The Green Fist of Gork
Another ork fighter ripped free of its moorings and fell into the chasm in the hangar's center. It must have hit something flammable, since a massive plume of fire and smoke swooshed upwards. The backwash from the explosion washed over Kippler's back, but he gritted his teeth and kept climbing.
The surviving guardsmen were slowly working their way up the sagging deck plates. A few men had already reached the top and had secured their rappel lines to help pull others up to safety. Goldemar was zipping back down the line towards Sarthis. With expert grace, he deftly attached the safety line to the wounded lieutenant, gave it two tugs. While Sarthis was lifted free, Goldemar descended further to repeat the process.
Mathis and Serrt went next, and then, finally, Kippler. Strong hands hauled the sergeant up and set him on his feet. There wasn't much room on the platform. The twenty survivors from both the Vendolanders and Maverons were crammed into the wrong corner with the doorway on the far side of the chasm. Fanaar hadn't made it, leaving the Maverons without a CO, and lieutenant Sarthis was barely holding together as it was.
Kippler decided he had to take charge. He tried the vox bead again, "Captain Uther? Captain, this is Kip. We're secure in the hangar and sitting tight. What's your eta?"
The response came quickly. "Copy that, sergeant. Be there in ten minutes."
Ten minutes came and went. On the far side of the chasm, the sound of lasfire rang out from the corridors. A human head popped into the hangar bay. "I found them!" the trooper yelled. Moments later, a dozen guardsmen hurried into the hangar, Uther and commissar Connor among them.
Kippler waved to the captain. "Mind giving us a hand, sir?"
"What did you have in mind, sergeant?" Uther called back.
"Some shaped charges, if you have any," Sarthis said, pulling himself to his feet with a great effort. "We can blow this wall and get out, but we used our bombs up blowing the greenskin's ammo cache."
Uther quickly ordered his troops to present their demolitions charges. One by one, each man dropped his det charges into a sack provided by sergeant Wellard. "Who here's got a good throwing arm?" asked Uther.
Tilson volunteered. The lanky corporal had been a semi-professional lob-ball player before the Founding. Tossing one of the det-charges from hand to hand, he tested its weight, and eyed the distance across the room. Winding up for a throw, he shouted out, "Catch!"
The explosives sailed across the chasm in a high, graceful arc. Tilson's aim had been dead on, and the bundle landed right in the middle of the infiltrators. Kippler gave a thumbs up to Captain Uther, and they began planting the shaped charges on the wall. When they were set, the twenty troopers huddled as far away from the bombs as they could. Kippler pressed the detonator.
The wall blew inwards with a loud thump, and the deck plates rattled beneath their feet. "Move, move, move!" Sarthis yelled. None of the guardsmen wanted to be on the platform any longer. No sooner had they bolted through the hole that the rickety plates collapsed into the fires below. But, for the moment, they were safe again, with Uther's 4th company hurrying up the corridor to meet them. Pats on the back and friendly gestures were exchanged briefly before both parties got back to the task at hand.
Clearing the Rok entirely took hours. It reminded Kippler of the sweep they did of Governor Derosa's palace during the Vandis ambush, almost two years before. Back when the Hounds of Vandis had been at their doorstep, and Meridian was at its breaking point. It had been tough then, and it was tough now. Despite the fact that the Imperium's grip on Meridian was stronger than it had ever been, the cost of maintaining that control was still doled out in guardsmen's lives.
Kippler pushed the thought from his mind. Things would never be that bad again if he could help it. Eventually, the last of the greenskins were either killed or driven into the underground. Rooting them out of those tunnels would take months, but the fortress asteroid was finally, undeniably in Imperial hands.
A new frontline had been established just east of the Rok. Colonel Moran had formed up the Xenobane's long range guns along an overpass that ran north to south across Luesan Island. The road offered a wide field of fire for the tanks. Beneath the overpass, the Cadian infantry formed a layered defense that would funnel the greenskins into narrow paths, hopefully minimizing their numbers while allowing the Guard to bring their firepower to bear on the horde.
Moran's command Baneblade, Antonus Secundus, took up position on the overpass's apex. Kasr's Pride and Hrud Stomper lurked nearby, hull down behind the road's rockcrete divider and waiting for the Orks. The forward scouts had called in the first signs of the Warboss's mob, and the Cadians now waited to take the xenos' charge.
They heard the Orks coming long before they saw them. A heavy, tribal chant foretold their arrival, followed by the clanking of their noisy war machines and the footfalls of thousands of xenos warriors. An hour after establishing the new line, the first waves struck Moran's forward units. The Antonus Secundus's heavy bolters opened up, joined by the demolisher mortar and finally the main cannon itself. Well placed and impervious to the orks' small arms, hundreds of enemy footsloggers were cut down by the Baneblade's arsenal. Moran only hoped, half-heartedly, that he would run out of targets before he did ammunition.
This was the true fight, Smashface thought, the big one he'd been waiting for. The humans here were ready for them, all lined up nice and tidy, just waiting to be smashed. After the first wave of boys were mulched by gunfire, the Warboss's pent up aggression and anticipation finally got the best of him. He turned to face his best fighters, his Nob leaders, armed to the teeth with huge chopper blades and the flashiest guns they could cobble together. "I'm not waiting around fer anuvva minute, boyz!" He emphatically pointed his custom shoota at the Imperial line. "Dey wanted a fight, so let's give it to 'em! Show 'em da meaning of a WAAAGH!"
A roaring cheer rippled through the nobz. Without hesitating, Smashface leapt from the top of his battle-wagon and began sprinting headlong towards the humans. A hundred nobz followed him, undeterred by the immense firepower of the Cadians. Blasting away with his shoota, Smashface slaughtered a half dozen guardsmen while winding up his hammer. The swing struck a captain in the chest and catapulted him thirty feet into the air before what was left of him splattered across the street.
The giant Ork felt the annoying sting of the humans' puny lasguns, and then the more painful jabs of bolter shells exploding bits of his armor. But still, his charge continued. Any man who faced the warboss died. It was paradise punctuated with pure bloodshed. Smashface finally felt like an Ork, and gave in fully to his lust for battle.
Ahead lay a hastily yet well made sandbag line, where a full company of Xenobane were throwing everything they had at the charging orks. While they made an admirable effort to slow the warboss, the company was swept away in mere moments when the nobz struck home. A gap had formed in the Imperial emplacements, and the orks swarmed through the first defense layer.
"What the hell is that?" cried the gunner of the Leman Russ Orphan Maker. Nobody had time to respond before the entire turret was ripped off, taking half of the gunner with it. Reeling in shock, tank commander Galbraith's last sight was a spiked hammer swinging through the hole towards his face. Smashface peered into the turretless vehicle and thrust his meaty green arm inside, grasping for any survivors.
The driver panicked, and put the tank into a hard reverse. The Leman Russ was famous for its ability to reverse on a dime, and the sudden motion jerked the enormous greenskin off the top of the vehicle. Through the driver's slit, he could see the xeno collect itself and roar at the tank. Orks all around the Russ began smashing into its sides with hammers and rockets, tearing great holes in the thick armor. Before the driver could escape, a veritable rain of stick grenades poured through the open top and incinerated himself and the vox operator in a white flash.
From his cupola, colonel Moran watched in horror as the left flank of the Xenobane was bowled over by the leading edge of the horde. The largest, a howling brute with a vicious hammer, was at the fore, crushing the spirited Cadian resistance. Moran knew exactly who it was the moment he laid eyes on the figure. As if sensing the colonel, the giant ork looked to his left, and their gazes met.
Warboss Smashface. The ork's personal mob of nob warriors finished ripping the tank squadron to shreds, leaving a carnage filled street behind them as they ran off in search of more targets. Moran dropped back inside the Antonis Secundus and grabbed the vox horn. "McTavish, redeploy six Russes to my position. We've sighted the warboss and we are moving to intercept."
"Copy that, colonel. Take his head for me."
"Will do, commander," Moran said, before switching to his internal channel, "Engineseer, how is the vehicle holding together?"
One compartment below, in the Secundus's bowels, Engineseer Iratus responded with his typically nasal voice. "The machine spirit is agitated, but stable, colonel. I may be able to coax a heightened performance output should I convince it of your intentions."
"So long as it is satisfied, tech-priest, I will be." The Baneblade's engine revved, belching smoke from the twin exhaust stacks rear of the turret ring. The power of the machine was almost palpable in the air. Moran felt invigorated, his blood pumping as he readied himself.
Moran ordered the Baneblade northwards where the orks had broken the line. Escorted by two Rogal Dorns, the Secundus raced along the overpass, all three hundred and fifty tonnes churning up the rockcrete surface in its wake. The broken Xenobane infantry rallied to their ancient war relic, forming a phalanx that advanced upon the orks.
They moved down the overpass with astonishing speed for such a heavy vehicle and the force fanned out onto street level. The Secundus's sponson guns spewed torrents of bolter downrange, taunting the enemy leader and killing several of his retinue. The show of force was a challenge to the pride driven nobz, one they readily accepted. The narrow wedge of orks that had thrust through the Imperial line reeled south, heading straight for the Antonis Secundus.
On the north bank of the canal, several miles eastwards, the battered remnants of the 31st Artemian regiment were finalizing their preparations for their part in the attack. Following General Derim's disgrace, command of the 6th Urban Brigade had fallen to Colonel Orias Nolt. With the ork horde fully engaged on the island, it was now time for the Artemians to play their role, and for Nolt to regain their lost honor. Three thousand troopers, all mounted in Chimeras with as much armor support as Nolt could muster, drove full tilt across the canal and into territory given up days before.
Flanked by sentinel walkers from the Kydoran Outriders, the advance was quick and decisive. Straggling orks were cut down by the unrelenting Artemians, exacting their vengeance on the foul monsters. Territory relinquished after days of grinding combat was reclaimed in minutes. Nolt was proud of his men and women, facing down such odds and coming out the victors.
Perhaps that was premature, he thought. Though not one to celebrate another regiment's successes, Nolt grudgingly admitted to himself, privately, of course, that this redemption was only possible due to the Cadians' canny understanding and manipulation of ork tactics. Offering themselves up as a target for the orks had been a risky move, but one that had paid off immensely. Now that the trap had been sprung, the Artemians would be the tip hammer that struck upon the anvil.
Crassus himself led the Vendoland reinforcements to bolster the Xenobane. The Cadians were under heavy assault, weathering the main push of the orks alone. Ertrand Crassus would draw his weapons for the first time in the campaign, a storm bolter strapped to a pair of lightning claw gauntlets, crackling with energy. Fighting alongside elements of Lester's first battalion, the colonel hurried to plug the hole in the Xenobane's defenses.
The area was a bloodbath. Still rattled by the shock assault from the Warboss and his Nobz, a gaping salient had been pushed into the Imperial lines, and hundreds of greenskins poured into the breach with each passing moment. Firing off a spurt of bolter rounds, Crassus extended his claws with a metallic shunk and threw himself into the fray. Backed by several veteran sergeants, armed with chainsword and bayonet, the colonel's command squad fought in savage close combat with the greenskins. Crassus swung his claws up to meet a falling axe. The ork's weapon was sliced in half by the blades, and Crassus finished the xenos off with a stab through its throat. Lester covered his friend, sputtering bolter fire at the rushing orks before Crassus's retinue absorbed him into their ranks.
All around, the Vendolanders fought back against the green tide. Bodies from both sides began to pile high as the fight dragged on. This wasn't a battle, this was a slaughter, Crassus realized. The orks were too many, and the streets too narrow; despite the Guard's best efforts, the sheer number of greenskins throwing themselves at the line were slowly tipping the balance against the Imperials.
The grinding street fight continued to grow. Finally, about five heavy weapons teams managed to set up in the skeleton of a burnt out hab shelter. The enfilading fire tore into the sides of the greenskins, ripping apart the mob and forcing more back the way they came. Suddenly surrounded on three sides, the orks found themselves at the mercy of Imperial lasguns. The air was tinged with the strong smell of ozone from the ferocity of the guardsmen's weapons discharge.
"Forward men!" urged Crassus. "For Vendoland, for the Xenobane, and for Meridian!"
Ripping apart smaller tanks was fun, but Smashface saw the Baneblade as a challenge worthy of his skill. The tank's guns tore up the ground in front of him, but Smashface burst through the choking clouds of dust and leapt onto the great machine's hull. Humans beside the tank started to fire up at him, but the Warboss cut them down with a sweep of his shoota. He proceeded to swing his hammer repeatedly into the thick armor, trying to pry open the Baneblade like a can.
Inside, Moran's forward gunner Eidran grew increasingly agitated. "What do we do, sir?" he cried over the internal vox. What could they do? Eidran's demolisher cannon couldn't exactly fire backwards, and the bolter gunners were reporting the ork was avoiding their firing arcs.
Back in the main turret, Moran calmly loaded a hotshot pack into his hellpistol and switched off the safety. The charge indicator turned green to show the gun was live. "We keep fighting, Kam. That green bastard is out there and you are in here. Keep firing, and let me deal with the Warboss."
Farris, his vox operator, looked up at the colonel like he'd gone mad. "Are you serious?" he said, incredulous. "He'll tear you apart, sir!"
Moran shot an admonishing look back at Farris. "I didn't ask for your opinion, Farris. And I'm not going out there alone. You're coming with me." Moran spoke over the tank's vox. "Driver Talt, hold this position. Iratus?"
"Yes, colonel?" replied the techpriest.
"I leave you in command of the Antonis Secundus. Anyone not in the forward compartment, arm yourselves and prepare to go topside."
Armed with shortened Voss pattern lasguns, the rear compartment crew of the Antonis Secundus steeled themselves, waiting for colonel Moran's signal. They could hear the Warboss outside, banging away at the Baneblade with his huge hammer. But the 'blade's armor was much thicker than a Russ, and the structure held. That didn't stop the noise from rattling the crew, however.
Including himself, Moran had six of the tank's ten crew members ready to fight. Engineseer Iratus, overseeing the Tac-Center in Raynis's stead, would stay behind, but every other guardsman would take the fight to the Warboss, and make him sorry he ever set foot in the subsector. All that they needed was the colonel's order.
One hand on the turret hatch, the other gripping his hellpistol, Moran roared over the vox. "Now, Xenobane! Death to the enemies of Man!" A roar went up through the Antonis Secundus as the hatches were thrown open. Moran climbed out and was met with a blast of the harsh winter cold. From the sponson turrets, the other guardsmen did the same, and they set their guns on the Warboss trying to smash his way inside.
Rather than look surprised, warboss Smashface seemed pleased at the guardsmen's bold move. The crew of the Secundus opened fire. Moran leveled his hellpistol at the ork and began blasting away. But though the hotshot rounds punched right through the beast's armor, Smashface just laughed, as if he enjoyed the pain. A spurt of fire from the warboss's gun exploded Farris's head, as it to emphasize how little their resistance meant to him.
"I swearz, you humies are da only good fight I've had since I got 'ere," Smashface growled, that cruel smile still etched across his ugly face. He leered at Moran, obviously recognizing him as the one in charge. "You dere, come and give ole' Smashface a good scrap, why don't ya? It'll be fun!"
"The only thing I shall give you is the Emperor's mercy, xeno," said Moran, unloading the rest of his magazine into the ork. Pulling himself out of the turret completely, Moran drew and activated his power sabre. "This ends here, ork. Men, leave the warboss to me. Deal with the rest of this filth."
The gunners shared a confused look, but they followed the colonel's command, turning their rifles on the multitude of enemy targets surrounding them. The orks, for their part, seemed to be avoiding interfering with the warboss's fight, either out of respect or fear.
Standing atop the hull of the Antonis Secundus, Raynis Moran prepared to face down Warboss Smashface in single combat. He realized how stupid this idea was, and that he was giving the greenskin exactly what it wanted. Raynis just didn't care. And every moment Smashface was focused on the colonel was a moment the Imperial forces had to rally and drive back the horde.
Moran held his sabre in front of him, angled down and inwards to cover his front. Years of experience had taught the cadian how orks fought. Wide swings and aggressive pushes meant that Raynis would have to rely on speed and footwork to avoid the xenos's blows. He'd have to dip inside the warboss's reach and strike quickly.
Smashface made the first move. The warboss swung its hammer in an uppercut that Raynis sidestepped before bringing it back down in a brutal motion that actually managed to dent the tank's armor somewhat. The colonel was already moving by the time that Smashface hefted its weapon back up. He darted around to the left, thrusting in at the greenskin's neck. Smashface brought its arm up to deflect the attack at the last minute. Moran's blade arced with energy, but the warboss had struck the flat side of the blade and pushed it aside. Had the edge caught the ork's arm, it would have sliced through effortlessly.
The warboss landed a meaty fist on Moran, knocking his tanker helmet free and throwing the colonel off his feet. An armored boot came flying towards his face, and Moran barely rolled away in time. His power sword bit into the greenskin's leg, spraying steaming alien blood over the tank. Smashface roared with pain, blasting at Moran with his custom shoota. Red with anger, the warboss couldn't see its foe.
The sabre came in from Smashface's left, slicing the custom shoota in half. Smashface looked at the broken weapon and then to Moran. He threw the piece of junk at the human out of frustration. The opponents traded blow after blow. Raynis was the faster, but the warboss controlled the fight with its immense size. But the ork was still surprisingly quick. It took the colonel everything he had to get through his foe's guard, and he barely managed to keep ahead of the swinging hammer.
Raynis finally found an opening. Smashface, in a fit of anger, had swung the hammer too hard, and it lodged itself in the gap between the Baneblade's main cannon and the coaxial autocannon. While the ork worked to pry his hammer out, Raynis managed to get behind the ork. Putting his strength into a two handed thrust, his power sabre jammed into Smashface's ribs. Armor buckled under the blade's energy field, and Smashface howled once again. This time, however, it was quicker, and the ork's hammer shaft came jabbing backwards. Moran felt like he'd been kicked by an angry equine, his breath knocked out of him. He lost his grip on the sabre, which was left embedded in the warboss's thick flesh.
The colonel fell hard. A rib had definitely broken, and his chest was in flames. His sword was gone, and the giant was bearing down on him, an almost manic look in its beady red eyes. Throne, the greenskin was enjoying this. Moran thought quickly, Smashface was almost on top of him. Lying on his side, he keyed his vox bead, trying to cover it from the ork's gaze. "Iratus," he shouted, "full forward, now!"
Antonis Secundus suddenly lurched forward. Smashface was knocked off balance by the jerking tank, almost losing his footing. Fighting the pain in his side, Moran rose to his feet. The charge indicator was still green. Full power. Smashface was winding up for another swing of its hammer.
"I win, ork." His hellpistol pointed at the warboss's head, Raynis Moran fired.
The full powered shot took the right half of Smashface's head off, skull fragments and green flesh exploding outwards. The sinews of the ork's mouth were pulled back and snapped, one by one, until its jaw lolled back and forth, lacerated from its hinge. But the damn thing still wasn't dead, Moran realized. His frustration was short lived, as the warboss's hammer smashed into his side. Moran felt his ribs crush inwards, and he was thrown off the tank by the force of the blow.
Smashface coughed up a fountain of blood. His vision was red, in his one remaining eye. The damn human was gone, preferably dead. The others, watching from their turrets, didn't know what to do with the stricken ork, and he couldn't find his hammer to hit them with. His sight grew dark and hazy. The world was spinning around him. Blood flowed from his ruined face. It was completely smashed, and it would take a while for the mad doks to fix him back up.
Realizing the irony of his situation, Smashface coughed out a bloody laugh, and collapsed over the side of the Antonis Secundus.
The 31st Artemians crashed into the rear lines of the warboss's horde. The chimeras ground to a halt and disgorged three thousand blue-gray armored guardsmen into the unsuspecting orks. Fighting with a newfound ferocity, and with their guns on full auto, they swept the streets with lasfire and bolter rounds. Heavy tanks bombarded the greenskin armor, wrecking killa kans, deff dreds and looted tanks with precision anti-tank shells. Hiding behind a demolished tempelum, the supporting Kydoran sentinels, armed with missile pods, rained indirect fire down on the xenos.
And they were only at the forefront. A massive Imperial counter push had surged onto Luesan Island, nearly sixty thousand troopers from almost a dozen regiments. Fully committed to the attack against the Cadian led west sector, the orks were unprepared for an attack from both sides. Like had happened just days earlier, Imperial pincer manoeuvring had cut off the orks' lane of retreat, only on a much larger scale.
As pockets of orks were isolated and crushed, the main horde had started to falter. At that moment, the artillery batteries across Temple Hill commenced their barrage. With a commanding view of the island and precision targeting via spotters, the basilisk guns brought the Emperor's holy wrath to bear against the greenskins that would dare defile his worlds.
"They're pulling back!" someone called. Crassus saw the orks begin to retreat. There had been word over the vox that colonel Moran had slain the warboss. Whether it was true or not, there was no denying that the orks had begun to waver soon after. Concentrated fire from the Vendoland and Cadian regiments picked off the stragglers.
"Men of Vendoland, advance and run them down!" Crassus yelled. A cheer rose from the weary soldiers as they climbed out from their cover and put the orks into full flight.
Everywhere the Nob turned, it seemed there were more humans. Their puny lasers didn't have the satisfying krump of a good shoota, but there were just so many of them zapping away at the boys. Orks would head west and run into tanks, they'd go east and hit more tanks. Moving north meant the humans could blow them up with their big hill guns. The only way out was south.
The Nob was about the only authority left among the orks. Warboss Smashface was nowhere to be found, and the boys were yapping that his head had been blown off. Without him pushing everyone around, the clans were back to scrapping with each other, at the worst possible moment. The Nob was fighting south as hard as he could, bringing as many boys as he could bully along the way.
"Come on, ya runts! It's not a retreat, we'z just gonna come back and fight again later! Do as I says, otherwise you'z gettin' yer faces smashed by da boss!" The Nob realized something, and added, "which is me! Dat's right, I'm smashin' faces now, get movin'!"
Maybe it was because the boys around the Nob were dumber than a sack of grotz, or maybe he just believed it enough to be true. Maybe it was both. Whatever the reason, the orks not being run down by the angry humans flocked towards 'Smashface' on the push south. Knocking aside boys dumb enough to get in his way, Nob Smashface made a run for it. It took the fleeing horde an hour to cross the island, harried the whole way by the Imperial Guard.
The sun had broken the clouds, casting golden rays across the few buildings not wrecked in the fighting. Eventually, the orks reached the south side, again separated from the rest of Golgotha Spire by the wide Luesan Canal. A single bridge spanned the waterway. It shined in the sunlight, glistening and metallic. "Over da bridge, boyz!" Nob Smashface urged, "dey won't follow us, cuz they know dat shiny bridges is good luck fer orks!"
Nob Smashface was amazed to find that, the more the Orks believed the nonsense he was shouting, the more he believed it himself. It made sense after all. The bridge was shiny, it had to be good luck, right? With one last look back at their pursuers, the orks raced across the bridge, carrying away as much loot as they could haul, and disappearing into the far southern habs of Golgotha.
Luesan Island had been reclaimed by the Imperium.
Author's Note: I hope you liked the climax. The next chapter will end the Thundering 77s, and then I'm onto the next one.