The Rok
Despite being cleared earlier that day, Orks had already moved back into the tunnel network. By the Vendoland raid team, Raider 2, entered the underground, the Orks had collapsed several sections to delay the Imperial advance. However, it also had the benefit of isolating enemy patrols, and with their updated charts, the guardsmen knew the tunnels better than the Orks did.
Raider 2 was one of three infiltration teams sent to disrupt the greenskin's defenses ahead of the main assault. Comprising thirty men drawn from volunteers in both the regular infantry and the grenadier platoons, their mission was to first break through the Ork's constructed curtain wall, and then cause as much damage to the Rok itself as they could. Each man carried a bag of satchel charges for their demolitions work.
Lieutenant Sarthis was the ranking officer, but it was the grenadiers in the group who were truly running the show. They took point, using their superior equipment and tactics to clear out the infestations effortlessly before the infantrymen could even react. Sarthis's platoon was left to haul the explosives they would use to collapse the curtain wall.
He didn't like it. Treig's death had left the lieutenant in command of 1st company, and damn it, he'd done his job well. The regular men respected him for his courage under pressure, but he barely got a nod out of his grenadier platoon. They were aloof, off in their own world.
Nobody said anything but it was clear there was a rift in the regiment between the grenadiers and the regular infantry. Sure, the grenadiers often pulled up exceptional troopers into their ranks, but those men changed after their time with the elite. The grenadiers were close knit groups with their own, strange customs, and they didn't mingle well with others.
There were exceptions, of course. Other commanders, like Lars Uther from 4th, were held in high regard by their grenadiers, and cooperated well with each other. But not Sarthis. He felt they treated him like a child, not to be taken seriously. This was the thanks he got for saving his company: dragging explosives behind a bunch of glory hounds.
The tunnel floors sloshed beneath their boots. Slush and water dribbled down through the cracks in the ceiling, and moisture hanged in the air.
Vox silence was being recognized by the raiders. They would be reliant on verbal and visual communication until the main assault began, in order to keep the greenskins from getting wise to the operation. One of the 4th grenadiers appeared out of the gloom. Half his face had been replaced with metal augmetics. "Sarge needs you up front, sir," said Serrt.
Sarthis handed his bag of satchel charges to corporal Goldemar. "Lead on, private," he told Serrt, emphasizing the last word. Serrt cocked his one remaining eyebrow but said nothing. The lieutenant couldn't tell what the man was thinking with his expressionless face.
The eleven grenadiers were on point up at the front of the group. They were well equipped with specialist gear; hellguns, krak grenades, breather masks and night vision goggles. Each soldier was encased in a full body carapace suit, offering far greater protection to the regular flak jackets worn by Sarthis's guardsmen.
Their senior NCO, sergeant Kippler, was on one knee, his long las aimed down the passage. "Light up ahead, sir," said the marksman, eye pressed to his scope. "Looks like a ceiling collapse, a hundred meters down the path. Could be our way up and in."
"I don't see anything," Sarthis said with a hint of annoyance.
Kippler tapped his long las. "Night vision scope, sir. I suggest taking a few men up to scout it out."
"Fine, as you wish, sergeant." Sarthis absently selected three grenadiers. "You, you, and you, go with the sergeant and see where that hole leads."
Kippler signaled to his team to move out. Sarthis had chosen Atlen, Marten, and Jask for the job. When they were out of earshot, Atlen commented, "CO doesn't sound too happy about your ideas, Kippler."
"He's just new to this, leave him be," said Jask. Jask was a heavyset grenadier from 1st company's Warmaster squad. He and Marten had served alongside Sarthis for years in the 1st. They'd stand up for the new officer if they had to.
The collapsed tunnel roof did indeed lead outside. A light dusting of snow had already settled on the rubble pile, and cold air gushed in, frosting over the walls of the steaming passage. Jask and Atlen propped Kippler up out of the hole, his head just passing the lip of the surface.
Kippler scanned around three hundred sixty degrees with his long las. The hole opened up into a small lot behind a shelter house. The yard was mercifully empty; the whole area had been extensively shelled and no Orks were in sight. More importantly, it was behind the curtain wall.
Kippler dropped back down. "Hold here," he told the grenadiers before turning back down the hall. A few minutes later, he returned with Sarthis and the lieutenant's aide, corporal Goldemar.
"The breach opens up in the Ork compound," said Kippler, pointing out the location on the officer's chart. "It looks like the tunnels to the right of here run right under the wall. We should set the charges there."
Sarthis reviewed the data-slate chart. "How long do we have before dawn, Goldemar?"
The corporal checked his chronometer. "Two hours, sir."
"Then set the charges for two and a half hours. That'll give the greenskins a surprise. Sergeant, can we get to the Rok from the yard without being detected?"
Kippler shrugged. "Hard to say, sir, I only got a short look. The area seems abandoned, but there's no way to be sure until we're topside. We might have to fight our way in."
"Shit," cursed Sarthis. "Well, the colonel did say this wouldn't be easy. Alright, one thing at a time. Let's set the charges now. Have your men watch this hole, sergeant."
The infantry moved down the adjoining passages and set to work priming their explosives. Each man carried a satchel charge, and they planted them at specific points selected by their lieutenant. Sarthis wanted to prove to the grenadiers that he was as resourceful as they were. By focusing the explosives on the weakest points beneath the wall, they could save more charges for their strike on the Rok.
Once the charges were all set and wired, Raider 2 set off for the breach. Quietly as possible, they one by one climbed out of the hole and into the yard. Sarthis left two men to guard the entrance in case they needed to double back.
He told the men, "Challenge is Hammer, respond with Thunder. Anything comes by without the phrase, you shoot to kill, got it?"
The Rok towered above them, over half a kilometer high. The great asteroid fragment was covered in scorch marks and blown open cavities where the basilisk shells had struck. Metal frameworks formed the skeleton of the Rok, supporting it where the greenskins had carved cavernous warrens into its core. Guns bristled across its surface, pounding into the night sky in anticipation of more bombing runs from the navy wings.
All around the great fortress, the orks had built a massive shantytown out of the destroyed district. Gas burning torches lit the narrow streets, and the area reeked of refuse and the xenos's own particular stench. Cobbled together towers creaked precipitously back and forth, the slightest push liable to knock them down. Everywhere, greenskins of all sizes milled about, fighting, drinking, preparing for the Guard's next attack.
Raider 2 moved carefully down a dark alley between two Ork Mek workshops. Sparks flashed through gaps in the corrugated walls. The troopers caught glimpses of the greenskins working inside. They were refurbishing damaged walkers with scraps recovered from the fighting. Even with wreckage, greenskins found new ways to maim and kill.
Everyone was tense. So far they had been able to avoid the greenskin patrols, but all it took was one person's carelessness to bring the entire horde down on them. They were in the heart of enemy territory now. The only way out was forward.
At the end of the alley, Kippler raised his hand for the group to halt. He unscrewed his long las scope and passed it up to Sarthis. "Up there, see it?" he said as Sarthis put the scope up to his eye.
Kippler pointed to the rok. Though it was several streets away from them, Sarthis could easily make out the gaping hole in the asteroid's side. It looked like an earthshaker round had blasted clean through the rok's crust. The outer edge had been hastily reinforced with a metal ring, and an ork slaver was urging on a work crew of gretchin to repair the damage. As Sarthis looked on, the greenskins were carefully raising a fearsome looking gun up the scaffolding.
"What do you reckon that is, sir?" asked Kippler.
"Looks like a new gun battery," said Sarthis, "They'll need an ammo feeder for it, which means that that hole must go pretty deep inside the rok."
"And that means it's a way inside," said Kippler.
Sarthis handed the scope back to the sergeant. "Bit out in the open, don't you think?"
"It's either that or trying the front door," Beryn Mathis said, behind them. "I'll bet that they run the ammo up from one main stockpile. There'd be munitions rails going all through the fortress. If we hit that, the whole thing might go up."
"I agree with Mathis and the Kippler, sir," Serrt said. "Unless you have another suggestion, of course, lieutenant."
Sarthis glowered. "I don't," he conceded bitterly. "I guess I have to leave this to you men."
Kippler had had enough of the lieutenant's attitude. "Lieutenant, with respect, shut up. I don't doubt your leadership as an infantry commander, but we are grenadiers. This sort of break and enter operation is what we're best at. I'm not trying to countermand you, but we're not going to make it out of here if you keep up this attitude."
The sergeant's words stung, but Sarthis knew he was right. He didn't have the right to tell the grenadiers how to do their job, and being bitter about it would only make things worse. Sarthis just didn't want to be a fifth wheel on the mission. "Fine, sergeant," he said reluctantly. "I defer to your experience in this matter."
"I'm not asking you to 'defer' to me, Sarthis. Just work with me, alright?"
"Fair enough," said the lieutenant. "What's our plan?"
"We'll have to do this quick," Kippler said. "It's three streets over, about a hundred and fifty meters, I reckon. In these tight streets, it's hard to say what sort of resistance we'll find before we get there.
"So, what do we do?" asked Rorison, one of Sarthis's platoon.
Kippler smiled half heartedly at the trooper. "Run like hell, and hope to the God-Emperor that the greenskins don't notice us?"
Sarthis found himself thinking back to earlier in the day, specifically, the fight through the hab block. "I've got an idea, sergeant. Take Goldemar and find a way to get on top of these buildings. He's fast on his feet and has good balance, he'll be useful to you. We need eyes above us. Find out what sort of resistance we can expect."
"Yes sir," said Kippler. He gestured to Goldemar to follow him. Quietly as they could, the two men climbed the wall of the machine shop. The orks inside didn't notice them over the sound of their repairs. The lean corporal reached the top first, and pulled Kippler up top and out of sight.
Sarthis set two men to each side of the alley to watch their backs and had everyone else wait in silence until his recon team returned. After ten painfully long minutes, Kippler and Goldemar returned.
"We should take the rooftops," Kippler said. "The streets ahead are covered in greenskins, there's no way we'd make it in on foot. Goldemar found us a pretty good path, if we go fast we shouldn't have much trouble."
"I'm not about to take chances, sergeant," said Sarthis. "Those towers we've seen, a bomb at the base of one would bring it down, do you think?"
"A good kick would do the same thing, sir."
"Then we'll knock one over and use the commotion to draw away the orks. Then we'll slip in."
Kippler was starting to like Sarthis's planning. A little tough love had made him put aside his resentfulness and start making proper decisions. "Should I pick the men for that, sir, or will you?" he asked.
"Rorison, LeDann, Lasker," listed Sarthis confidently. Those three knew their way around explosives better than anyone else in the platoon. "Knock a few planks loose, boys. Everyone, up the wall, we're on the clock."
The gretchin in the watchtower didn't have time to scream before the rickety structure went up in flames. The tower crashed into the street, crushing greenskins underneath it, resulting in a new string of fights. While orks flocked towards the commotion, Raider 2 made their move on the rok. The work crew atop the scaffold never saw them coming over the rooftops.
Kippler exploded the ork slaver's head with a high powered shot just as Sarthis's soldiers sprayed the gretchin workers with more fire, killing them all in seconds. Greenskins working inside the crack fled rather than face the furious hail of lasfire.
Wikks and Lasker hurried past Sarthis with a long ladder. While the rest of the infiltration team laid down suppressing fire on the orks below, they dropped the ladder over the gap between the shelter and the scaffold. With a length of rope wrapped around his arm, Goldemar skipped across the makeshift bridge two rungs at a time. When he reached the far side, he used the rope to secure the ladder, and Sarthis ordered the men across.
Returning from their demolition work, Rorison, Lasker and LeDann brought up the rear. Rorison had made it halfway across the ladder when a greenskin round took his leg off, and he tumbled over the side. LeDann was cut down before Lasker could pull him to safety, and he lay tangled on the rungs.
Sarthis looked back grimly at his two fallen troopers. He pushed Lasker, now shaking, past the ork gun and followed Raider 2 into the Rok.
They were running out of time. The greenskins were alerted to the raiders' presence, and they were hunting the Imperials throughout the Rok. Gretchin were forced into the tunnel network to flush them out, and the troopers were constantly being harried by the small, desperate creatures. Ledras was dragged down kicking and screaming by the gretchins before they slit his throat. Other members of Raider 2 blasted the monsters away, but it was too late for their comrade.
On point, Kippler was running blind. Ork ships followed no logic he could understand. Where a human might put a storage compartment, an Ork would use as a latrine. The layout of the Rok was a chaotic mess with no rhyme or reason. But still, he tried to build a map of the surroundings in his head. There were numerous side passages and ninety degree corners, perfect for ambushes from both groups. On the push, he was relentless, determined not to get boxed into a trap.
Raider 2 entered a large antechamber, from which dozens of other tunnels branched out. The Vendolanders swept the room with lasfire, killing a dozen grots, and then took a moment to catch their breath. Kippler settled down by the wall and hastily scribbled out a rough plan of the Rok. Everything he could remember, every turn, every junction, he marked on the wall.
"Everyone alright?" said Sarthis. A mumbled chorus replied yes. Sarthis stepped over to Kippler. "So, any idea where this ammo dump might be at, sergeant?"
"Well, it looks like we were following the feeder rails for some of the big guns for a while, but then we got pushed off onto this side run, sir. The tunnels to our right when we came into this room should let us double back and get us on course again."
Before Sarthis could respond, a series of explosions rippled through the ship, somewhere far above them. It must have been one of the other insertion teams. The lieutenant pulled Tenar over to use his vox pack "This is Raider 2, Vendoland team. Raider 1, is that you?"
There was a response. "Negative, this is Raider 3." The Maveron team. "What's your position, Raider 2?"
"We just heard your explosives go off above us," said Sarthis. "I'd say we're about two hundred feet below you. We're in some sort of junction room, narrow but tall. Sound familiar to you?"
"Roger, Raider 2. We just past there five minutes ago. Hold tight, we're on our way."
A few minutes later, and the Maveron team arrived. Six men blew the ceiling grates and fast roped down to the Vendolanders. They immediately fixed the ropes to the raiders to help pull them back up. Sarthis was the last one up the rope, and two men helped pull him up onto the rafter.
The Maverons were well drilled, but clearly inexperienced. Their silver and green armor had few scratch marks, and it still shined as brightly as the day it came off the assembly line. The officers in charge of the unit were all in their early twenties, with young, unblemished faces. In comparison, there were few Vendolanders left under the age of thirty, and fewer still who hadn't taken at least one injury in the line of duty.
Raider 3 did look like they'd taken a few hits, however. Only fourteen of the raid's original thirty members remained to greet the Vendolanders. A short, blonde haired man with a lieutenant's badge sewn on his sleeve shook Sarthis's hand. "Lieutenant Fanaar, 12th Lance, 311th Maveron Division."
"Collo Sarthis, 85th Vendoland. I'm hoping you've made more progress than we have."
"We hit the side of the Rok forty minutes ago," said Fanaar. "My men scaled the outside we blew our way in with shaped charges. Since then, we've been targeting their munitions dumps inside. They've got blisters full of explosives all over the Rok, sir."
Sarthis grinned, "It seems we think alike, lieutenant. We're after the same thing. Any chance of doing this stealthy is gone, let's stick together and hit them hard."
The two raid teams nodded in agreement. Kippler spoke up. "Fanaar, do your men know much about improvised explosives?"
The young officer shook his head. "Not really, sergeant. What's your plan?"
"I'll show you how to make some bundle charges," Kippler turned to the Vendolanders. "Same as the wall, plant them at weak points."
"You heard the sergeant," said Sarthis. "Anyone with demolitions skills, I want you showing the Maverons how it's done."
Back in the main warrens, the guardsmen had to contend with the bigger Orks. Hordes of greenskins assaulted them at the base of a shallow ramp leading to the stockpile. Beryn Mathis slammed a half dozen shots into an Ork armed with a shotgun before it went down. The guardsmen continued to fall back up the ramp, keeping the Orks at arm's length, continuing to pour fire into the resilient xenos.
Close quarters combat with the Orks tended to be brutal and one sided in favor of the greenskins. Even in the rare occasion that the guardsmen came out on top, the cost was usually high. Mathis dialed his hellgun up to full charge, sacrificing its rapid fire capability for raw stopping power. His next shot evaporated an Ork's head, leaving an ash covered stump.
The munitions dump was at the top of the ramp. Fanaar slammed his fist into the access panel. Dust billowed out of the rusting gears as the door slowly retracted into the ceiling. Bent over double, the Imperials bolted into the room. The Orks, heedless of the danger of firing around live ordnance, charged in after them.
The stockpile was vast. Shells ranging from 37mm anti-air rounds to enormous 250mm mortars were piled haphazardly up to the drafty ceiling. Orask caught his foot and tripped over a box of stick bombs. The grenades went tumbling, causing a small avalanche as they knocked over more cases, hitting the floor with a great clatter. The Orks followed the disturbance, roaring and whooping their unintelligible war chants.
The grenadiers from Warmaster squad held the narrow path between two mountains of ammunition, while Kippler was helping the Maverons set the charges. He looped a length of det-cord around the charge caps, and had the other troopers do the same. They dropped each belt into a crate of explosives and angled them inwards to direct the blast at the rest of the stockpile.
"Whatever you're doing, hurry up!" called Jask. The grenadier's hellgun was glowing white hot, firing on full auto at the oncoming greenskins. A bullet struck his shoulder pad, twisting Jask to the right. That was all the time it took for the Ork to get on top of him. The xenos brought its axe down on Jask, splitting his head down the middle. The Warmaster's corpse was pushed aside by the surging Orks.
Atlen and Serrt attached their bayonets and planted themselves in the narrow pathway, firing and stabbing at the Orks pushing up towards them. Sarthis and Fanaar's men frantically worked to finish wiring the last of the explosives.
"Done!" yelled Goldemar before jumping clear of the ammo stacks. Between the ticking time bomb and the doorway was an entire mob of Orks. Trapped on or between the crates, Raider 2 practiced their marksmanship, not daring to miss and set off the explosives early.
Kippler and Mathis had finished wiring their last bundle near the top of the pile, and they had a clear view of the exit. More greenskins continued to pour into the room. The bombs would go off before they ever made it out.
"We'll never make it out at this rate," muttered Mathis between shots.
Kippler noticed something out the corner of his eye. "What the hell are they doing?" he said aloud.
Fanaar's men had appropriated a crate of stick bombs and had hauled it over to the storeroom's far wall. Using the wiring technique Kippler had just taught them, the silver troopers strapped together bundles of the grenades and planted them along the bulkhead.
Just as the encroaching Orks were about to overrun the guardsmen's tenuous position, Fanaar's men set off their makeshift bomb. The explosion was directed outwards, blasting a gaping hole in the wall. Fanaar waved up to the men on the stacks. "Come on! This way, hurry!"
The Vendolanders obliged, hurrying down the piles of ammunition. The Maverons held off the Orks at the shattered bulkhead until Raider 2 was clear of the room. Without waiting to be followed, the Maverons and Vendolanders took off at a sprint, firing at any greenskin in their way.
Inside the storeroom, the first bundle of explosives detonated just as the first of the pursuing Orks reached the blasted bulkhead. The grenade boxes began to cook off, in turn setting off a chain of explosions that collapsed even more crates, leading to further blasts. Like a building prepped for demolition, the mountains of ammunition slid into each other, adding more fuel to the inferno.
The Orks were incinerated in the fire, and the entire Rok shook from the force of the blast. Already questionable support beams buckled under the concussive force. From outside, an entire section of the Rok crumbled and rained down on the greenskins at the base of the fortress.
At dawn, the Imperial Guard renewed their assault. As their allies lacked armor support, the Cadians redeployed their super heavy tanks to aid the Vendoland and Maveron units. Once more the Baneblades would form the spearhead of the Imperial attack. A titanic explosion blew out of the Rok, halfway up its side, the results of the infiltrators' handiwork. As if to emphasize the successful operation, a half hour into the fight, a line of detonations rumbled under the guardsmen's feet, and entire sections of the curtain wall collapsed in on themselves. Reduced to rubble, the Imperial forces surged ahead.
To the east, the greenskin horde was on the move. Warboss Smashface rode at the forefront atop a yellow battle-wagon that crushed any boyz stupid enough to be in front of it. There was a big fight going on, and he intended to be the first one in it. His armor glistened in the early morning sun, and he impatiently tapped his huge war hammer against his meaty palm. The anticipation was killing him.
Two weeks on this planet and he'd barely had a chance to really get stuck in. All that time wasted on the Rok in the lake had left him itching for a fight. The humans along the lakeside hadn't been sporting. Rather than meet him in battle, they fell back and fired on his boyz from afar. They had no taste for proper combat.
But this looked interesting. The big Rok that had landed in the center of the island was on fire, and there was the sound of guns and bombs and all sorts of exciting violence that echoed over the city, calling to him. These humans knew how to get his attention. So, his horde moved inland, eager to meet the humans for a good fight.
The Orks flocked to their leader, leaving the boring river behind. Hundreds, then thousands, surged westward. The stomping hooves of Squiggoths, the clanking deff-dreds and killa kans, and the trundling tanks all joined in with the glorious march of the green tide. The very ground shook with their approach. Only one word could fully encapsulate such a glorious and terrible sight.
"WAAAGH!"
Raider 1, the Cadian infiltrators, made their presence known when three of the heavy guns dotting the Rok suddenly took aim at the Orks below. Manned by the Xenobane, they pounded away at the rear lines of the greenskin horde, killing dozens and scattering more. By the time the other guns turned to target the commandeered weapons, the guardsmen were long gone, leaving behind only a few carefully set charges.
While the guns detonated, the Imperial forces on the ground took advantage of the other cannons and fired on them with extreme prejudice. Its north side stripped of defenses, the Rok stood defenceless to the assault. Only the Orks on the ground stood between the Imperial Guard and their prize.
Forward units charged headlong into the greenskin shantytown, supported by the Cadian armor. Trundling straight out of the machine shops and into battle, the Ork's ramshackle vehicles engaged the tanks in close combat. For the second day in a row, the Rogal Dorns punched far above their weight. While lacking in infantry support firepower, their capacity for destroying enemy vehicles allowed the following guardsmen and support tanks a clear path to the fortress.
Captain Uther found his company fighting alongside a lance of Maveron soldiers pressing through the crooked streets. Progress was slow, as 4th company took its time to thoroughly sweep each building and ensure no greenskins were left to cause trouble for the rear elements. He was dismayed to find that the Maverons' lacked the same experience with small unit tactics.
The Maveron Lance was formed of several companies, but that was as small as their organization went. Where Vendolanders encouraged initiative on all operational levels, the Maverons fought at the company level only, relying entirely on massed fire and numbers. The shantytown just did not offer the cumbersome formations any room to maneuver, and the guardsmen suffered enormous losses.
Not that it mattered much. This close to the Rok, the fighting was an utter grind, down to the very last greenskin and guardsman. Orks tore through the Imperials with vicious axes and chain weaponry, while the Vendolanders responded with pinpoint lasgun fire and copious amounts of explosives. Slowly, the Orks were being driven back, until the last remains of the Horde had their backs to the Rok itself. Against the massed guns of the Imperial Guard, it was as if they were lined up against a firing squad.
The guardsmen swept into the clearing around the Rok, swiftly taking up new positions and securing the area. In fifteen minutes time, the commanding officers began to arrive from the rear lines, drawing up with their staff to plan their next moves.
Major Lester hurried to the front to meet with the Maveron Lance commanders and Colonel Kirstel from the Dyneemek Jaegers. The Jaegers, despite the terrible losses they had taken, had admirably stayed on the frontline to support the attack. Moran and McTavish swung the Cadian tanks eastward to establish the new perimeter. The task of clearing out the Rok would fall to the infantry. Those Orks that had not fallen to the vicious Imperial assault had retreated inside.
While the company captains delegated their new tasks, Lester grabbed the vox horn from Yalen, Murtonn's temporary replacement. He keyed in the emergency vox channel he had set up for the infiltration team. Hopefully some were still alive. "Raider 2, this is command. Respond at your discretion."
A voice responded. "Command, Raider 2 here, private Akensi. Lieutenant Sarthis left Hembly and I to guard our way out. Hembly got hit when the fight came past us. I haven't been able to contact the Lt since they went inside."
"Where are you now, Akensi?"
"With a bunch of Cadians, sir. Trying to find the Vendoland lines."
"Head for the clearing around the Rok," Lester said. "We're going in after them, we'll get them out."
There was a pause. "With respect sir," Akensi said, "I'd like to go in as well."
"Get over here first and I'll put you in the first wave, private. I'm not leaving Raider 2 to its fate."
Lance Commander Navare looked at Lester critically. "The chances of them still being alive is slim, Major. This isn't the time to be sentimental."
Lester glared at the Maveron officer. "Would it be acceptable to let them die? Of course it is, by this point taking the Rok is assured. But I do not waste men, commander. If there is the slightest chance to get them out, I'll take it. Do you care nothing for your own men in there?"
Navare shrugged. "They understood the risk when they volunteered for the assignment. As did your men."
"That is because they trust me, Navare. And I intend to repay that trust."
The two stared coldly at each other while the other officers watched warily. Eventually, Lester took Yalen's vox again. "Companies Three, Four and Six, get up here and take this Rok." The major shot a nasty look at Navare. "Maveron troopers will provide support."
Tyrell's parachute deposited him in the middle of one of the main boulevards crossing Luesan Island. In retrospect, he realized that he was lucky he hadn't been slammed into a building. The road was a wreck, broken and depressed by the treads of passing tanks. They weren't built to withstand the immense weight of the Imperial superheavies, now slugging it out with the Orks further south.
The area appeared to be clear, but there were bodies everywhere, greenskin and human alike. It made Tyrell ill to look at. He was used to fighting at a distance, where the worst he would see was the occasional burning body as a cockpit cabin caught fire. This was a level of brutality that the pilot was not ready for. He bent over an abandoned car and retched at the smell.
When his stomach was empty, Tyrell steeled himself and got his bearings. The sensible thing was to head north towards the Imperial side of the canal. Temple Hill rose high in the background, lit up by the constant flashes from the artillery dotting the battlements. He gathered himself and set off along the ruined road. It was a long trek back to friendly lines.
He hadn't gone far before a line of jeeps whirred past him, honking their horns to get his attention. They were laden down with stretchers bearing wounded troopers back to the medical centers. One jeep pulled over beside Tyrell while the others sped past. A younger man in olive green armor and sporting a set of crude augmetic fingers sat in the passenger's seat. "Need a lift, pilot?" asked the trooper. He offered Tyrell his hand, "hop in the back, we'll get drop you off on the way."
Tyrell accepted his offer and dropped into the backseat. The private introduced himself as Alek Tendall. He didn't speak much to the pilot, focused intently on the wounded passengers. A medic, Tyrell realized. Still, he had to ask, "What's the situation like back there, private?"
"It's hell, sir," Alek said. "Word is there's a big force of greenskins heading that way now. This wounded train is going to get longer before the day's over."
They were backed into a corner, just like Kippler had feared. The destruction of the munitions room had rattled the entire structure loose. The blast had strained the support struts and entire sections of corridors had simply disintegrated. Trying to keep ahead of the collapse, the Vendolanders and Maverons had finally run out of luck. Trapped in the large bay that housed the Rok's fighter complement, the guardsmen dug in and made their final stand.
Dozens of orks poured into the room, some running for their aircraft, others intent on tearing the infiltrators to pieces. Planes shot out of the bay and into the open sky, now clear under a shining sun. Kippler, set up atop a pile of crates hastily erected by the Imperials, opened up on the greenskins. Ork after Ork fell to his precision shooting. He was running short on power cells, so he made every shot count.
Beside him, Beryn Mathis was hunkered down with Sarthis's troops. The lieutenant had taken a shot to the shin and was being tended to by the Maveron's medic. Mathis had taken command along with Marten, directing the men's fire. The corporal was quickly making a name for himself in Kippler's eyes. Of all the Daredevils' replacements, Mathis was the one he felt had integrated best to the team. He was the bridge connecting the discordant elements of the squad.
The deck rocked beneath their feet, throwing some men off balance. The center of the room appeared to sag. Metal struts groaned and squeaked. Something snapped. The room snapped in two like an elastic band with the tension released. Orks and guardsmen slid into the open maw, desperately clawing for a handhold. Kippler managed to wedge his hand between the floor's grates and halted his slide. Others weren't so lucky, and they tumbled, screaming to their deaths.
Serrt and Mathis clawed for anything to catch their fall, eventually grabbing onto the rim of a fighter's ski launch. Thinking quickly, Mathis shouted, "Rappel lines! Throw them across!" Serrt unspooled his line and threw it across to Beryn. He secured the rope and fixed his own, and then tested his weight. It held, so he eased himself off the floor and looked around.
Only twenty or so troopers from both teams had managed to hold on. Sarthis, miraculously, was one of them, his face a contortion of pain and exertion. Mathis called up to the guardsmen above, telling them to fix themselves to the grating. Soon, they were all secured. But they were still trapped.
Sarthis, mustering his strength and fighting his screaming leg, brought one arm up to his vox bead. No point in maintaining vox silence anymore. Hoarsely, he spoke, "To any Imperial Guard units able to assist, this is Raider 2. We require immediate extraction. I say again, this is Raider 2, come in, please... This is Raider 2..."
Uther and Connor were side by side, fighting their way down the corridor. The commissar's power sword hummed and she sliced down a Nob twice her height. The tide of orks was beginning to ebb, but they were fighting tooth and nail for every inch of the asteroid. Uther snapped off a flurry of shots from his laspistol, bringing down another ork before it could set the guardsmen in its gun sights.
"Gellry, up front!" barked Uther. The plasma gunner hurried up, leveling his weapon down the hall. "Cook the bastards."
Gellry winced and pulled the trigger, praying to avoid a misfire. The plasma gun's coils glowed blue and the bolt erupted from the barrel. The far end of the hall was consumed by a corona of white fire. The screaming remains of the ork pack were soon silenced by the rest of the company's lasguns. Pierce's platoon rushed ahead to secure the next junction.
Uther's vox began to blip. He fiddled with the bead to find the signal source. It was very weak, but he recognized it was a Vendoland code. "Assist...requi- ...to anyone out there... Raider 2 in need of extraction..."
Uther reacted immediately. He switched to the Daredevils' private channel. "Kippler, this is Uther, can you read me. We just picked up Sarthis's distress call."
"That's one way of putting it sir," came Kippler's reply. He sounded strained, out of breath.
"What is your position? We're inside the Rok."
"Upper hangar deck, sir. The floor gave out and I can see down about eight levels, you can't miss it."
"Understood, we're on our way," said Uther. While he was talking to Kippler, Connor, obviously listening into the conversation, was organizing the troopers into search teams.
"Word of warning, captain," Kippler added, "this whole section isn't structurally sound. The whole place could come down at any moment."
"I'll keep that in mind, sergeant. Hold tight."
At the triage tents, Tyrell helped Alek unload the injured soldiers from the jeep. There were hundreds of wounded still waiting to be treated, and the air was filled with the iron tinge of blood and the smell of antiseptics. The medics came by checking the tags on the new arrivals and dividing them accordingly in terms of their wounds' severity. One medic stopped and looked over Tyrell, checking the side of his head. Tyrell hadn't even noticed he'd cut himself on his ejection.
"Another pilot, huh?" said the medic. "We got one in earlier this morning. Came in with a couple of Vendolanders, looked like they'd been through hell. Anyways, you're fine, commander. You can wait around here if you want, but unless you're going to help I'll ask you to try and keep out of the way."
"The Vendolanders," Alek said, "Anyone I know?"
The medic shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know for sure. Check with Doctor Bleake's adjutant, he'll know."
Bleake's adjutant was a meek little man who jumped at the sight of Alek and Tyrell. He did, however, know exactly who they were looking for and where they had been settled. Tyrell thanked the adjutant, who responded with a jumpy salute. The adjutant ushered them to follow, and he lead the way.
As they passed through the field of tents, Alek asked Tyrell, "This pilot, it he somebody you know, sir?"
Tyrell shrugged. "It's possible. The Aramatus had deployed its atmospheric fighters to the ground before it disappeared. Meridian does have its own air force, but they haven't been having a good go of it. I'm hoping it's one of ours, no offence, adjutant."
The adjutant, a Meridian native, just waved it off. "It's not a problem, lieutenant. I know what it's like to look after one's own people. Throne knows Meridian's suffered enough, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone else."
They arrived at a recovery tent, indistinguishable from the rest. The adjutant pulled back the entrance flap. "When we found them, they were pretty banged up. One had to go for surgery, lost a leg. Another for psychiatrics, but the other three weren't too badly off. A couple broken bones, but not much that couldn't be-"
The adjutant stopped short. The guardsman and the pilot stood staring at the patients lying on the cots like they'd both seen ghosts.