Gud fer Nothin'
Addressee: Departmento Munitorum Administrator Nihlus Cartam, Segmentum Obscurus, Sector Calixis, Sub-sector Malfian
Date: -Data corruption detected. Perform necessary rites-
Subject: Operation Emperor's Hammer
Praise the Emperor!
The retrieval of an important artefact from Space Hulk, dubbed 'Price of Ineptitude', further solidifies my belief that this particular Hulk is of utmost importance. If even a handful more relics equivalent to the recovered template of the 'Coffeenator 5000' are to be found within its confines, it is imperative that they are recovered for the good of the Imperium as a whole.
The Hulk's unpredictable nature has proven to be a difficulty for any assault. However, I have received divinations from the finest sanctioned psykers upon Holy Terra, claiming they were able to predict its future appearance from the Warp. While the foul energies of the Primordial Annihilator can never be trusted fully, this may be the only opportunity we get in the foreseeable future. The approximate coordinates shall be sent to you with this message.
The reports filed by the Golden Wyrms Space Marine chapter, who lead the initial retrieval, imply that the Xenos presence on the Hulk was minimal, consisting mostly of greenskins, with infighting between several groups. However, such a report may be out of date due to the tamperings of unholy forces. Nonetheless, the tactical information within may prove invaluable and a copy shall be sent to you, as well.
It is imperative that our own forces be gathered within the sub-sector in large numbers. You are hereby granted permission to perform any and all rites and correspondence necessary to accomplish this task. If any resistance is met, take note of it as a sign of corruption and inform the relative authorities.
Operation Emperor's Hammer may commence. Emperor grant you speed.
- Lord Commander Coteaz Ignatio Primus, Segmentum Obscurus Command
Thought of the day:
"His holy light shall empower your weapons and fill your hearts. No foe may stand against such fury."
It was a rare thing to get a glimpse at the future of war, especially when it came to the often secretive Earth Caste. The gearheads, kaptin and even farseer were therefore quite surprised when they were contacted directly to aid in the process itself. The caste's facilities on the Big Rok were much at odds with anything else on the hulk. Sleek, purposeful design, clean floors, no bullet holes. It was maddening.
The tau leading them through the facility was rather short and burly, his features rough, almost jagged, much like the rest of his caste. His voice was not very pleasing to the ears, but at least it did not sound a bit too nice, as with those of water:
"Yes, yes, this way. They are waiting for you."
Everyone kept glancing at the surrounding scenery and did not seem to acknowledge him too much. The development facilities around them ranged from theoretical, where groups of small burly blue men argued over algebraic constructions, to the practical, where groups of small burly blue men were having the times of their lives shooting and blowing stuff up. Miriana wondered if that was the status quo, or whether practical testing was a sort of reward for a job well done.
Finally, they reached an automated door. After barely pushing Gorasho through the entrance they found themselves in what seemed like a small conference room, complete with comfy seats, one unnaturally big, and aquariums, of all things. The creatures swimming inside had been found in many different places around the rok and only sometimes devolved into a feeding frenzy. The sea squigs usually came out ahead in such cases.
Two figures were already seated. One was tall and muscular, her brown hair tied into a single, long ponytail. A sizeable scar rested over where her left eye had been, somewhat concealed by a black eyepatch. Her clothes were simple, with only a few personal touches, like a word sown into their surface. Mont'yr.
The second's garb was ornamental to the extreme, covered with imagery of all five of the castes. He bowed slightly as they entered the room, his long, braided beard swaying slightly with the movement. As soon as everyone was seated, he spoke with a voice that seemed to echo within their minds:
"My gratitude for accepting my request."
"Yeh, wellz, sounded mighty importent."
"And real techy, too, kaptin!" Tekbrain's tool-arm almost activated a blow-torch from the sheer excitement.
The ethereal smiled slightly, sincerely, before turning to the eldar:
"We have not been acquainted until now. I am Aun'Gre, ethereal for my people here on the Big Rok."
The two bowed in unison:
"Farseer Miriana."
"Malakar, lost upon the path of the Artisan."
A brief nod:
"It is an honour. This is Shas'o Mont'yr," after motioning to the one-eyed with his hand, she also bowed, "the sole commander of the Fire Caste we have."
"It is an honour, of course."
With the monotonous introductions finally over, Aun'Gre finally moved to the matter at hand:
"We have called Big Rok our home for some time now, yet we still manage to maintain the spirit and traditions of the Greater Good. Chiefly, perhaps, the military practices of the Fire Caste remain strong, thanks in no small part to the commander," she allowed herself the briefest of grins, "yet, as we continue to prosper, we must also adapt. Where within the other castes this process has been almost without problem, it is our warriors who are finding it hard to adapt to Big Rok's... unique challenges."
He looked over to her and she continued:
"It is sadly true. Throughout the history of our race, we have won our conflicts through the mastery of ranged combat. While some of our allied races bolster us in unique ways, the core of our armies remains the best at range. Big Rok, however, makes our style of combat often ineffective, to the point where our squads are always deployed in conjunction with your own, captain."
It took him a bit to process the words, but he pulled through in the end, after some timely translation from Miriana:
"Oh, yeh. Youz boyz bring gud dakka', but youz don't know propa' clobberin'."
"Quite. That brings us to the nature of our request. Where our teachings could not have foreseen such a... unique blend of circumstances, we will require your own expertise."
"Indeed," it was as if they had practiced the speech, "from your knowledge of melee and specific technology, we may be able to reforge our warriors, make them even greater than before. United with all of our allies, as the Greater Good knows is the best way to progress. I therefore implore you, captain, farseer and... err, gearheads," official titles were official no matter how imprecise, "will you aid us in this endeavour? Will you help our warriors burn brighter?"
After more quite necessary and obvious translating, the kaptin nodded enthusiastically:
"Oh, yeh! Sounds like a gud larf. You'z got me choppa'!"
"And me tool-arm!"
"And my spear!"
"And my wraithbone multi-tool!"
And though the tau's looks were confused for a brief second, they smiled in the end.
The theoretical department had been split into several larger groups, waiting in excited lines for one of two new lectures, each presented by an expert in their respective field. Every earth caste member that exited was positively ecstatic, their minds full of revolutionary ideas and potential sources of exhaustive arguments.
Malakar had access to a hall that was ever-so-slightly smaller than Tekbrain's, due to an unluckily drawn straw. He was quite sure, however, that the particular contest had been manipulated in the ork's favour. The small, burly blue men waited with baited breath. And so, he began a very, very long lecture:
"Within warfare, it is I think imperative to point towards the similarities of approach between our two races. Swift, coordinated, decisive strikes. Not ours is the path of the siege, of the prolonged war of attrition. Ours is the overwhelming, single blow. By combining our wisdom, we may design technology to pursue this military perfection. Perhaps even with the aid of the Warp itself."
He went on into detail, describing various theoretical practices and theories, much to the delight of his listeners.
Tekbrain, instead, completely awed his listeners from the get-go with the typical orky approach to all things. A small holographic board had been set up for him and he had scribbled a simple equation.
"Big Weapun = Gud Killy. Bigga' Weapun = Bestest Killy."
His lecture was no less breathtaking:
"Right den. Youz goody boyz alwayz fussin' about bein' killy and real fast. Iz can see da' appeal of dat, forma' speed freak and all, but, I'z 'ere ta' show ya' some propa' orky way of fightin'. Uz orkz be known mainly fer two thingz. Bein' killy and bein' real 'ard. Diz be da' thing wez need ta' work on, togetha'. Makin' somethin' speedy, killy and 'ard at da' same time."
"Is that even practically possible?" asked one from the crowd.
"Iz once thought like that, too. Then Iz just got me toolz and built it anywayz. Wez just need some gud cooperatiun!"
A single scientist started slowly clapping, before all of them joined in a loud applause.
Elsewhere, in a zone, where close combat did not happen, very often.
Miriana stood before the collected fire warriors, armed with practice polearms, which were really just big sticks. Looking them all over, they seemed to be eager enough for the training, and were also far more suited for the eldar style than the ones accepted by the orks.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gents," they gave her a united salute, "before our lessons begin in earnest, with the help of some of our esteemed exarchs," those lost upon the Path of the Banshee were quite the combatants, naturally, "I need to know just how bad you are at close combat," no use in sugar-coating it, after all, "let's see... you!"
She pointed to a warrior in the very front, who probably regretted his lack of positioning:
"Y-yes."
"I want you to attack this," she motioned towards a large, reinforced practice dummy, with certain moving parts to provide at least a minor level of challenge, "give it all you've got."
"I-I can try."
With a recital of a passage from the Codex of Fire, he charged, holding his stick like a broadsword. With an overhead swing, he struck a rotating arm with all his strength, then watched dumbfounded as the other one rammed into his face, knocking him out on the spot. There was no laughter from the rest. Only sheer horror, as they realised even the dummy could fight back.
"Well," she shook her head, audibly sighing, "this will be harder than I thought."
Gorasho was in a much more optimistic mood, so far. The assembled cadets were of the larger, bulkier sort, just the kind he wanted. Their hammers, while laughable by normal standards, were pretty fitting, as well. With a toothy grin, he began:
"Right den. Youz lot came 'ere afta' da practicul realizatiunz dat yer not sneaky or speedy enuff ta' properly fight like a lil' sissy eldur. Gud choice, if ya' ask me," this earned him a chuckle from the crowd, "now, before wez begin, a bit of theoreticul info."
He looked over to the only senior cadet on Big Rok, who was more than prepared with a blackboard. A crudely drawn choppa' was on the board, along with several pointers to various parts of the weapon.
"Right. Orky close weapunz be all built around da' same principlez. Every weapun 'az two partz," with a tiny pointy stikk, he, heh, pointed at the handle, "this be da' 'oldin' part," then, at the head of the choppa', "this be da' killy part. Some weapunz, like da' choppa' 'ere, also 'ave," his pointer moved to the bladed edge of the orky axe, as some of the tau students scribbled into their notepads, "a choppy part."
"Fankz, Snogrot. Now, 'ow do ya use 'em? Generul practice be, ya 'old da' weapun, then just clobber someone real propa' with da' killy part. If da' weapun 'az a choppy bit, usin' it iz preferabul, but, really, az long az ya' kill somethin', nobody carez," he looked over them as they nodded with enthusiasm, "gud. You dere," he pointed at a questioably lucky cadet, "wot'z yer name?"
The no-nose looked slightly ashamed:
"I have not yet earned one, captain."
"Right, uhhh," he rubbed his mighty chin, "dat'z gunna' make fingz difficult. Eh, woteva', get over 'ere and clobber Johny."
The human, a professional blood bowl blitzer, was armoured from head-to-toe in good, propa' iron. His smile lacked several teeth, but was nonetheless sincere. Getting hit in the head repeatedly eventually took its toll.
"Yeah, come on!"
"No worriez, 'is 'ead be real 'ard."
"Not much left to damage, captain!"
The tau charged enthusiastically, swinging her hammer in an overhead swing. It impacted with great force, yet bounced off the superior material, right back into the tau's head, sending her down for the count. The human commented:
"Wow, I didn't even foul her. You've got your work cut out for you, captain."
"Dat Iz do. Zog."
Weeks went by. The builders developed, the troops trained, with various sorts of assistance. Or hindrance, depending on point of view.
On the research and development side, Malakar and his team were doing well. The battlesuit they were designing was, at first, simply known as the XV 31. Slightly larger than the stealth suits worn by squad leaders, still within internal lab testing, but already showing promise. Its true strength, however, was the advanced eldar machinery housed under its light plating. Honed by aspect warriors for several hundred generations, it would take skilled pilots to master the suit's full potential. And many were lining up for the challenge. Only a few weeks later it was moved into field testing, christened the XV 32 - Warphawk.
Tekbrain believed that strength in numbers was the right way to go. Meks of all standing and skill were invited for brief discussions on the design. Many suggested adding at least one particular device, helpfully dubbed the 'High-velocity Gretchin Catapult' by tau experts, but the idea eventually fell flat, much like the gretchin during preliminary testing. The new XV 81 changed in exact design quite rapidly, after taking the standard base of the well-known XV 8 Crisis battlesuit.
Hammer arms, arm cannons, cannons that fired arms. Nothing went untested in their ferocious pursuit of perfection. After finally leaving internal testing, the XV 82 - Hardhead, was as big as a crisis bodyguard, stompy as a propa' dredd and even had a specialised version of the standard jumpjets. A work of art, really.
In the end, both new suits found pilots willing and able to master them. They were both part of a completely new role classification, number nine, the 'Close Combat Platform'. Perhaps not the most astounding name, but a breakthrough, nonetheless.
And, of course, the techheads weren't the only ones making progress.
Miriana's lot had trained nicely. From barely being able to hold their weapons properly, they had steadily improved over the weeks. A few days in, some could already make an exarch move a few steps during duels. And now, they were even able to land a glancing blow. She was proud of them, deep down.
Lying above them on a small elevated platform, she allowed herself a smirk, before sipping on very delicious juice, its fruit plucked straight from the warpal gardens by members of her fanclub. She was almost getting used to their constant nagging. Almost. The daemonettes were helping in training, too, letting the troops experience different combat techniques. She realised how weird that sounded in her head and took another sip. Overseeing training sure was thirsty work.
Gorasho and his group were having no less fun. After some brilliant ideas from Johny, minor sessions of tamed blood bowl had been inserted into standard training. This kept morale high, most teeth still in their mouths and taught the troops a valuable lesson. If you're smaller, learn to dodge, if you're bigger, clobber away. It also taught them how to use their strength properly and, perhaps most importantly, how to fight dirty. After all, there was no referee on the battlefield... or in a regular blood bowl game, once he got 'accidentally' flattened by an ork or 'secret' weapon.
Looking at them now, grouping up to clobber poor Johny into submission, he felt as much pride as when he had bought his first bike. It almost touched his big, green heart, almost brought a tear to his eyes. Almost. None could see good old Gorasho Pain crying on the job, after all.
As Johny finally gave in, the no-noses cheered. A line of high fives formed before Gorasho and he delivered each with enthusiasm. All of them were the real propa' orky kind, and he did dislocate several arms, but it was the thought that counted.
R&D had not fallen asleep when it came to the footmen, either. The XV 19 - Leaper, designed for Miriana's proteges, lighter than even standard fire warrior armour, but supremely mobile, with added tricks and gadgets to aid in movement, set up ambushes and circumvent defences. A skill useable by masters of Mont'ka and Kauyon alike.
On the other hand, Gorasho's boys got some more sturdy toys. XV 29 - Defender battle armour seemed cumbersome, yet the advanced metallurgy of the earth caste allowed it to be miraculously light, while remaining sufficiently 'ard. Its other defensive measures ensured that whether the tau were attacking from the shadows, or swiftly disembarking to deliver a killing blow, fewer lives would be lost to the enemy. The Greater Good would be upheld.
The troops and designers were allowed a small celebration, as their hard work was finally paying off. A good, propa' new fighting force was ready to bust skulls on the Big Rok.
Good thing too, considering the coming storm.
"Are you sure this is the best course of action?" the ship's, and therefore battlegroup's, second-in-command asked, his gaze fixed on the first.
"Operation Emperor's Hammer requires decisive action. I can scarcely think of something more decisive than our current plan."
The admiral's uniform was decorated by only a dozen medals, each from a campaign won, you guessed it, decisively. His balding head served to bring out his many facial scars, acquired from earlier days as a mere squadron commander.
"I cannot argue with that, sir," the other's jacket had no sign of any honour or award, though, in truth, he had been with his superior through all of it, "I'm just saying, the enginseers already want to lynch you."
"Bah, if they had their way, you couldn't drink a cup of caffeine without reciting five litanies and adding sacred oil. They'll survive. And once we take the Hulk for the Emperor, our course of action shall be validated."
Looking through the reinforced glass of the bridge, one could spot over a dozen imperial ships, two of which threatened to dwarf a nearby moon. Those belonged not to the Imperial Navy, but the Imperial Guard. The lord general they served had shared his enthusiasm for the plan.
"I still err on the side of skepticism, but as always, you have my sabre, admiral," to illustrate his point, he petted the gemmed scabbard at his waist.
"If they decide to board us, I am sure it will be useful, for once," the decorated allowed himself a chuckle. Oh, the day was theirs, he was sure of it. None could stand against the combined might of the Imperium.
The specialised teams of cutters and saboteurs were working miraculously fast, carefully weakening the outer hull in precisely specified outlines. Their efficiency would not go to waste as their officer finally contacted the bridge:
"Admiral Malfius, the job is done. They shouldn't have any problems now."
"Roger. Good job, men," he turned to a man at one of the many command consoles, "Jorry, would you kindly?"
Chatter filled the room, the remainder of the pilots, co-pilots, navigators and other assorted staff were eager to see the spectacle.
"Understood. You may commence the operation. Emperor be with you."
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, all we can do is watch."
The two largest ships started accelerating, heading straight for the Price of Ineptitude. It would be a bloody good time.
Big Rok shook down to its core as the massive ships impacted its outer shell, simultaneously creating and plugging enormous holes. The quakes stopped after a while and for a brief moment, there was a stillness, before their giant cargo bays opened up, revealing several storage floors packed with death.
The first two bottom rows belonged to mass-produced walkers, bipedal, really little more than gun platforms on legs. The machines whirred to life and set off at impressive speed, filling the entry chamber in less than a minute. Behind them was a mass of bodies, marching in perfect formation, their armour blue like a cloudless sky. A white number, thirty-six, was painted on every shoulder, signifying their regiment.
Behind endless rows of infantry drove transports and ex-transports, the latter armed with flamethrowers and clinically deranged operators. Then, came the armoured cavalry, the most famous vehicless of the Imperial military, the Leman Russ battle tanks, each relatively sturdy, mostly dependable and cheap to acquire. Much like the regular guardsman, one could say.
Three paths were presented to them, one accessible only on foot and so, the army split, filling every single nook and cranny with good old fashioned imperial hospitality. The home team had a very similar approach in such matters.
Having been warned in advance by particularly nosy, heh, grots, the relevant figures wasted no time and began preparations for the coming invasion, the defending forces always cobbled together from all of the hulk's inhabitants. And then, it became a waiting game, as the thunderous footsteps of many thousands of guardsmen shook the Hulk itself.
The respective commanders were in contact through talky-majigs. Miriana had been paired up with Mont'yr, their forces consisting mostly of tau and eldar, with a few assorted orks here and there. Unlike the rest in the surrounding buildings, the green ones were stationed right on the road, playing cards to pass the time. She looked over to the one-eyed commander, encased in a custom-made battlesuit, its mass class slightly above a standard XV-24, with what seemed to be two large rotary cannons in place of forearms, and spoke:
"Do you think they will take the bait?"
"It is human nature to jump to conclusions. Kauyon shall be their undoing. Are your own in place?"
"Yes," referring to both other eldar and her trainees, "ready to spring the trap."
"Excellent," a swift change to the hulk-wide channel, "this is Mont'yr. We are prepared."
"So are we," Thebes-Ra was flanked by two gearheads, busy making final repairs, "they will never see it coming," he turned back to them and asked, "it is working now, isn't it?"
"Affirmative. Your scarabs, if directed properly, do a marvelous job."
"Yeh, jus' like this propa' camouflagey bit."
Tekbrain gently patted the Ark's plating, briefly distorting the illusion. Malakar had applied certain technology usually reserved for webway gates and created a portable cloaking field. Not man-portable, of course, their only wraithlord had to carry it into place. But it was a start.
Unbeknownst to the approaching organics, the wide slope below their position hid a large number of other nasty surprises, which were, for the moment, waiting patiently undeground. Oh, what a glorious day, this would be.
"Right, got it, clobber 'em gud."
Gorasho and the boys had called dibs on the no-vehicle zone. With some propa' support of a few key units, they were gonna' smash gits up like never before. Snogrot had war paint of various colours on his face.
"Kaptin, we be real sneaky, yeh?"
"Yeh, and we'z gunna' 'ave a gud larf, Iz think. Ain't dat right, goody boy twelve?"
One of the proteges looked up, his bulky armour not restraining movement in any way:
"You've got that right, captain. It'll be like a propa' touchdown."
"Dat'z me boy!"
It was the tau-eldar force that met the enemy first. The sentinel vanguard rounded the final corner, at least twenty of them. Their speed did not decrease even a bit as they unleashed fire upon the orkish bait. Laser fire filled the air as two of the greenskins popped on the spot, the rest scrambling up the hill.
"Hold fire, these are small fish," spoke the tau commander and none dared defy her orders.
The orks scrambled deeper into the hulk, where a few nasty surprises were already prepared for their pursuers. It was then that the main infantry force came into view. They seemed endless, a sea of blue armour, with transports among them. The heavier armour was at the very back of the long column. They advanced cautiously, but not cautiously enough. They might as well have all been wearing red shirts. The column finally reached their own vantage points. Mont'yr let a few rows pass further, before giving one simple command:
"Strike."
Their troops, eldar and tau alike, struck in perfect unison. Photon grenades first rained down upon their heads, sowing chaos among their ranks. Meltas and fusion blasters stationed almost at ground floor unleashed their payloads on the transports, obstructing the road and separating entire groups of guardsmen.
Howling banshees and those trained under Miriana's supervision leaped from their hiding places right into the part of the force allowed to pass. The initial strike was devastating, but eventually, the enemy struck back in force. Lasfire filled the air with thousands of deadly needles, making it almost impossible to aim without risking injury. The troops were making way for the hellhounds in the back, while the Leman Russ brigade battered them with their mighty guns.
"Phase two?" asked the farseer, receiving a nod in response.
"Phase two. Move, move, move!" shouted into her talky-majig.
And so, their forces relocated swiftly, through underground tunnels and hidden catwalks above the fray. The imperials kept firing for a good few minutes before they realised no one was shooting back. They continued towards their doom, the hellhounds now acting as a vanguard.
"Can you blow the horn? I lack lips."
"Right-o!"
Tekbrain snatched it up with the enthusiasm of an operating dok and blew on it with all his strength. The sound echoed throughout the chamber, making the imperials immediately stop in surprise, scrambling for cover. Too bad for them, they were standing on their problems. Organic monstrosities burst from the ground in the hundreds and immediately dug into their packed lunches.
From vantage points, metallic nightmares unleashed barrages of green death, disintegrating flesh and plating alike. It was the hidden Doomsday Ark, however, that would create the most spectacular lightshow. Finally charged, the mighty weapon unleashed its devastating payload against specific targets, designated by the lord himself without any need for verbal communication with the pilot.
Screams filled the air as mighty battle tanks were turned into slag with little more than a passing glance. Flame tanks erupted in awesome displays, frying almost exclusively allies, on account of there being nothing else nearby.
Malakar and Tekbrain added their own touch to the job, as small squads of both wraithguard and kans walked up onto the field, adding their assorted brand of death and destruction to the field, although with considerably more mucking about on the gretchin-mech side. Everyone was a critic, especially when forcibly strapped into a large mechanised suit with no chance of ever being able to leave.
"Get yer fancy bitz ready, boyz," Gorasho was surrounded by his trainees, each in the deceptively bulky XV-29, "no tankz or stuff gonna' go 'ere. Just a lot of squishy lil' 'umiez. Good smashin'."
"Yes, captain!" they roared in unison, raising their warhammers to the ceiling.
"Gud, da' rest of ya' lot," now he spoke to a massive horde of collected boyz, gitz and 'ooliganz, who seemed ready to tear each other apart from sheer excitement, "rememba', goody boyz shoot first, then wez go in. Got dat?"
"Yeh, yeh!"
"Gud. Now get yer choppaz ready."
Oh, it was going to be a good brawl. The guardsmen were plentiful, to say the least and packed close enough to make any attack guaranteed to hit something. The same could of course be said about their own green force, but they had tough hide for a reason. The blueskins sprung from their hiding places, several groups consisting of standard fire warriors and Gorasho's own. The Defenders quickly readied their namesakes, as shimmering shields materialised from projectors on their left arms.
The shaped, concentrated shields were locked together into a wall with frightening efficiency, absorbing the first volleys of lasfire with ease. The other warriors peeked from beyond them and retaliated with fire of their own, which proved much more effective. After only a few guardsmen remained in the first row, a shout echoed through their ranks and they broke into a mad charge, disregarding any incoming fire. As they neared the defence line, the fight began in earnest.
The charge was broken as soon as squads of stormboys roared through the sky like packs of angry daemons, crashing into the imperial lines with maniacal laughter. Guns of all sizes and shapes unleashed their payload from dozens of elevated positions, filling the air with unholy amounts of propa' dakka. The original defence line separated to allow the rest of the horde through, choppaz swinging, legs charging and jaws roaring. It was a glorious display, all things considered. Almost brought a tear to his eye. Almost.
Elsewhere, a very paranoid imperial column came across the remains of their scout force. Battered and smashed, something possessing overwhelming force had taken them down, blocking the rudimentary road. As space was made for the hellhounds to let them push the scrap away, a shot echoed through the surroundings.
The guardsmen immediately aimed at any nearby building, but no other attack came. It was then that they noticed one of their commissars was missing a good chunk of his head. As another strode forth to issue orders, another round pierced right through her neck and she collapsed onto the ground.
"Sniper!" some others shouted, much to the controller's amusement. Sniper drones was the correct answer.
As commanding officers ran for cover, the trap was sprung. Figures rose to the sky, armoured, humanoid giants with jumpjets larger than a small vehicle. Unlike the more sophisticated versions of standard battlesuits, these only had to get them up. On the way down, the Hardheads became wrathful comets, crushing the hellhounds upon impact, creating several infernos in an instant. They emerged from the searing flames and smoke, their thick plating and various adornments making them seem almost daemonic.
Several guardsmen wetted themselves as one took a step forward, crushing the road beneath its bulk. Its arms had been repurposed into a pair of mighty spiked maces, shimmering with a strange energy. Through a com-link to the rest of the battlegroup, one of the no-noses shouted:
"Who sucks at close combat now?!"
With a single sweeping strike, a dozen guardsmen were sent airborne. The Russ brigade retaliated with overwhelming firepower, yet the suits stood their ground, their thick armour enough to mitigate most incoming damage. Step by step, they carved their way through rows of infantry.
A danger presented itself from the side, where several heavy weapons squads deployed behind some wreckage. They did not get to fire a single shot, before Miriana's trainees assaulted their position from a nearby rooftop. Before any retaliation could be formed against them, they were gone thanks to their miniaturised, personal jumpjets, leaving only a handful of smashed heavy weapons in their wake.
It wasn't long until the unthinkable happened and the Imperials sounded a retreat on all three fronts.
Such a manoeuvre did give them something, though. Defender's advantage. They dug in with an efficiency only the Guard could muster, deploying heavy weapons teams in key locations, setting up simple, yet effective trenches. In the back of it all, the Leman Russes remained, ready to rain autocannon justice on anything dumb enough to approach the battleline. So, just the orks.
"We'z got a conan... conen... problem, kaptin."
"Yeh, I'z can see dat," another small horde of orks was mercilessly gunned down mid-charge, their lives ending in a myriad of ways, but usually just being turned into giblets of meat, "Iz think wez need a new strategery."
"We'z doomed."
"Maybe not," Malakar sounded quite pleased with himself, "all we need is a single, coordinated attack."
"Indeed. Kauyon has weakened them and made them paranoid. Mont'ka shall end this. Captain, this is what we shall do."
An uneasy silence fell upon the battleground. None of the humans dared move, expecting only the worst. And the worst came. From every conceivable direction, the hulk's armies spewed forth, a tide of green hide and insectoid chitin of many colours. Long range support appeared on every vacant ledge, showering the ranks of the imperial guard with propa' dakka.
Only when the main force reached charging distance did new surpsises materialise within their midst. Sleek, nimble and armed with a pair of deadly armblades, the Warphawks blinked into battle through tiny portals into the Warp itself. Thankfully, unlike their progenitors, the warp spiders, the suits also allowed specialised protective measures to be installed.
The suits cut through man and armour without problems, sowing chaos in the human force just as the main army made contact. It was a slaughter, to say the least, with body parts flying every which way.
Where most faltered, one man remained a brick wall. Fairly young, with a well-groomed mane of short, dark brown hair and a mighty moustache, which could easily have been the envy of the High Lords of Terra. The man rushed through any attackers with chainsword and arm-mounted combi-bolter, cutting a path for an accompanying squad of veteran guardsmen. It was then that the armoured battlesuits landed, making the ground quake.
The man regained his footing just in time to see a pair of rotary cannons begin to spin. He rolled to the side as several guardsmen were torn to shreds by the barrage, and charged to close the distance with the much smaller battlesuit.
Mont'yr made a small jump, trying to crush him under the suit's armoured legs, yet he sidestepped once more and brought his chainsword down in an overhead swing, striking her shoulder and shredding the advanced alloys with brute force, even drawing blood before she managed to disengage.
She glanced briefly at her bloodied shoulder, hissing, then called out:
"Not bad, gue'la!"
His lips curled into a smirk:
"I haven't even started, xeno!"
He charged again, swinging his blade in a wide arc. The tau surprised him, however, when she ducked under the slash, the teeth scrapping along the top of her helmet. She then sweeped at his legs, catching him off guard and sending him to the ground, even losing the grip on his chainsword. Before he could scramble back up, two armoured boots landed on both his chest and his weapon-adorned arm.
"Too bad, because now it's over."
He struggled, but the weight of the battlesuit kept him firmly in place. He emitted a sigh, then looked right into the suit's camera:
"Finish it, then."
"There's no need. What do I look like? An Imperial?"
The lord general was confused for a while, but then, he noticed the fighting around them was steadily dying down. And the various fights were not necessarily ending in blood-curdling screams. He especially took notice of several guardmen buried, non-fatally, under squads of tiny tyranid vermin. Even the orks were aking sure to take some prisoners. The universe was making less sense by the minute.
A rough voice suddenly called out, from nowhere in particular:
"Dredd, kan, dredd... alright, ya' squishy lil' 'umie runtz. Welcome on da' Big Rok. Now, youz seen some of our gud old-fashioned hospitalitey, now put down yer killy bitz, or we'z gunna' finish ya' off, nice and propa'."
The remaining imperials were not given much choice in the matter, as their weapons were gathered by a mixture of tau, native humans and only the most delicate of tyranids. The lord general was disarmed shortly afterwards and finally permitted to stand. The first thing he was allowed to gaze at was a massive ork with five blue, distinct hats, one on his noggin and the rest mounted on pointy stikks. The ork eyed him over, scratching its chin with the barrel of its arm-shoota', and spoke:
"Right, wellz, Iz see you'z done smashin' stuff up. Not much left of ya'."
"No thanks to your ilk, ork."
"Hurr, dat'z right. Listen 'ere, 'umie, wez 'ere on da' Big Rok be mighty welcomin'. Fer orkz, anyway. So, seein' as you'z done muckin' about, you and yer boyz 'ave three optiunz 'ere. One, youz get off me bloody rok. Two, youz get shot up and pushed out fer da' space squigz," quite a rare breed, often thought mythical by imperial scholars, "or, and diz be real speciul, youz can stay 'ere with yer lot."
"W-what?"
"Oh, yeh, we'z just finished clearin' a new part. Lotsa' room for hutz."
The lord merely stared at the boss, who was now also grinning. It was miraculous that the ork was even semi-aggressively chatting with him, let alone offering options other than using their skulls as decorations. There was an issue, however.
"I am uncertain that we can leave in a timely manner at this point. Our ships are rather," he allowed himself a snicker, "decisively wrecked. May I call one of my men?"
"Yeh, sure."
"Thompson!"
A rather burly man came forth, missing both his arms and his right leg. In their place were the cheapest bionics throne gelt could buy. He spoke with a hint of artificial aid, another of his augmentations:
"Yes, lord?"
"How many men could potentially leave on the escape pods on our cargo ships?"
"Well, seeing as we pulled a good few out to make room for extra tanks," he counted on his metallic fingers for a bit, "four dozen."
"Bloody hell, that's worse than I expected," at least fifty would have been nice, "well, go around and ask if any of the men have anything to go back to. The rest of us will stay."
"Stay, sir?"
"Yes. The way I see it," he shot a glance at Nignub's arm-shoota', "it is preferable to our alternatives. Oh, and, tell the men to not lose hope. With a bit of luck, we may shine the Emperor's light into this place yet."
"Got it, sir."
"Now, then," he turned back to the warboss, extending his right hand, "I do believe introductions are in order. Lord General Marek Antonius, thirty-sixth Halcyon regiment. We like to call ourselves the 'Peacekeepers'."
"Right," the boss shook it awakwardly with his shoota'-arm, "Nignub, warboss. Somethin' tellz me Pain'z gunna' like ya'."
The other ork was already in view, cybork eye and patched-up commissar hat included:
"Gorasho Pain, Big Rok Polees Departmunt. Welcum aboardz."
"Yes, yes, quite."
The introductions took a surprising amount of time. Big Rok had its fair share of important political and military figures, it seemed. And then, there was her, the tau commander who had bested him before. This time, though, her battlesuit was opened up, letting her shake his hands directly with a smile:
"I think you'll fit right in. Good fight."
The smile was... not quite unnerving, per se. But it did send a shiver down his spine, as well as a lone, heretical thought through his mind. None of it was visible on his face, which remained one of a respected imperial official.
"Quite," he noticed a spark of pain crossed her face as they shook hands, "and my apologies for your shoulder."
"We of fire know well the dangers of battle. It will heal in no time."
With the introductions finally over, the kaptin suddenly threw his arm over his shoulders, towering over him:
"Right then. With dat outta' da' wayz, youz lot like a gud beer, yeh?"
"Y-yes, but only if it's a proper one."
"Boy of me word! No beer be more propa' than gud funguz beer! You'll see, lordy boy!"
The military leaders then simply made their way to Joe's like a conga line of victory... and defeat, in one case. It did not take long for the Big Rok to disappear once again on the winds of the Warp.
The lord militant then had to, reluctantly, indulge the fanclub of daemonettes that sprung up around his majestic moustache in less than a minute. Just another day on the Big Rok.
Addressee: Lord Commander Coteaz Ignatio Primus, Segmentum Obscurus Command
Date: - Data corruption persists. Notifying relevant authorities -
Subject: Failhammer
The Emperor protects!
My lord, it is with utmost displeasure that I must be the bearer of bad news on this day. Operation Emperor's Hammer was a failure. Though we had taken the utmost care during the deployment of our troops upon the Price of Ineptitude, our ground forces were, in the end, beaten back by the local inhabitants.
I would wish to assure you, however, that this did not occur because our forces were in any way ill-equipped for the mission. There is a foul presence upon the hulk, which causes the minds of men to drift into utter madness. This belief stems from the various witness accounts my men were able to gather from surviving guardsmen, extracted from escape pods.
The men were hallucinating at best. They claimed to have seen greenskins, tau, even biological and metallic monsters fight together as a unified force. Other reports mentioned fire warriors leaping into close combat, accompanied by eldar witches and humanoid machines materialising out of thin air. Most ludicrous, they claimed that a greenskin boss allowed them to leave the rok unharmed.
I could not risk the possibility of this taint spreading to our crews and had all of the men summarily executed on the spot, for fleeing the battlefield, so that my shipmates would not grow suspicious.
In this way, I wish to implore you, should another possibility to occupy this damned place present itself, mere footsoldiers may not be enough, at least, not without sufficient protection against whatever entity lies within.
The Emperor's light will exorcise it eventually.
- admiral Horatio Nihil Malfius, battlegroup Decisively Decisive Strike
Thought of the day:
"Decisive action is appropriate under any circumstances, though often frowned upon."
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Remote access detected. Waiting for authorization.
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Password accepted. User XenoSeeker1337 granted full access. Awaiting command.
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Data copying and transfer complete. Good hunting, inquisitor.