The Beast Awakens
A week had passed since the Orks had made planet fall, and the effects could already be felt throughout Angel Hive. Millions of refugees evacuated from the besieged Golgotha Spire made the long pilgrimage across the frozen highways towards the Capital. Those too weak to brave the fierce blizzards were simply left on the roadside. Others still were harried relentlessly by local Ork marauders, stirred into a frenzy by the arrival of a true Waaagh! Greenskin bikers and raiders conducted steady hit and runs on the refugees, striking wherever the overtaxed PDF escorts were not. Thousands died on the long march.
Overhead, the air battle still raged, with round the clock sorties from the Imperial Navy's ground bases raiding the Ork roks while the Ameratus rested in orbit, providing fire support as needed. Angel Hive was too valuable to deploy capital weaponry against, severely crippling the Imperial's orbital defenses. The battleship was limited to tactical missile strikes to prevent excessive damage to Golgotha Spire's extensive supplies.
In Golgotha, the chaos of the initial attacks had finally subsided, and solid battle lines had been formed between the Imperial Guard and the xenos. The supply lines to the north half of the Spire remained open, allowing the Imperial Guard to swell across the river. However, attempts to advance further inland across Luesan Island were met with heavy resistance from the entrenched Greenskins. Routine patrols were sent along the canals to shore up holes along the line that the Orks could exploit.
Today, it was Gren's turn to lead the patrol. Captain Caius had the 7th company probing the underside of Southgate Bridge once again. The service tunnels had opened into an underground labyrinth of warrens and side passages that crept down into the undercity. There had been reports from previous patrols that Hive Gangers had been sighted using the passageways. Gren's orders were to clear out any squatters he found that might tip off the Orks to this potential weakness. Corporal Carros was on point, leading the ten troopers further into the warrens.
Contrary to many Imperial Guard regiments, the Vendolanders often employed reserve regiments with no designation to replace casualties. The trooper Gren had encountered in the mess hall had turned out to be a replacement, named Tamm. The 85th had received two replenishments during their tour of duty in Subsector Aurelia. Flinn had been on the first resupply, following the Coalition War. Tamm had arrived in the aftermath of the Tyranid invasion, fighting with 8th company against the Chaos incursion until the reformation of the Vendolanders. Chance had thrown him into Gren's unit.
Tamm annoyed Gren. He seemed resentful of his position as a reserve, despite seeing some of the worst combat during the Aurelian Crusades. He was always making snide remarks towards the company veterans, and he made no attempts to hide his jealousy of the regiment's actions on Typhon. It was all Gren could do not to punch the smug private's face. He settled for having Tamm bring up the squad's rear.
"Thank the Emperor we're out of that blasted snowstorm at least," joked Gren. "You'd need a bear's skin to stay outside for more than a minute."
"I think they have bears on Cadia," said Flinn. "That Colonel Moran from the Xenobane had a big furry cloak. I think they call them Ursidae. The thing's paws were as big as the Colonel's face."
"What is a bear, anyways?" asked private Rast.
"No idea," said Gren, shrugging. "That fellow Remer, from 4th company told me about it, once. Some kind of big, furry animal, the size of a truck, or something. He said that some Space Marines ride them." The squad laughed at the idea. The absurd image of an eight foot tall knight atop his noble, fat steed made Gren chuckle.
"And you believe that?" muttered Tamm.
"As a matter of fact, I do, private," said Gren. Remer might have been from another company, but there were few soldiers in the regiment who hadn't at least heard of the man. It was hard to ignore the effect that his death had taken on morale, and he wasn't about to let some arrogant little upstart speak ill of the man.
The ceiling shook above them. The gun batteries from Temple Hill were commencing their daily bombardment. In the past four days, the relentless sound of basilisk and thunderer fire had faded into background noise for Gren. Underground, he welcomed the reprieve from the cacophony.
Carros raised his hand for the squad to stop. Gren dropped to one knee, lasgun aimed down the passage. "All right, this is as far as second squad made it before turning back," said Gren. "We go in, clear the tunnel of any hostiles we find, and report back to HQ, got it?"
"Aye, sir," said the squad.
"Very well then, lads. Carros, lead on." Five hundred meters further, the passage opened up into the vast chasm that was the Undercity. The faint daylight fell through the cracks and holes of the Hive's surface, offering meagre light to the underground expanse. Gren peered down over the side of the walkway. Below, the curved metal and rockcrete that formed the support domes holding up the Hive bulged outwards for hundreds of meters.
Streets and rail lines zigzagged between the support domes. Coming from the bocage countryside of Vendoland to Meridian had been a shock for Gren. Even to this day, after years living on the planet, it still baffled his mind as to how so many people could live in such cramped conditions. And yet now, the entire Spire was empty. Across the chasms, there were no signs of life.
As they descended it became blisteringly hot. Scalding hot steam billowed from cracked pipelines, and waves of heat flowed upwards. The amount of power needed to power a Hive City was immense. Enormous geothermal energy furnaces were buried deep in the crust of the planet, and they burned so hot that even the intense snowstorms of Meridian's winters simply turned to vapor in the Undercity. Freezing cold water, pumped down from Lake Aradine came to a boil as it cascaded from open floodgates into huge reservoirs at the base of the domes.
There's no way we can cover all of this alone, thought Gren. Carros continued to lead them further downwards. More tunnels dotted the support dome. They would have to clear them one at a time. A few vagrants scattered as they pressed down the passage. Gren fired a few shots at their feet to encourage them to move a little faster.
They were the emaciated, the rejected, and the exiled members of society. Too late to heed the evacuation warnings, the people still living in the Undercity were little more than human vermin. Gren pitied them for their inability to help themselves. "Ignorance breeds innocence", the preacher had said at several sermons. Well look where that's gotten these wretches, thought Gren.
The squad met their first resistance at a tram junction. Hive Gangers, armed with stubbers and knives, were holed up in the operator's booth. As the squad approached, they fired a warning shot, plinking off Carros's shoulder pad. Protected by his flak armor, Carros immediately hit the ground, rolling out of the open. Gren barked at the men to take cover, and they dove behind anything solid. A stub gun wouldn't pierce armaplas, but it was never wise to take chances.
Tamm and Flinn fell in beside Gren. "Bloody hive gangers," spat Tamm. "One grenade and they're dead. Shall I do the honors, Sarge?"
"No, we're just supposed to clear them out, not start a street war," said Gren. Tamm rolled his eyes and gave a little huff. Gren nudged him sharply. "Hey, boy, that's enough. You listen to me, and you might live. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut and your eyes on the target. Got it?"
"Yeah, I got it," said Tamm sullenly." Flinn's eyes darted from Tamm to Gren, and he tensed up a little bit. Gren had fire in his eyes.
"Say that again, private," Gren said icily. "I think you missed something."
"Understood, sergeant. There, is that better?"
"For now." Gren signaled to Carros, who was crouched behind a bench. The corporal peaked over the top, and then motioned to Gren. Five targets, all in the booth. Gren grabbed a smoke grenade from his belt. "See here? Nonlethal. All right, on three, we go," he whispered, gesturing to the other troopers. "One, two, three!"
Gren lobbed the grenade over the barrier. At the same time, Flinn popped up and fired a shot at the booth, shattering the glass. The cap on the smoke grenade burst, and white smoke came billowing out. The ten Guardsmen leapt over their cover, storming the tram station. They fired sparingly, seeking only to intimidate the Hive Gangers. The thugs wisely decided better than to stand against ten heavily armed soldiers, and they promptly fled.
One gang member, slow on the uptake, decided otherwise. He brandished a curved knife, swinging it wildly in front of his heavily tattooed face. Tamm rushed forward, despite Gren's protests. The private flipped his lasgun over, bringing the butt of the rifle into the ganger's face with a wet crunch. The man recoiled, clutching his shattered nose. Tamm struck the man twice more in the sternum, knocking him to the ground. Reeling, the ganger scuttled away as Tamm drew his bayonet.
"That's right, you better run, scum!" jeered Tamm, pumping his fist in the air. "Try not to bump into any Greenskins while you're running! We're the frakking I.G!"
Gren simply walked over to Tamm, grabbed his arm and twisted it until the bayonet fell from his grip. He spoke dangerously quiet. "When I say we are just supposed to clear them out, that is what I expect you to do, private." He picked up the blade, showing it to Tamm. "If I see this come out again without my command, you can find a new place to fix it, understood?"
Tamm looked away, resentfully. "Yes, Sarge."
"Knock it off, Tamm," said Marlo. The others murmured in agreement.
Gren was already checking his kit over. "Did I ask for a second opinion? No, so shut it." He monitored the charge on his lasgun. "All right, pack it in, lads. Keep moving."
The patrol continued like this for the next hour. Occasional groups of stubborn gangers would hole up and then run before the guardsmen could beat them down. It became tedious quickly, being unable to simply end the nuisances while at the same time being shot at. Tamm's surly attitude was not helping. Gren began quoting proverbs just to drown out the private's incessant complaining.
Even bringing up the rear of the squad, Tamm was managing to get on everyone's nerves. The heat, the attitude, and the stressful patrol was all mixing together in a boiling pot, and tempers were bound to flare. Eventually, things came to a head. Carros, constantly on point and watching for threats, had had enough. He stopped the patrol, and turned on Tamm. "If I have to hear one more fething word from your mouth, I'll cut it off and replace it with a vox grill. Shut the hell up."
"Easy, Corporal," warned Gren, wary of the unfolding situation.
Tamm sneered at Carros. "Oh look, the kid doesn't like me. Deal with it, point man. We all have a job to do, right? So do yours. I like the new paint job, bullet scratches look nice on you."
Carros moved like lightning. In a flash, he was in Tamm's face, with an armored glove smacking the smug grin off the insolent trooper. "Enjoy it while it lasts, prig. You can hang out with your gang buddy back there, it looks nice on you." Carros spat at Tamm. The private roared, and the rest of the squad had to hold the two back from tearing into. Tamm was swearing and cursing at Carros, who offered just as many insults in return. Gren finally stepped in.
"That's enough! I don't care if I'm working alongside the thickest Ogryn or smelliest Ratling, but I will not tolerate this behavior in my squad!" He jammed a finger at Carros. "You, get back on point, now. And you, you keep this up for one more second, and you'll have a meeting with the Commissariat. I'm sure they'd love to meet you."
Tamm glared at Carros with contempt. Blood was pouring from his broken nose, dribbling over his breastplate. He shook Marlo and Rast off him, and looked at Gren. "Understood, sergeant," he said, half heartedly. Gren took his helmet off, running a sweaty hand over his fading hair.
"Look, it's frakking hot down here, and everyone's on edge. I know nobody likes this kind of busywork, but it has to be done. We can't start fighting each other when there's enough down here to do that already." Gren sighed. "I think we've covered enough ground for one day. Corporal, mark this spot for the next patrol. The rest of you, fall in. Let's get back to camp."
The patrol began the slow, winding ascent back to the surface. The steam was becoming so hot that Gren's shirt was soon drenched in sweat, and it clung to the inside of his breastplate like sticky cloth. Sweat was dribbling down over his head, his helmet feeling like a boiling soup bowl. He actually found himself missing the blizzard above.
"Saint Ollanius's soul, what is that smell?" said Marlo, scrunching his nose. "It smells like wet grox shit."
"Have you never smelled sweat before, genius?" said Tamm. "We're practically swimming in it." He was met with silence from the other troopers.
But Gren could smell it too. It smelled like a filthy barn that hadn't been cleaned in years, a musty scent with a hint of rancid food. A gust of hot air blew across the empty street, bearing more foul odors with it. Gren gagged on the stench, coughing. Carros had made it back to the surface access tunnel. The door was sealed shut. That can't be right, thought Gren. We made sure it was forced open when we first set out. Something was wrong.
Oh hell, he thought. Gren felt a growing dread building inside him. His gut instincts were screaming to run, that they were in danger. The smell, the sealed doorway. He pieced everything together, just a moment too late.
The door exploded, showering the squad with jagged metal fragments that tore through their fabric uniforms. The guardsmen were thrown from their feet by the concussion wave. Gren's ears were ringing as he stumbled upright. He could hear muffled shouts while his hearing recovered. Around him, the other troopers were struggling to stand. Large, hulking figures were moving out of the shadows, and advancing on the group.
"Orks!" screamed Marlo. The private shoved his shotgun into the hole, firing a blast of shells into the Greenskin's face. The Ork fell backwards, propelled by the impact. A second, much heavier shot fired back. Marlo's chest was blown open by the Ork's own shotgun, plastering the walls with his guts.
"Pour it on 'em, lads!" shouted Gren, finally rising unsteadily to his feet. The tunnel was soon filled with ringing gunfire, echoing across the undercity. The Kommandos must have been lying in wait. It was shocking how easily such huge xenos could move stealthily. Their brutish faces were covered in black camouflage paint, or obscured completely by crude metal helmets shaped to look like a spiked mouth. Dozens of them must have been stalking them, as more Orks appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
"Rast, Flinn, make for the surface!" shouted Gren. "Get back and warn HQ, we've got a breach!"
The two soldiers nodded, making a run for it. Flinn hesitated, looking back helplessly at his friend. "Flinn, get going. Run, you idiot!" The lad kept looking back, before finally turning away and racing to catch up with Rast. Gren turned back to the fight. He cranked the power setting on his lasgun to maximum, and uttered a war cry as he plunged into battle with the Greenskins.
The Leviathan's vox operator looked up from his screen. "Colonel, I think we've got something. The Greenskins are on the move. It looks like they're advancing on the forward line. Listening post Omega just went dark, but not before they sent a distress call."
Crassus and Lester rushed over to the operator. "Have you heard anything from the other regiments, son?" said Crassus. "Is it just our sector?"
The operator looked up. His face was white. He slowly put down the speaker, hands shaking. "It's the same all across the line, sir. They're moving on every sector across the island. It's a full scale attack."
"Send an emergency distress call, soldier," said Crassus. "Get as many men as you can to spread the word."
"Aye, sir." The operator began scrambling to adjust his system to the emergency channel. Crassus pulled Major Lester to the side. "Armand, get on the line with Hullen and the PDF units. I want Battery 77 ready immediately. Put the reserve companies on full alert. We will need everyone from the looks of things."
"On my way, Colonel." Armand vanished through the exit from the comms room. Crassus jammed his hands into his pockets, grabbing a lighter and a cigar before leaving for the observation deck. Four days of skirmishing with the outlying Orks. This was their first major counterattack, and the Greenskins weren't doing things halfway. A massive surge across the entire island, Ertrand thought to himself. This would either make or break the Imperial defenses. He was confident that the Vendolanders would be ready for the push. He hoped the rest of the Imperial Guard felt the same.
The 4th Company was making final preparations for the Ork onslaught. A strip of hab blocks, five hundred meters wide and miles long, had been utterly demolished by Basilisk artillery barrages. This no man's land separated the inner island from the Vendoland's battle line. If the Orks were going to meet them, they would have to cross the killzone. Anything they had done to prepare for an Ork attack would soon be tested.
Kippler pushed his way through the platoons making their way to the line. As assault infantry, the grenadier squads were ill suited for defensive operations, so Captain Uther had divided them for the time being. Alek was busy aiding the medic corps, while Corporal Beryn had allocated the rest of the troopers to other squads for increased support. Lieutenant Hunder had ordered Kippler to get high and spot for artillery. While the company dug in, Soras searched for the highest vantage point he could find.
A hab block, some three layers into the Guard's defense line, rose high above the rest like a grey monolith. Soras and several other sharpshooters settled in on the rooftop, overlooking the battlefield. He had a perfect vantage point to survey the no man's land. Peering through his long las scope, Kippler could make out the Orks, milling about on the edge of the expanse. There were thousands of them, some walking, others clinging to the sides of ramshackle trucks and tanks. More still were mounting their Deff Dreds and Killa Kans. The Orks were swelling on the edge of the field, ticking down the minutes until their capacity would burst, and they would swarm towards the Imperial gun line.
Kippler checked his vox bead. "Mathis, can you hear me?"
"Loud and clear, Corporal," replied Beryn. "Everyone's settled in."
"Good. Keep an eye on Vornas, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."
"I'll try. No promises," Mathis sounded wary. Kippler couldn't exactly blame him. Vornas had taken Remer's death extremely hard, and over the past few days, he had been extremely hostile to the Daredevil's replacements. The man could snap at any moment, and Kippler was struggling to keep Vornas grounded and focused.
"Just try your best, that's all I ask," said Kippler quietly.
"Will do, Corporal." Mathis closed the channel. Kippler sank into his position, still as a rock. The blanket of snow washing over him from the blizzard only helped to reinforce his cover. Overhead, the roar of the Navy fighters encouraged Kippler. The Vendolanders were as ready as they would ever be. With their backs to artillery, and planes overhead, Soras felt confident in their position.
The Orks began to advance. Slowly at first, the scattered boyz darting across the killzone soon became a wave. Behind the battle line, the artillery batteries on Temple hill began to fire. Between the blizzard and the smoke from the basilisk strikes, it was difficult for Kippler to find priority targets. He waited for brief pauses in the barrage to fire at his targets. He missed more often than he liked, but every Nob that he dropped was one less that reached the gun line.
Something caught his eye, however. Thousands of Orks were swarming forwards, covering the ground in a sea of green. But there was something else out there, obscured by the swirling clouds of snow and debris. Somebody else had seen it too. Far below, Kippler heard somebody shout.
"Squiggoth!"
Author's note: Updated to fix some continuity issues and some niggling parts I felt needed expanding on.