for any trace of the priest. The sound of emergency sirens suddenly blared throughout the Forge. The floor beneath them started to shake, and Merrick lost his balance. A loud hum filled his ears as he got to his feet. "What just happened?" he demanded.
Hurst and Talros looked out the window. "We have a new problem, gentlemen." Merrick looked to where Hurst was pointing. The sky was a hazy red film, stretching out across the entire Forge. The constant humming in his ear rippled and cracked as the red sky touched down on an array of pylon towers built into Angel Gate's defensive wall.
"They've installed a void shield," said Talros.
"And trapped us inside with them," muttered Merrick.
The train rumbled across the industrial wastes, Capitol Spire dissolving into the horizon. The 85th Vendoland had joined the armored units from Angel Forge by midday, forming a massive train convoy racing towards Golgotha. Remer struggled to keep his stomach down while the cars clattered along the rails. The morning had not been kind to him, evidenced by his pale, contorted face. "All right, new regiment slogan: Drink when you're dead, it'll hurt less," he groaned.
"That doesn't really strike me as an inspiring motto, Remer," said Kippler.
"Where's the boss and Hurst at, anyways?" asked Remer, "Doesn't this seem like the sort of thing that Connor would shoot them for missing?"
"I already told you, Captain Uther gave me command of the squad until such time as Sergeant Merrick and Sergeant Hurst are returned to active duty," explained Kippler. "It's already been cleared with regimental command."
Remer sniffed, "I must have been throwing up at the time, because I missed all of that."
"Deal with it, Remer," said Vornas, prodding the sick trooper a little harder than was necessary. Remer's stomach finally bested him, and only a swift elbow to the boxcar window saved the Daredevils from being covered in vomit. Kippler sighed, going back to cleaning his scope.
Lieutenant Jorin Hunder marched down the center aisle of the car in full dress. "All right grenadiers, we are twenty minutes out of Golgotha Spire. The staging area is to be treated as a combat environment, so I want each of you combat ready the moment we debark. Daredevil Squad, you are reporting to Major Lester for assignment. Trench Skippers, you're with me, suit up."
The wastes gave way to steadily growing structures that formed the base of Golgotha. The settlement was built atop a large hill, and, though technically labeled a Hive Spire, the center was instead formed out of a number of rounded towers surrounding a massive Imperial Shrine. Golgotha was both the holy center of Angel Hive, and its largest distribution and storage facility. The loss of such a place was an unacceptable to the Imperium.
The train station was packed with trains unloading thousands of troops and equipment. Kippler jumped off the train as it came to a halt, sprinting across the hard concrete with the rest of the squad on his heels. Major Lester was pouring over a hololith chart of Golgotha with the regiment captains. Three points of attack were marked out on the map, each covering a sector of the warehouse district.
"Ah, Corporal, you're here," said Armand. He immediately enlarged the center marker, revealing the large canal that separated the warehouse district from the main spire. "The Orks last projected point of landing was directly south of the Spire. They know our stockpiles are within the warehouses, and they won't risk destroying anything they can loot and use against us."
"So you need us to soften up the forward units and secure the entries to the Spire," said Kippler.
"Exactly," said Armand. "The Navy is providing air support, but we fully expect the Orks to strike from anywhere. The local ferals will certainly join with the attacking bands, so there's no guarantee that our rear lines will be safe. Get high, and use your vantage points to spot for the artillery."
"And the rest of the company, sir?"
"The regiment is moving as a whole, Corporal. We have been assigned to the Southeast Sector, along with the Xenobane and Garredyne Rifles. This is a take and hold mission, we hole up and let the Greenskins come to us. It's going to be hell in here, but right now it's our only option."
Another trooper jogged over to the meeting. He bore a Corporal's badge as well, but the regiment mark was from the 46th. "Corporal Mathis, reporting as you requested, sir," said the trooper, saluting to the assembled officers.
"Glad you could make it, trooper," said Lester. "Kippler, this is Beryn Mathis. By Command's orders, all Vendoland regiments have been merged to recoup losses and consolidate our people. Mathis's squad will join with yours. The Daredevils have been operating at half strength for too long. It's about time you started looking like a proper unit again."
"Understood, Major," said the two corporals in unison.
"As you were then," Kippler saluted and left to gather the squad. He ordered Mathis to do the same, and a few moments later, the newly reinforced Daredevils had assembled around the station's notice board. Ten troopers, some clad in Carapace, others merely in flak jackets, were introduced to one another. Joining the Daredevils were Donny Serrt, Kalan Garrett, Mol Lannik, Tal Rejor, Jann Tarls, and Beryn Mathis.
"I don't think we've had this many men in our unit since Typhon," said Alek, thinking back to the titanic struggle on the sickly green plateau three years earlier. The Tyranid invasion had pulled the 85th Vendoland across the subsector, responding to a simultaneous Ork Waaagh!, Hive Fleet, and Eldar incursions. It had taken a heavy toll on the Guardsmen, to the point where the 203rd Regiment, Alek and sergeant Merrick's original unit, had to be folded into the 85th, much like the other Vendolanders had done now.
"Please, don't remind me of Tyranids right now, Alek," said a still pallid Remer. "Too many legs, to many mouths, makes me shudder to think of them."
"Try having a nuke explode over your head," said Serrt, hefting two cases of bolter shells over his back. The bald Guardsman's face had been half burned off, replaced with the same, primitive style of augmetics that had fixed Alek's hand. An unblinking white optic stared at Remer. "I would take a thousand hive fleets over another Legis. But you wouldn't know what that feels like, would you? You look like you'd have spent that night being drunk."
"For your information, gearhead," growled Remer, "I broke both my legs that day being chased by Orks, before crashing into a barricade. I spent the night in a hospital bed."
"You broke one leg and were out of the hospital by evening," said Vornas, stepping in. "Stop trying to sugar coat it. You got off easy."
Serrt just sneered at him. "Ah yes, the 'smuggling conspiracy'. How did that turn out? You managed to stop one Deathstrike Missile from being used. Maybe if the other regiments around this damned Hive had done their jobs in the first place, perhaps none of those missiles would have ended up frying us. Sure, you just got off easy. And what about us, then? Your little Commissar bitch decides that the best way to stop a fight with the Mechanicus is to fire a frakking nuclear warhead at us! What bloody sense does that make, and why the hell should I have to take lip from a little shit like yourself?"
Beryn put a hand up to Serrt, "That's enough, Donny. You know as well as I do that we would all be dead if the Cogboys hadn't fired at Spire Legis. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Remer didn't start this fight, so calm down. Keep your anger for the Orks, not for each other, is that understood?"
Serrt's face didn't change, nor did his immediate disdain for Remer dissipate. Beryn repeated himself, more firmly. "Is that understood, private?"
"Understood, Corporal," Serrt said flatly.
"Good, now get back to work, the truck will be here shortly. We have a few hours until the Orks arrive, let's make the most of them." As he walked away, Beryn called out over his shoulder. "And if I catch either of you going at it again, I'll have you both marched in front of the Commissar, so knock it off!"
The moon Harkoven was the largest celestial body orbiting Meridian. It currently housed those remaining nobles and House Lords that had been savvy enough to flee the war torn surface of the planet in the early days of the Vandis Heresy. The luxurious lunar resorts were fortified as well as any military complex, blanketed by layers of shields and automated defense turrets. Retractable ceramite shields currently lay open, providing their wealthy benefactors with a magnificent view of the Hive World below.
Beyond the moon's resorts, extensive monitoring equipment and relay stations dotted the lunar surface. On the far side of the satellite, Vice Admiral Zaritz's forces waited, hidden against the backdrop of stars by Harkoven's shadow. The rear admiral fidgeted on his frigate's observation deck, watching the comm systems intently for the first sign of Greenskin vessels. When they arrived, the first battle would be his. And yet, despite the arrogant show he had played at the military briefings with the Guard leaders, he privately acknowledged that he was in over his head.
Because of the ravaged nature of the subsector, Zaritz's naval presence was stretched too thinly to effectively patrol and engage marauding vessels. Battlefleet Korianis was currently engaged in actions along its western borders, leaving Zaritz's Oberon Battleship only a handful of frigate level craft to watch over his slice of the Eastern Fringe, Subsector Aurelia. The majority of the ship under his command were out chasing phantom ships, or escorting convoys. A full blown Ork invasion would sweep away Meridian's meager defenses like a flood washing away foundations.
He had witnessed Battlefleet Korianis's struggle with the Hive Fleet, and he knew that, even with the Astartes' bio-toxin, the battle had only been just won by a hair's breadth. With a force less than a tenth that size, Zaritz was expected to hold off a comparable threat, and without the aid of the Space Marines. It was all he could do to keep panic from setting in. Then, the moment arrived.
Harkoven's auger arrays had detected a Warp rupture in the vicinity of Meridian. The ship's systems quickly confirmed the entity as an Ork Rok, an asteroid that doubled as a dreadnought. Dozens of smaller ships had followed the great construction through the Warp, forming a formidable fleet. The small Imperial armada remained hidden, awaiting Zaritz's command to strike. Attacking a ship that large head on was tantamount to suicide. They needed to wait for the right moment.
Author's note: Do you know what happens when your internet dies for a week? You get back to writing. Have at it.