Tzet-Rhen sat secluded in a tunnel barely high enough to fit his fifteen-foot bulk. The only noise was the steady thud of the digging machines as they bore deeper into this ancient metal ruin they had found shortly after they had summoned him under the guidance of one of his missionaries and pledged themselves to his ruinous work. This ruin was their gift, the reason why he had not simply used them up to wear down the worshippers of the corpse-god, as he so often did with minor worlds. He didn't know what the ruin was, only that it was ancient, older than any of the chaos space marines under his command, even that one dreadnaught who had fought alongside Horus himself. It was an immense fortress, shrouded in symbols not used since before the heresy, and he could tell by the smell of the air that in its ancient depths lay secrets that were worth his entire horde and conquests. For that he was abandoning his previous plan to wipe out a Tyranid hive fleet and an entire sub-sector of humans in one fell blow to concentrate all his forces on Talleris. Everything must be secure. He sent out tendrils of the warp and quickly surveyed his domain through the eyes of his chieftains:
Uexhan, Daemon prince and corrupted Eldar: gathering his horde including two titans and several hundred Daemons for a massive strike against the corpse-god worshipper.
Bellarin the Deceiver: luring the imperial forces into a trap as he drew back his wounded titan and heavy armor into a ring around a massive marsh.
Wy'lin, former librarian of the thousand sons: aiding in the erection of altars to Tzeentch to summon the rest of Tzet's vast horde.
Charloth the Devastator: In a tunnel underground with a large contingent of the horde, searching for someone, intruders. Tzet searched his adjutant's memories and saw a small squad of Imperial guard defenseless and scared. No problem. Satisfied there was no external danger, he returned to solving his latest problem: how to find that blasted sorcerer girl he'd detected in the population upon his arrival.
…..
"You know what greatly bothers me?" Werner said into his vox.
"What?" Morrisson's guttural rumble crackled back.
"Those Daemons, when was the last time Daemons worked side-by side with ordinary cultists?" Werner took his attention off the vox for a moment to watch Lieutenant Very's ordering his platoon onto a small projection of rock poking out of their trench line. The thirty-two men dropped onto their bellies and aimed out over the empty plain. A minute ago the cultists had pulled back all along the Fifteenth's front and something massive had been observed amid the remaining fog, offering further support for Wolfe's belief that a major thrust was coming.
"Centuries at least, history isn't my strong point" Morrisson responded. Nothing's your strong point, outside of how to wield your tanks you know next-to nothing Werner thought apprehensively. "Pardon me, we're still getting set up over here" Morrison said, and then closed the frequency. Wolfe climbed out of the dugout he was sharing with Sergeant Raimr and his ten men and surveyed the entire line. He had just over fourteen hundred men and maybe a hundred-fifty tanks left between first battalion and half of fifth stretched over a mile and a half of low ridgeline. The reinforcements the other Kragar regiments would add a few hundred to that number, but not enough.
"Sawyer, what are you doing?" Werner demanded. Twenty paces ahead on the front trench, Private Sawyer looked up from where he had been setting up a captured multilaser.
"Figured we could use the extra firepower" he called back. "I mean, the Chimera wasn't going anywhere fast with its engine blown out." Werner grinned internally at the man's ingenuity but on the outside frowned at his poor tactical judgment in putting a heavy weapon in the center of the front line.
"Mount that on higher ground, that bunker on the left looks like a good place. And where's your squad."
"Dead in the archenemies trenches, I'm the only one left" Sawyer said solemnly, unhooking the heavy weapon from the wooden brace and slinging it over his shoulder. "Figured this would make up."
"I'm sorry. Find a couple of helpers and designate yourselves heavy weapons team" he glanced down at his roster. "Heavy weapons team ten, fifty-sixth platoon, dismissed." Sawyer saluted and trudged past a row of soldiers visibly uneasy to see the comforting mass of the cannon gone. "Fear not, whatever they throw at us we can weather it" Werner said. Some nodded, one haggard dark-skinned and bald sergeant muttered, "the emperor protects."
"Aye he does."
….
In the center-right of the regiment Surring sat in the turret cupola of his command Chimera, surveying the heretic's line with his field binoculars. With the clouds slowly clearing he could just see the archenemy's positions. A column of eight, bog standard Leman Russ tanks led by a single Exterminator rumbled past, pockmarked and scarred by numerous projectile hits. The last tank in the formation had a square of sheet metal hastily welded over a hole in its side. He grimaced and sat back. His battalion had been on the cusp of victory, the spearhead of their advance when the order had come to fall back. Instead of organizing an orderly retreat he had panicked as waves of reinforcements slammed into his men and let his unit be routed. The second battalion had had fourteen hundred men at dawn, now that number was down to less than eight: the highest casualty figure for any battalion. He had failed them, and worse, lost the Commissar in the process. Around him the men were aimlessly wandering about as individual platoon leaders tried to establish a defensive line.
It took Carnigan's shout of "awaiting orders Captain!" to kick-start his brain.
"Very well" he slewed around to face the newly promoted Lieutenant. To Carnigan he looked broken and tired. "Start setting up heavy weapons in the center to cover the hole that teleportation put in our lines, get the men back into the trenches" he spoke. He repeated the words into his vox-bead, to several acknowledgements.
"And the tanks?" Carnigan demanded.
"Two line formation, like Wolfe is doing in the center, get…" he thought for a moment, slowly. "Get the Basilisks to move up a bit, we need spot on heavy support." Carnigan nodded at the distracted man and sprinted off, disconcerted by the encounter.
…
Colonel Avard walked up and down the top of the ridge line that ran across third battalion's positions, barking orders with a positive fire, in his native tongue due to the intermingling between his regiment and the surviving Cadians, who had lost their entire command staff and were waiting for a merger with some newl arrived unit. "Bring that Vanquisher up and sandbag it," he bellowed to the sappers fiddling with the heavy tank ten yards on his left. On his right a full platoon just brought up from the rear was gathered and inexplicably motionless on the backside of the ridge. "Lieutenant Strauss, you are needed to back up sixtieth platoon on the right, find heavy weapons teams six and eight and get moving!"
"Yes sir" the lead sapper and Strauss said simultaneously. Satisfied as they sprang into action, Avard marched on. He passed a bunker loaded to the gills with melta launchers. Fat lot they will do against baneblades. Only the Basilisks had a chance of killing those monsters. He twisted to examine a platoon setting up shop directly below in a fire support trench and felt a tinge of pain as the bullet wound in his side flared up. He patted it and resolved to have Curis patch it up better once this mess was through. He stepped around a pair of demolishers being dug in. The troopers doing the digging looked up and recognized his massive form with a collection of whispers and gazes of awe from their mud stained faces. He nodded to them and they saluted before resuming their work with redoubled ferocity.
"Avard" Wolfe's unmistakable voice crackled over his vox-bead.
"Aye Wolfe?" He stopped and the wound flared up again, this time accompanied by a faint trickle of blood. He shrugged it off.
"I've got movement on the Auspex, something big, get ready" Wolfe seemed tense. Avard would have expected more satisfaction from a man who's potentially battle altering hunch had just been proven true. He glanced around and saw that for the most part his men had fallen still in their positions, dug in and waiting
"We're just finishing setting up now, what of the others?" he responded with a grim satisfaction. Ready to be murdered.
"Werner's set and waiting, but Surring's still scrambling, since you've got the strongest battalion I may need to divert your reinforcements if he breaks" Wolfe warned.
"Acknowledged, out." Avard shut the frequency then turned to stare out over his men. Wolfe was a desk jockey with some exceedingly good command skills and unrealistically good luck. Werner was an able commander with a knack for keeping his men together in the face of certain horrific death. Surring, Surring was the junior officer, even less experienced than Wolfe's five years service. He still had yet to learn to lead. If anyone were folding, he would be the one to collapse. Avard's confidence was somewhat restored when the artillery began to bomb the archenemy again. There was a faint rumbling overhead as a flight of Marauder bombers soared overhead. He watched them vanish into the receding clouds. Ten minutes later, the maximum duration for these sorts of short bombing runs, he would notice they had not returned.
….
This is what I get for not staying behind a desk Wolfe silently lamented as he, Amin, and Viado examined the glass screen of the auspex. He'd been one of those wannabe intern kids; a simple junior paperwork officer running errands for the actual generals in the hopes of one day sucking up enough to get a minor command position. He'd been the annoying know-it-all type, always showing up everyone else when it came to warfare, always making his fellow officers wish they could punch his face in. Some Kragarian lord general; a mountain of a man with a pretention for bold risks and a tongue gifted for inspiring speeches had seen some promise in him and let him come along for a crusade, and after a particularly nasty battle where three regiments had been encircled for the better part of two days and given him command of a regiment. Here he was, with what appeared to be a Titan facing him down. There was nothing else that could make that big of a shadow on the auspex.
"So, the emperor protects?" Amin asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"It don't think he's that good, pardon the heresy" Wolfe answered. He heard whispers spreading up and down the trenches as each platoon got the bad news with its Auspex man's first scan of the enemy's lines. Wolfe examined the screen again. One possible Reaver class titan and half a dozen Baneblades filled it, blotting out the undoubtedly present hordes of heretic cannon fodder and light tanks: the AT80's and basic PDF Leman Russ variants. Then Viado adjusted the dials a bit and muttered a prayer to the machine god, and two Baneblades came together into a Warhound titan.
"Wolfe" he droned.
"I see it. What do you think of it?"
"Corrupted, the poor machine spirit is sufferinge." Wolfe detected the faintest hint of a sigh from that cybernetically overrun brain. H shook his head.
"I mean how to kill it, put the machine spirits out of their misery."
"Oh." Viado's false eye brightened and processors whirred. "The Warhound is pretty standard, pour fire into it until it dies. It's fast however, so it should be the primary artillery, air, and Vanquisher target first so as to keep it from trampling our lines. The Reaver however has its primary reactor in the rear. I recommend that you have the Valkyries swing around it and strike it from behind."
"Assuming they survive the flak they've been taking?"
"I'm positive at least a few will. I have a couple of junior adepts working on my plans for an EMP to fry those turrets, but between the lack of existing Imperium technology to base it off of, and interference from those conservative fool priests over said lack of existing technology, it will be quite some time before we can call down the fury of the Void Dragon to snuff out their corrupted machine spirits. On the other hand…" Wolfe tapped him on the shoulder, cutting off the potential monologue at its knees.
"Focus, we'll have to make do with what we have."
"Then I have already given you my advice. Aim everything you've got at those titans." In the distance, a single gun rang out; a roar so brutal it tore at the very soul of anyone who heard it. A glowing blue shell shot high into the sky, vanishing briefly among the clouds before dropping. A daemonic scream echoed as it dropped earthward, hitting a hundred to Wolfe's right and engulfing the trenches I a blinding blue flare and a terrible explosion of released warp energy. A hundred tortured screams ripped the air as Wolfe cringed and looked away. He waited till silence returned before looking back. A perfect circle fifty yards in diameter was simply gone, vaporized by the power of the blast.
"I need a spotter Valkyrie airborne and a full rocket strike ready to fry whatever shot that thing," Wolfe ordered. Amin began talking furiously into the vox. He heard several more screams, and a bluish haze began to drift over the lines. Wolfe saw his boys hesitate, nervous. He watched brave men cower in their trenches and weak men turn to run. This latest weapon was more than just a murder tool. He watched units begin to disintegrate. At least Fury could have kept them in line with fear. He pulled out his vox-bead and switched to the override frequency, which broadcast him into every trooper's headset automatically. "Hold the line, soldiers. Only in death does your duty end, and you are still breathing and ready to oppose the archenemy." He sighed.
"Not too bad really," Amin tried to comfort him. He heard a chorus of affirmatives and occasional snide remarks in response. Another shell landed two hundred yards to his right, removing several tanks and sixteenth and half of fiftieth platoon from existence. Some squads began to outright all back up the trenches.
"We are the Imperial Guard, and we shall hold the line." Wolfe muttered a small prayer to the god emperor. There was a roar in the distance, followed by a volley of glowing blue plasma fire that crackled overhead and gouged into the artillery positions. Wolfe felt the parapet under him shake slightly from the impact. Another devastating salvo followed a minute later. Against this the return fire of the artillery seemed like peashooters. How long until they come for us?
….
"Hold up" Koll called from where he leaned of Shoeggoth's shoulder. The little group came to a halt. "Hear that?" He pointed skywards. Allis listened: she picked it up before most of the others: a faint, steady rumbling and the screech of metal gears. "Tanks, we must be under their main column."
"Sounds like they've got something worth stealing," Vinncens announced. Curze shook his head and began muttering about suicide.
"Exactly my idea" Koll responded. "Find us a portal out." They had to go another twenty yards before finding one. This one was set to one side and accessible by a series of rough handholds carved into the stone wall. Vinncens scrabbled up the slippery ladder, and pressing his choulders against the unforgiving metal forced it up against the weight of what was probably several inches of mud. A cascade of brown water pouring through nearly knocked him clear for his efforts. He waited until it subsided, then poked his head through. A set of scarred treads rumbled past his view, then a second. He poked his head up, shoving the hatch to the side. They had ended up on a desolate, fog-obscured highway in the center of an armored column. A Chimera buttoned up against the cold and inscribed with the symbols of the ruinous powers trundled past his right, then another. An impressive Predator bearing Thousand Son's markings advanced on his left, elevated gun barrel painted to resemble a Tzeentch flamer. He could see the impressions of other vehicles in the fog, too far to see. "Armor column, lots of tanks" he called down. "Fog is heavy enough and they're all buttoned up, we might be able to board one."
"Good, advance and find us some treads" Koll responded. Vinncens clambered out and lay prone in the mud, praying he wasn't in some vehicle's path. Krane and Allis came up next, shivering as a wind began to blow and in the distance something howled. Then Shoeggoth jumped out, helping Koll who was bleeding strength through various wounds. Rane and Donnel followed next with Fury, Gerring, and a very unwilling Curze bringing up the rear. They crouched low, so mud-stained as to be invisible in case anyone was paying close attention to the road.
That could also work against us Allis realized as a Centaur came close enough to spray mud in her face. There was a brief clearing in the vehicles, and then something massive loomed out of the fog. They all heard the deep rumbling of its engines, the creaking of the massive, millennia old hulk.
"Is that thing real?" Curze spat.
"If it is, we're taking it" Koll responded. Adorned with flapping penants and numerous icons, the Shadowsword fully materialized: a four hundred ton metal box belhing metal smoke from recesses in its ad-hoc metal armor plating. Its massive volcano cannon had been painted in a long, spiraling dragon breathing fire and a rather imposing quartet of melta launchers had somehow been bolted onto the sloping forward plating right where the driver's hatch should have been.
"Now that's my kind of ride," Vinncens said, managing a grin through chattering teeth.
"Assuming it doesn't eat our souls first" Koll dutifully noted. "You, Fury, and Allis take the turret hatch, Krane and Gerring grab the rear. Everyone else just hang on until they've cleared this monster," he ordered. The shadowsword churned towards them, throwing up a small wave of mud before it.
"And if we get killed taking it?" Curze asked, crouched on his immediate left.
"Shadowswords tend to have a crew of five at most, all that space in there is the laser batteries and targeters. To be sure though, you go with Krane." Curze nodded slightly.
My big mouth he thought, pulling his waterlogged jacket a little tighter around him. All it did was drop the temperature in his chest by another ten degrees. He watched the tank approach, blocking out everything else as it loomed over him. Mud splashed over him. He saw the eye-scorching symbols close enough to make out the crude brushstrokes. Then he heard Koll yelling above its engine to grab on, and leapt to his feet, grabbing a protruding equipment hook long bent out of shape. For a moment it seemed he had it, but then the tank's momentum plucked him off his feet and he slipped free, splashing down onto a couple of submerged rocks. For a moment he lay there, oblivious in the freezing water, letting the tank's bow waves wash over him. Then panic warmed his numb brain cells enough to send him screaming out of the water. A tread whizzed by his face; the tank was already gone. He spun around and sloshed after it.
Koll thought he was the last one onboard, scrabbling hand over hand up the surprisingly warm hull until it leveled off enough for him to lay still. Then he saw Curze running after them. "Private get your rear onto this tank right now!" Fury bellowed.
"Put some backbone into it man!" Gerring yelled. The tank was too loud for any surrounding vehicles to pick them up. They were only moving at around eight miles an hour, but fatigue and the mud sucking at his shins slowed Curze to a crawl.
"Someone got a rope?" Koll asked.
"Here!" Allis pulled the fifty-foot nylon court from a small bag in her equipment webbing. She threw it.
Curze spotted the thin black strand sailing through the air; a lifeline. He dove after it as it fell at his feet and manage to find the end. Allis and Gerring pulled him up to the radiator fins, which he grabbed onto and clambered to safety. He lay there, gasping for breath. A tap from Krane jolted him up a few seconds later. "We're moving, don't fall behind" he whispered. At his shoulder Gerring was sliding Koll's knife through the rear hatch. On top Fury was straddling the main gun itself, stabbing away in a shower of sparks with his chainsword. "Aye, coming" he panted. "Thanks for the rope." Krane nodded. Gerring kicked the hatch free and leapt in. Krane drew his sword.
Koll watched them go in and clambered up to the turret hatch, using the lasr as a boost. He heard a few brief gunshots, then the tank slewed to a halt with enough force to throw Rane over the front and smack Donnel into the missile tubes. . The other vehicles began passing them. They were dirty enough to avoid immediate notice, but sooner or later some would wonder why their super-heavy tank wasn't moving. "Start it up damnit" he hissed in as Shoeggoth pitched the rope to Rane and effortlessly pulled him up.
There was a pause, frantic whispers as Koll's heartbeat began to rise. Then with a cough the engines rumbled to life and they started forward. A quick glance around confirmed no one had noticed. "All clear down there?" he asked.
Allis's head poked through the hatchway. "All clear, six hostiles dead" she reported.
"Good, everyone in." Koll helped Donnel and Rane over, then struggled up the side, his trembling legs threatening to give out under him. Shoeggoth put an arm over his shoulder and lowered him in. "Thanks." He followed Allis to the cockpit as Shoeggoth sealed the hatch behind them. On the outside their new vehicle had been an abomination: a metal blocky wart upon the destroyed landscape. Inside however, something was different. The air was warmer from the steady combustion, and the engines didn't roar: they just moaned, as if in pain. The interior was a claustrophobic turret station; a steep hatchway in, and a pair of low-ceiling cabins that the squad was clustered in. Gerring and Curze were exchanging harch whispers, Donnel and Rane were seated between the instrumentation, Vinncens rove with a look of boyish pleasure on his face and his shotgun on his lap, and Fury sat behind him, bolt pistol at the ready in case of corruption. Krane muttered a curse from in back and the engines yelped, but kept going.
"Do you feel that?" he asked.
"What?"
"The tank, its in pain, the corruption is hurting it." Fury stared at him with suspicion. "You can't feel it?"
"I can" Koll said. He saw Allis nod. "Maybe the machine spirit is still loyal to the mechanicus." It was a hopeful thought. "Now, where are we Vin?"
Vinncens squinted at a chart nailed to the dashboard by sharpened finger bones. "Hard to say because reading it would qualify me for a summary execution, but judging by the terrain coming up on the auspex, I'd say we're a couple miles east of our lines, heading right towards them. ETA forty minutes to an hour."
"Good, I don't like this hiding business" Fury noted.
"And I suppose you'd take a tank with your sword."
Fury glared. "You think I can't?" No response came forth. Koll glanced around his men after a minute. Conversation had dropped off into the quiet chattering of teeth and the steady dip-drip of water of their sodden bodies. Donnel had curled into a ragged ball under a control panel with Rane on his knees beside him, face frozen. Allis's flaming hair was now indistinguishable from the rest of her save the odd movement it made as she shook. Curze and Gerring were slumped, dazed and Vinncens was staring out the narrow viewport with glazwd over eyes. Only Krane made the occasional movement as he fiddle with the engine panel, while Shoeggoth and Fury seemed unaffected. He himself was shivering, blood mixing with water.
"Who's still got a dry pack?" he asked. There was barely any movement as the group limply inspected their bags, which had been made with waterproof lining. Only Krane's pack was unusable, fortunately. "Good, vacate the rear compartment and we change into the dry gear one at a time. Allis first." He watched her go. Briefly, his mind celebrated at the thought of some nice dry socks on his waterlogged feet. He stayed it. No relief yet, not until this planet is burned.
On the chaos line, Uexhan, corrupted Eldar daemon prince lifted his head and sniffed the air. His two mouths smiled and he raised one of his six clawed hands into the air. The great warp-cannon ceased to fire and his titan's plasma cannons went silent. Up and down the front Daemon, newly armed heretic, and space marine alike turned towards the ruined Eldar. Once he had been handsome: a beauty by even his own forsaken race's standards. That had been long ago, before they turned their back on him and he offered his service to Tzet-Rhen. Now he boasted six arms, each with a different appendage, a mottled black skin, and long, bony wings sprouting from his back. His people had had agility, but lacked offensive capabilities. Tzeentch had given him those up his rise to Prince status, making him Tzet's greatest assault general. He turned to his armies.
"It is time, prepare for a feast of souls" he called. A horrific cheer went up. He sniffed the air again. Something new that he had yet to sense was afoot... he sniffed again, determination? Good. "Not the same weak souls those silly half-sized corpse-god worshippers had, but nice, tasty Imperial guard ones." The cheer got louder. "Now advance!" The Reaver titan went first, a single resounding Thump that shook the ground as its gears whirred and legs creaked forward. With a cheer, his army swarmed forward around it.