The Price Of A Bridge
It was eerily quiet throughout the Forge. The governor's emergency declaration had abruptly broken the silence, but there was no one to listen in the abandoned streets. The only sound to be heard was the hum of the void shield as it fizzled and cracked from the occasional impact of Greenskin meteorites. Learning their lessons from the First Crusade, Angel Forge had been fortified extensively. No longer was Angel Gate the only defense, massive orbital defense cannons and redundant shield generators had been installed during the Adeptus Mechanicus's annexation of the Manufactorum. The new defenses had turned the Forge into an impregnable bastion for the Imperium, but it had the unfortunate side effect of cutting off any escape route that Arbiter Talros had planned for himself and Merrick and Hurst.
Hurst was on watch, guarding the doorway to their hideaway in an electrical shed. Inside, Merrick set his spotlamp over a diagram of the Forge produced by Talros. They were five hundred meters inside the defensive wall, near a power junction that ran cables between manufactorum Six and Seven. Each factory block was immense, with kilometers long assembly lines stretching across their expanse on the surface alone. Inside, each factory delved deep into Meridian's earth, all the way down to the Forge's core. Walking to their destination would take ages, so Talros had taken Merrick's suggestion of procuring transportation.
"The evidence we need is most likely to be kept with Magos Dolthem's personal belongings, which means that we will need to break into the Tech-Priest sanctum," explained Talros. He tapped the map, pointing to an exhaust grate symbol. "That is our way in. The heat from the vents will blur our signatures on any detection devices, and will allow us to bypass the majority of the Tech Guard's security."
"There's not a lot of room in those vents," said Merrick. "Are you sure that you can't find another way in?"
"This is our best route," insisted Talros. "I can provide breathing equipment if the conditions become too severe. It will only be a short drop, so we can rappel down. Is that clear?"
"Clear as you ever seem to be," muttered Merrick. He grabbed his autopistol and pack. "All right, let's go. All clear, Waddy?"
Hurst peered outside. He waved the other two out after finding no sign of movement. They darted through the junction, hopping from electrical pylons, and keeping low along the narrow walls that bordered it. Vaulting over the walls, they moved quickly through the back alleys, only stopping to hide from infrequent vehicle patrols. Hurst had considered grabbing a vehicle to reach their target sooner, but had decided against it, mentally slapping himself for being so stupid. The Cogboys would definitely have their routes planned out, and a jeep would only bring more unneeded attention.
One thing that nobody had counted on was the sudden surge of heat. The void shield was keeping the cold out, and the warm air rising from the Forge in. The sludge of dirty snow was quickly melting away, taking their conspicuous footprints with it. Talros led them to the Manufactorum exhaust grate. They set their rappel lines, and dropped into the darkness. Hurst pulled his mask on, switching on the night vision settings in the goggles. He reached the bottom first, detaching his line and rolling it up so nobody could follow them down. Merrick and Talros did the same, and the group moved out, the only sign of their passing being the slightly misadjusted grate panel above.
Merrick took point, leading them through the warrens of exhaust vents. Hurst felt like a rat clawing its way through a barn, careful to ensure that no step alerted the swooping owls waiting above, or, in his case, below. The Tech Guard would not hesitate to kill them to preserve their secrets. A paranoid conclusion for some. Hurst just saw it as being practical. The tunnel opened up into a large chamber dominated by a fan that blew hot exhaust through the tall shafts. Some natural light cast down from above, and Hurst deactivated his night vision.
Merrick and Talros checked the map again. "This way," said the Arbitrator. He lead them down a second passage, much larger than the first. Hurst could hear the sound of machinery hissing and whirring through the vent. The walls and floor vibrated as well, making him feel like he was within the belly of some living, mechanical beast. Their footsteps were like heartbeats, steadily thumping in the gloom.
Talros motioned for them to stop. A grated vent plate lay directly over a gantry below. They carefully pulled the plate back, and dropped down onto the walkway with a sharp rattle. Hurst immediately had his autopistol aimed down the walkway, looking for anyone who might have heard the disturbance. He peered over the side of the railings, gazing down into the abyss. They were within Angel Forge itself.
Below them, the manufactorum ran deep into the earth. Conveyor belts crisscrossed further and further downwards, endlessly churning out everything from everyday appliances to heavy war machines and transports. Everywhere through the orange haze, Hurst saw the crimson robed Techpriests and their Skitarii patrols. The cogboys worked the assembly lines, adjusting and calibrating delicate devices, too complex for the rudimentary construction drones. Oil and smoke filled the air, wafting up past the walkway and into the vents the three men had just crawled out of. The sound was deafening, any concerns that Hurst had regarding a noisy entry was drowned out by the endless whine of servos and motors.
"What is that?" whispered Merrick, pointing to one of the lines. "I've never seen a tank like that before."
The vehicle was nothing like a Leman Russ. This tank was a low, sloped beast, long where the Russ was tall. The low profile was dominated by a large, swiveled turret mounting an incredibly long gun; a vanquisher cannon. For a smaller vehicle, it managed to convey the same intimidation that the workhorse Russ flaunted, only on a much lower body. Hundreds of the vehicles were pushing down the production line, before exiting the room through the vast main doors.
"There is a massive buildup of military vehicles here," noted Talros. Hurst watched the man observe the forge. He could almost hear the quill scratching paper as Talros took mental notes. "Not just your tanks, though. Look over there, those are sentinel frames, and there, ammunition. This section of the forge was supposed to be relatively empty. What are they up to?"
"I'd say it looks rather obvious," remarked Merrick, "A huge weapons stockpile for the Mechanicus to boot us out of Angel Forge."
"I'm not making any accusations until we have solid proof in our hands," said Talros. "Come, we must find their records. There is far more progress here in repairing the manufactorum than I was lead to believe. Just another question added to the pile."
"Glad you decided to join us," said Sergeant Ennis, squad leader for the Trench Skippers. Ork activity continued to grow along the opposite side of the Luesan Canal, but nothing indicated that they had spotted the platoon hidden just across the bridge. The two squads were stretched out along the low stone wall that ran the length of the canal promenade.
Ennis was providing a sitrep for the Daredevils. "Enemy armor is moving along the roads just past the waterway. We've seen several convoys of trucks passing through behind the building on the right hand side of the bridge. That building should be our target objective. It'll give us a full view of the area and give us control of the bridge from their side."
"A sound plan, sergeant," said Lieutenant Jorin Hunder. "Kippler, take half your troops and provide covering fire. Corporal Mathis and the riflemen will follow myself and Sergeant Ennis's men on the charge."
"As will I," said Commissar Connor, speaking up. "You will not retreat from this fight, men, for there will be no need to. We will win here today, if not by our blood, than by that of those who follow in our footsteps. I don't plan on giving those other chaps the chance. Move out!"
The guardsmen quietly nodded in acknowledgement, sliding along the wall towards the bridge. There they waited, poised to jump at the call.
"Three, two, one, go! Covering fire!" shouted Kippler. Kalan and Donovan opened fire with their heavy bolter, pouring a withering hail of bullets over the canal. Half a dozen Orks were cut down instantly before the rest dove to cover. Beryn lead the charge with the 46th troopers, racing across the bridge alongside the Trench Skippers, Lieutenant Hunder, and Commissar Connor. Alek was on the vox calling for armor support, while Remer and Vornas kept the Greenskins on their toes, lobbing grenades into their cover spots.
Kippler hugged the side of the bridge's suspension anchor, popping around the corner intermittently to target the largest Orks. A Nob's head was perforated with three deadly accurate shots from his long las. The grenadier platoon had stormed halfway across the bridge almost unopposed by the disorganized Orks. But a phalanx of xenos walkers had been alerted to the incursion, and they had turned their fearsome weaponry onto the guardsmen. The gretchin machines, "Killa-Kans", were as crudely built as any greenskin vehicle; spiky, rickety contraptions that belched smoke and whined on rusted servomotors. But not to be underestimated for their outward appearance. The small walkers were deadly up close, and had enough raw armor to see themselves into melee range.
Kippler made hand motions to Remer and Vornas, directing their fire at the oncoming Kans. The Daredevils and Trench Skippers stalled on the bridge folded into the suspension cabling along either side, leaving a clean avenue for the grenade launchers. Loaded with anti vehicle krak grenades, the two guardsmen fired at the Killa Kans. Remer and Vornas slagged three of the machines between them, outright destroying two and the third catching fire in the ensuing explosions. Pressing their advantage, Kippler ordered his five rearguard men to move up to the rest of the troopers.
Ennis's Trench Skippers were as much a professional unit as the Daredevils. The sergeant pressed his men forward, delivering a punishing fusillade of hellgun and hotshot bursts downrange at the Orks. Equipped for target acquisition, his specialists forwent conventional grenade launchers for melta and plasma weaponry. Dozens of Orks were vaporized as they charged the outnumbered but not outmatched grenadiers.
Kippler reached Beryn Mathis, huddled behind one of the wrecked Kans and trading shots with the Ork gunners on the far shore. "How are we doing corporal?" shouted Kippler, "Casualties?"
"None yet sir!" replied Mathis over the deafening firefight. "A few bumps, but no losses!"
Kippler poked his head over their cover, observing the Orks. Dozens more kept arriving on the other side, disgorging from their trucks and climbing over the growing number of dead comrades. "We're sitting ducks on this bridge," said Kippler, "We've got to clear a path before we get bogged down, and the convoy will never get through. Alek, where's that armor support?"
"I'm working on it, sir!" said Alek, desperately working his vox pack between warming his metal fingers before the joints froze. Under fire, Kippler was impressed with how Alek was holding up under fire. His aim was no better, but he wasn't the same panicked youth Kippler had met three years ago. He had come into his own as an excellent vox operator and field medic.
"Well work harder," said Remer. The Orks were gaining ground, the sheer volume of Orkish fire matched only by their chanting of 'dakka dakka dakka'. The grenadiers killed many, but every second they spent putting down the green tide, the larger it grew.
"Flight one, this is Helios 1. Form up and return to base for refuelling. There's not much more we can do out here." Tyrell sounded exhausted over the vox. The Thunderbolt squadron had almost depleted their fuel in the extended dogfight. If they reached the point of no return, the only way down would be by the guns of a lucky junker. Valeris pulled her flight into formation with Tyrell's group. She had taken some flak damage across her wingspan, and she was relying on vector jets to stay airborne.
"Once everybody's groundside, I want you to get a good rest," explained Tyrell. "We're going back out as soon as repairs and refueling is complete. You'll have a few hours, make the most of them."
The sky was blackened with smoke and whispering contrails from the relentless battle among the skyscrapers. The Marauder wing had driven ferociously at the Ork base, while the Thunderbolts had tangled with the flocks of greenskin fighters wreaking havoc on the ground troops. It seemed as though the Ork vessels had been filled to the brim with the junkers, as unprecedented numbers had inundated the airspace in a short matter of time. Helios squadron had downed dozens of enemy planes, but they had barely made a dent in the Ork's air force. Without a decisive strike, Valeris expected them to face a lengthy battle of attrition to slowly whittle down the Ork forces to the last spore.
Valeris hated to leave the combat zone, but she knew better than to disagree with Tyrell. If a bandit didn't drop her plane, Tyrell's report to the Fleet Commissariat would permanently end her disobedience. So she kept in line with the rest of the squadron, looking all the worse for wear. Davoss was still airborne too, even after his close call earlier. She did a double check of her instruments to make sure a sudden change wouldn't throw her off course. One of her vector engines was struggling to maintain its thrust output. Valeris tried to cut the engine's power and compensate using the second engine. Before she got the chance, the vector engine burst into flames.
The Thunderbolt veered dangerously to the left as Valeris struggled to regain control. The other fighters banked away to avoid a collision. Inside the cockpit, the machine spirit was screaming with alarms and flashing emergency lights. A diagnosis on the dash screen told Helios 2 that the port vector engine had had a piece of shrapnel lodged in the air intake, causing the explosion. Valeris's control column was like an anchor in her hands, refusing to budge and sending the Thunderbolt into a flat spin as the second engine continued to provide thrust.
"Valeris, eject!" barked Tyrell, walking the Lieutenant through her panicked situation. "You'll only have one shot at this before you miss your grav chute's safety threshold."
"I'm trying," protested Valeris, still battling with her controls. "If I'm not upright, I might as well have a ferrosteel parachute." Setting an angle for her remaining engine, the Thunderbolt ceased it's pinwheel, and leveled out. The machine was still falling like a meteor, but Valeris had the sky above and the ground below. "All right, I think I've got it."
"Then eject now!" said Tyrell. "We'll send a search party for you, Helios 2. Hang tight."
"Just get out of here, my auspex is picking up more xenos craft."
"Good luck, Valeris," said Captain Tyrell. The rest of the squadron raced away, quickly becoming specks hidden among the snowy skies. Valeris pulled the cockpit eject. The canopy of the dying bird blasted off, filling the cockpit with blasting winds as the plane plummeted to the ground. But her seat was still embedded in the aircraft. Frantically, Valeris pulled the eject again and again, trying to get the seat's rocket booster to ignite. It never did.
"Frak!" she cursed, unable to hear herself over the gushing wind. The metal canyons between skyscrapers were coming up at an alarming rate. Increasingly desperate, Valeris set her remaining engine back to its forward thrust configuration. She tried to angle herself parallel with the street, and braced for impact.
The Killa Kans were moving into striking distance. Metal claws and saw blades tore through the carcasses of the fallen walkers, scattering the Daredevils. From the right hand side of the bridge, the Trench Skippers turned their melta guns on the machines, atomizing the gretchins inside. Two of the Trench Skippers fell to the Ork guns. Ennis began pulling his troopers back from the fight. Enraged, Commissar Connor defiantly rose from cover, firing her bolt pistol at the troopers' feet and brandishing her power sword.
"Not one step back, cowards!" she roared. Connor swung her sword to point it at the Greenskins barreling across the bridge. "All men, fix bayonets!"
She was seriously considering a charge into that? Kippler almost couldn't believe his eyes. The usually cold and reasoning Connor was ordering a direct advance into a sea of Orks. He snapped out of his disbelief, and smacked the others to do the same. "You heard her, bayonets, now!"
Lieutenant Hunder revved his chainsword. "Come on, men, for the Emperor!" The lieutenant joined the Commissar in her desperate push against the Orks. Remer and Vornas let loose one final volley of grenades before joining the rest of the platoon. Kippler grudgingly fit the long knife onto the ring socket and started running. Compensating for the extra weight, he still managed to score several lethal shots against the Orks, thinning their ranks just before lowering his weapon and thrusting into the melee.
Connor and Hunder were at the forefront, tearing apart the Orks where they stood and ducking under the large brutes' wide swings. Jann Tarls and Mol Lannik were sent flying by an axe wielding Nob. Alek, still working the Vox, nonetheless raced over to the troopers to check their injuries. Seeing that they were fine, he dragged them back behind cover and rejoined the attack.
"Kippler, Kippler!" he shouted, firing ceaselessly into the Orks while he pushed forward. "I got through to an artillery crew, number 77. They've got a clear shot along the road!"
"How long before they can fire?" said Kippler.
"I said as soon as they could," Alek said. "We've got two minutes to clear the firing zone. Do we go forward or back?"
Kippler looked ahead, where Connor was doing her best impression of a Space Marine. She had hacked a bloody path through the Ork brutes, and the Trench Skippers had capitalized on the opening. "We go where the Commissar demands, Alek. We make for the building."
"Aye, corporal," said Alek. The Daredevils thrust through the break in the Ork phalanx, joining the platoon's final push. Zapping hellgun fire erupted all around Alek and Kippler, wiping away the Orks. Ork reinforcements had trickled to a halt, and the remaining Greenskins were faltering. Ennis's men had shattered the Killa Kan charge with precision melta shots and bombs. But for their bravery, the Trench Skippers had taken the brunt of the Ork's wrath. Five troopers lay dead, torn apart by Ork guns or hacked to bits by their axes.
Kippler kept a level head through the grueling fight, only firing when he was guaranteed a kill. Forty five seconds later, the Orks had been pushed off the bridge, but it was the longest forty five seconds Kippler had ever endured. The bridge covered in dead Orks, the grenadiers rushed their objective building as more of the xenos forces regrouped.
"Go, go! Get inside!" shouted Lieutenant Hunder. A distant rumble throbbed at the edge of hearing. Kippler looked back across the bridge. In the far distance, up Temple Hill, he saw a series of flashes, followed shortly by more bangs. The artillery was raining down on them. He raced for the house.
Vornas hastily strapped a shaped charge onto the front entrance, and primed the explosive. Pressing into the wall, the grenadiers set off the bomb, blasting the door inwards. They swarmed inside, firing back at the Orks still out in the streets before delving further inside. The first shells began to strike. The pavement erupted in fiery blasts that threw chunks of asphalt skyward and incinerated anything left in the open. The ground shook and the world was deafened by the continuing destruction.
Then, the building was hit. Kippler was thrown like a ragdoll against the wall, which promptly collapsed in a huge crack. The whole world went black, the crashing noise was deafening, and Kippler found himself being twisted painfully by the crushing rock. The destruction lasted for ages, it seemed, until finally, things settled. The basilisks fell silent, and a strange quiet fell across the ruined structure. Kippler couldn't move anything but his neck, which he craned awkwardly to try and look around. He was fairly certain he was upside down by the blood rushing to his head.
Shapes began moving in the rubble. Somebody groaned nearby. "Vornas? Borik, is that you?" asked Kippler. He tried to twist his neck in the direction of the sound.
"Aye, Kip, it's me," replied Vornas. Vornas sat up, shaking off the mountain of rubble that coated his armor. "If Alek is still alive, I'm gonna kill him for this."
"I'll keep that in mind, you ass," sniped Alek from somewhere out of sight. "Are you alright, Corporal?"
Kippler tried to move again, but the rocks didn't budge. He gave up and sighed. "No, I'm stuck. I don't think anything's broken though, help me get out."
Alek and Vornas pried the heavy masonry off of Kippler until he was able to move his arms and pull himself out of the wreckage. The three moved among the room, helping free their entombed comrades until they were all free. Almost everyone, Kippler observed. "Where's Remer?"
"He was the last one through the door, after me," said Vornas. "I didn't see him after that blast."
"Check the hallway," ordered Connor, "or what's left of it." The grenadiers carefully picked their way across the room. The building had mercifully only taken a single shell in the exchange, but there was no sense in abandoning caution. The roof might still be up, but the foundations might have been shaken severely, and any misjudged step could cause a wall or floor to give away. The entire corner of the building had been taken out, exposing the guardsmen to the cold winter air. Had Kippler not been wearing his armor, he would have been killed instantly. Mathis's troops, in their simpler flak jackets, were definitely worse off than the true grenadiers.
The hallway was utterly gone. A huge fissure was all that remained where it once was, filled with shattered rockrete as hundreds of tonnes from the building above crashed into the ground. The sinkhole was beginning to settle, with a thin blanket of snow already blanketing the debris. Kippler looked down the hole with an empty look on his face, his eyes unblinking. His gaze had caught a slight glint; red blood shimmering, splattered across a sheet of metal in an unreachable corner down the hole.
Vornas was already hooking his rappel line into the floor. Kippler looked at him blankly. "What are you doing, Borik?"
"I'm going to get him out, what the hell does it look like?" he growled back at Kippler. Vornas glared at Kippler, a reproachful look etched across his burned face. He jumped off the side of the fissure, sliding down the rope. Commissar Connor swooped down and snatched the line before Vornas could descend any further. "Get off, you bitch, unless you're coming down here to help me!"
"Anything we pull out of there we will be returning to the A.F.H in several bags, private," said Connor, somewhat more harshly than Kippler usually knew her for. "We have our objective, now we hold it until the convoy arrives. One dead trooper is not enough reason to deny a strategic position."
"Vornas, listen to me. We have to go," Kippler said. He offered Vornas his hand. "Please."
Vornas swatted his hand aside, pulling himself out of the pit. Kippler felt the pure resentment radiating from the huge man as he shouldered past without so much as glancing at him. Lieutenant Hunder watched the exchange hesitantly, until Vornas left the room to secure the rest of the building with Ennis's remaining soldiers. "Corporal? Are you alright?"
"What? Oh, yes. I'm fine, sir," Kippler said, eventually. He looked around, realizing that he, Alek and Hunder were the only ones in the hallway. Beryn had taken the rest of the squad to clear the road for the rest of the company. Kippler could hear their engines coming steadily up the street. "Alek, get on the vox to command, tell them we've secured the building. And... give them the casualties."
Alek suddenly looked like the frightened, unsteady youth again. His hands trembled while he worked the vox caster, and his voice cracked as he read out the report. "The objective was taken, sir. Casualties: five soldiers from Trench Skipper squad. Daredevils: one."