I am back! The wait was better this time, hopefully. For this chapter, we explore the war outside of Earth and precisely how it's going. We have our Quarian friends back once more, and we see a little bit of Palaven, the Steel Legion, and our resident Turians. Who would have guessed that actually preparing for the Reaper invasion would have helped your planet? (Answer: not the Citadel) Hopefully you all enjoy this chapter. Tell me if you want to see more Quarians, because I feel I've been neglecting them. Speaking of reviews, I thank all you wonderful readers for all your wonderful reviews!
MEleeSmasher: That is very true. However, Hal is both very vain and very confident, and would like Earth intact so he can use it after he wins the war on the ground.
Doc43Souls: Thank you! Sorry for the wait. Hopefully that doesn't happen again. You have a good point on the Marines, though the Raven Guard, Iron Fists, and Hawk Lords have less terrible chapter secrets than the Angels or Consecrators. Once more, thank you for all your reviews and all your help finding typos. I greatly appreciate it.
Dragon Blaze-X: Indeed.
Guest author: I shall give the ending I've had in mind for a while, which involves a great many things happening and a great many characters. I shall say nothing more beyond that. You do have a point about the Titans, which is actually part of this chapter. Reapers can go down if you have enough firepower.
Savior16: Yes, that's somehow usually kind of the case in 40k, though the Reapers and Dark Mechanicum have killed a lot of people offscreen, many more than the Imperium has on Tuchanka or Thessia.
Chronus1326: I'm glad you enjoyed it. Poor Cawl. We'll see him next chapter, and we'll definitely get you your powerful ancient weapons there.
themadnimrod: Sorry. Like I said, I have to strike a balance with the good and bad. It makes for that much better of a story.
Rogal Dorky: We shall have your technology, fear not! Though on the others, it remains to be seen.
Guest: We'll find out next chapter, and I can assure you you'll like it...
Hunter19941: Indeed we are. Next chapter is going to be a blast.
BonesofSmite: I'm glad you liked it! We'll have more of both ancient tech and Shepard and Tali.
Daemon-Sultan: Unfortunately I can say that they will not be showing up. Sorry.
Guest: You have an excellent point. I don't think we'll see any Chaos deserters, though.
Anatheras: They do build their voidships in space. I haven't thought of restoring the Serendipity, though it is something to look into. Also, yes, they could have rammed the Olympus. Actually, that's a valid tactic in 40k naval battles, hence the ram-like prows of their ships. However, none of the other ships could get past the Olympus's guns without being disintegrated first.
lucho406: Not at all a stupid question! I haven't really said, because I don't want to deal with the timing problems so I can just choose whatever factions I want to bring in the crusade, so it can either be before or after the Fall of Cadia. The choice is up to you, the reader.
oOo
Total War
"There can be no bystanders in the battle for survival. Anyone who will not fight by your side is an enemy you must crush." -Lord Solar Macharius
"Sweat saves blood, blood saves lives, but brains save both." -Erwin Rommel
"The quarians, seeking a homeworld of their own, petitioned the Citadel Council for the right to take over Ekuna, but they had already settled a few hundred thousand quarians on the planet before approaching the Council. Seeing this occupation as an illegal act, the Council turned a deaf ear to quarian pleas and gave the world to the elcor, who could withstand the high gravity of the world far better. The quarians squatting on the planet were given one galactic standard month to leave, at which point their colonies would be bombarded. The junk left behind by the fleeing quarians clogs up portions of the landscape to this day." -codex entry for Ekuna, Mass Effect 2
oOo
Kal'Reegar, Hero of Rannoch, First Lord of House Reegar, and the first Quarian Knight looked down softly at the face, gloriously unmasked, that stared up at him. Gently, he reached out a two-fingered hand and traced it along his wife's incomparably soft cheek. Reaching up, he tenderly brushed away the tear that traced its way down her face, leaving a faint wet trail upon her skin.
"I have to go, my love," he whispered, wrapping his arm around her head comfortingly. "I'm sorry." Jina looked back up to him with a deep swallow.
"I… I know," she replied hoarsely. "It's just…" She trailed off, unable to continue.
Around them, the sun Tikkun shone proudly through the surrounding stained glass windows that made up the fortress of the Knights of Adas. They were not intricately decorated like the fortress windows of the lauded and historical Houses of the Imperium, for there simply had not been enough history in the two years of House Reegar's existence to put their epic deeds upon the windows. The Knights of the Questor Mechanicus had literally thousands upon thousands of years of toil, pain, struggles, triumphs, and glories to ordain their fortress keeps with, but it would be a long time coming until House Reegar shared their same history.
Indeed, this was the first generation of House Reeger, only two years in the making. As Kal looked down upon his wife's swollen midsection, he certainly hoped there would be a second generation. And, as Lord of House Reegar, it was his duty to see to it.
Kal'Reegar had been singled out by Archmagos Cawl and Fabricator General Natrius for his years of impeccable service, loyalty, and bravery. Offered a chance to be a Knight, and the chance to command the first Quarian and xeno Knight House, he leaped at it.
Long had he trained. Long had he been augmented in the bowels of the forges of Adas and the Serendipity. He had gotten his Knight, Pride of Rannoch, from Lord Cawl. The other Knights converts had been personally handpicked by him from a list of those Natrius had thought were compatible with the suits, augmetics, and lifestyle of the Knights.
What Kal'Reegar had most definitely not expecting was for the Mechanicus to insist he got married. Even further, they would be keeping with Knightly tradition and Mechanicus efficiency. This would not be a marriage he sought out over a long period of time for love, but rather one arranged based upon pure convenience and efficiency.
Kal had been appalled. Of all the species in the galaxy, the Quarians were probably the ones that married the most out of trust and love. It was both a societal tradition and a biological necessity alike. One had to trust their partner with their life.
The Mechanicus cared not. He pleaded with Cawl and Natrius, and they granted him two months maximum to find a wife. He scoffed at it. To find a wife.
It was an odd thing to do; an even odder task to carry out. But nevertheless, good soldiers and good Knights followed orders, and so Kal'Reegar set out upon the strangest and last task he thought he would ever carry out, for the good of the Omnissiah and his House. (He still doubted then; rolling those words around in his head sarcastically.)
There were plenty of women who would more than love to be with Kal'Reegar, hero of Rannoch and First Lord of the first Quarian Knight House. But Reegar wanted someone who loved him, not his status. This was a marriage, after all. And, yes, there might have been many who loved him or would do whatever he said as the Lord of House Reegar, but, once again, he wanted a partner in marriage, not some subservient.
He had looked throughout what had still been the Fleet at the time, trying to juggle his Knightly training duties with his new, less-desired Tech-Priest ordained mission. He had courted a few women, but wished to have none of them. Oh, yes, they were all nice, and they seemed to like him, and they would be obedient to him, the House, and the Mechanicus, but he did not love any of them, and so he continued to move. The Tech-Priests were pulling out their hair… or, rather, mechadendrites, but Kal utterly refused to marry someone based upon convenience or genetics like they wished.
However, fortunately for everyone involved, Kal had found a young engineer by the name of Jina'Saalon aboard the ship Yurinithia. They two cautiously hit it off, his gentleness and her more reserved, shy nature blending perfectly. He had been honest; told her his position and everything the Mechanicus was forcing him into. Despite not having nearly enough time for a proper Quarian courtship, Kal expressed his desire that if he were to have an arranged marriage with anyone, it would be with her. Cautiously, she agreed.
Now, as Kal looked down upon his wife and her pregnant form, he finally knew the reason he was fighting. It was as if a veil had been lifted upon his place and knowledge of the galaxy. This was the true purpose of the Knights: to protect their species, to protect their future, and protect those they loved.
"I love you, Jina," whispered Kal as he traced her face once more, committing every detail to memory. "I have to go, though. I have to fight for our people and the Mechanicus and our baby." He grinned. "You knew that detail when you married me, though." She laughed, hiccuping through her tears. "But know that I love you. Whatever happens, whatever comes, I love you."
"I… I love you too," she whispered as she pulled him in for one final kiss before letting him go. He turned and walked away slowly through the massive, empty, stone-floored keep before turning to give Jina one last, sad, wave. She replied in kind, and standing there, one hand held up in sad farewell, the other on her swollen belly, framed by the light of Tikkun streaming through the window, Kal thought she looked like the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Yes indeed, this was what he fought for. Despite the Mechanicus's meddling in his private life, this had turned out quite well for everyone involved.
As his armored boots rang through the lower floors of House Reegar's keep, Kal'Reegar was joined by the other Knights of the House. All were on their way to their Knights, ready to join the fight for Adas's forge. While the Knights of Reegar had been out before on smaller-scale deployments, this was to be their largest yet.
All of the allied armored forces present in the Tikkun system, minus those directly defending the Adas forge, were to go to Rannoch to hunt Reapers. It was curious that the Reapers and Dark Mechanicum main attack did not fall upon Adas, but Kal did not care to contemplate the strategies of life-devouring psychopaths. Perhaps it was because Rannoch was the homeworld of a major race; perhaps it was because there were more resources and people to be found there. Nevertheless, for whatever the reason, there were more Reapers on Rannoch than on Adas, and less heavy defenses.
When the Mechanicus had fortified their stronghold in this galaxy, they had done so well. The only race even remotely prepared for the Reaper assault were the Quarians. Who would guess that actually preparing for a war to come would leave you better off and increase your chances of survival? (Apparently, not the Citadel races.)
Now, Kal'Reegar and his remaining Knights walked through the halls of their keep on their way to fight the enemies of their home and race. Now minus Hil'Yess and Wrath of Adas, who had sacrificed themselves during the initial evacuation of Earth, they were small in number but ready to bring death to their enemies. Kal only hoped it would be enough.
The good thing was the war in the Tikkun system was going much better than the war anywhere else thanks to the Mechanicus and Quarians' preparations. They also had House Raven and Legio Honorum on their side. Hopefully that would be enough to repel the abhorrent forces of darkness and secure a future for the family he desperately wanted.
oOo
Colonel Mihun of the Tallarn 71st armored nervously gulped down the last of the water in his canteen, making sure that none of his troopers saw him. It would not do for them to see their commander nervous.
The interior of the main turret of Emperor's Talon, Mihun's Baneblade, was as cramped as ever. The reek of oil and the acrid stench of gun propellant filled the air. Next to Mihun, Sergeant Deserimund fiddled with the Baneblade's range projector. The loader, Ryrea, drummed his fingers on a shell hopper, making a dull, repetitive metallic tapping noise. Deserimund shot him a dirty look. Ryrea stopped, a sheepish expression on his face.
"All units, this is Grand Master Agememnon," came a crisp, business-like voice over the Emperor's Talon's vox. The troopers inside sat up straighter. Mihun frowned and leaned in to hear better. Years of guns firing in his ears had long ago dulled his hearing. "Operation is a go, repeat, the operation is a go. You all have your instructions. Carry them out. Grand Master Agememnon out."
In his faded leather seat, Deserimund turned to Mihun. Despite endeavoring to cover it up with a smile, the Baneblade's second-in-command could not hide his nervous expression.
"Well, looks like we're ready," he said with a small laugh. Mihun frowned and only nodded in reply. The typical serene mask he wore when in command of his regiment slammed into place. His nerves were now replaced with stern and wise professionalism. After all, it would not do for his men to see their commander nervous.
"Let's get to it then," replied Mihun. Reaching forward, he pulled his leather helmet over his head and thumbed the switch to activate its built-in vox. "Start her up, Rhubar!" he ordered.
"Yes, sir!" came the driver's enthusiastic reply. Mihun his a grin. He couldn't remember a time where Rhubar wasn't enthusiastic about driving Emperor's Talon into battle. At least one of them was.
The almighty roar of the Baneblade's engines vibrated into Mihun's very bones; a soothing, comforting feeling for one who had spent as much time in tanks as Colonel Mihun. Ryrea settled back in his chair and took a deep breath as Deserimund checked everything throughout the tank.
"All stations are a go, Colonel!" announced Rhubar. In the dim light of the turret, Mihun nodded.
"Excellent." He thumbed his helmet vox again, moving from the Baneblade's interior frequency to that of the entire armored group. "Aquila-2, Aquila-2, we are a go. Move out," he ordered teresely.
As the Emperor's Talon leapt to life beneath him, Mihun could almost feel the reassuring presence of the other Tallarn super-heavies behind them. Instinct, he supposed, even though he couldn't see them.
Some of the super-heavy armor of the Tallarn regiments had been stripped by Grand Master Agememnon and Governor Rael'Zorah. Interestingly, it was only the Baneblade, Shadowsword, and occasional Doomhammer variants of the largest tanks available to the Guard. To an outsider, it would be a puzzling question as to why only those specific variants. To an experienced armor commander like Colonel Mihun, what precisely the Grand Master and Governor were planning was quickly obvious, especially after their request to bring out as many Shadowswords as possible.
They wanted to kill Titans. That was the purpose of the Shadowsword, after all. Mounting the fearsome volcano cannon, Shadowswords were one of the Guard's only answers for enemy Titan-grade engines. Doomhammers had magma cannons, which were the close-range versions of volcano cannons, and Baneblades packed enough punch to serve an all-around purpose. Those facts, combined with the fact that this was a Titan Legion Grand Master they were talking about, all pointed to one fact: they were hunting god-engines.
And there were only one form of enemy Titan-grade engines on Rannoch.
The plan in and of itself was simple. There were only a finite number of Reapers in the galaxy. Despite their appearance, and despite what some might think or wax poetic about, there were only so many Reapers in the galaxy. Yes, there were a lot of them, but their numbers were finite. What was more, Reapers were not easily replenished or taken from other fronts of the war.
Therefore, logically speaking, the defenders of Rannoch needed to kill as many Reapers as possible. There were no enemy Titan Legions here, and any reinforcements the Reapers or Dark Mechanicum needed to send to Rannoch would represent that much more support for the beleaguered defenders of Earth and Palaven. If the Reapers on Rannoch died, that meant that either the enemy had to pull needed forces from another front… or the battle was won.
So Colonel Mihun, Legio Honorum, and the Knights of Raven and Reegar were hunting Reapers.
"Keep your formation, Aquila-2," ordered Mihun over the vox as one of the Shadowswords behind Emperor's Talon drifted slightly out of formation.
"Armor-piercing," muttered Deserimund quietly to Ryrea. The loader nodded. Grabbing a shell from its marked hopper, he shoved it into the gun. Better to be prepared now.
The current operation would proceed much like any hunt. The Tallarn tanks, and some handpicked Knights, would act as the beaters. It was their duty to get the Reapers' attention and drive them to the massed firepower of Legio Honorum. The Legio itself, along with its supporting Knights, would lay in wait to pulverize the larger Reapers before they had a chance to retaliate. It was much the same as any hunt… except in most hunts, the prey wasn't stories tall and could fire back.
"Moving alongside pre-planned path, looking for Reapers," came the Valiant Hero over the vox.
"Copy," replied Mihun. "Shout out if anyone sees anything." He released the talk button on the vox. Next to him, Ryrea figited silently. Deserimund looked over to his commander, waiting. Watching.
The armored column passed through the swirling dust of Rannoch central plains, gun turrets traversing, searching for threats. Everyone was on high alert, alternatively praying they would not find anything and hoping they would find something now and get this arduous wait over.
Mihun sat back in his creaky chair, eyes calm. Mentally, he readied himself for a fight. Patience. Always. No matter what happened, keep a clear head and stick to the experience borne of a lifetime of war.
"Reaper! Reaper! Ten o'clock!" came the call over the vox. Throughout the Emperor's Talon, crewmen scrambled in their station, wiping sweating palms on greasy uniforms.
In the main turret, Mihun grabbed a bar over his head and used it to pull his body up into the command cupula. It was a slight circular outcrop atop the Baneblade's turret, allowing the commander to see through armored vision slits what was happening around the tank's exterior.
In the distance, rising up as if a mountain, was the terrifying form of a Reaper. It was exactly where the other commander said it would be. Mihun licked his suddenly-dry lips.
"Alright, everyone, stay in formation. Don't panic, don't do anything stupid or heroic. Stick to the plan, and we'll all come out alive." He flipped his vox to Legio Honorum's frequency as Deserimund leaned forward, sighting the Reaper down the sights of the Baneblade's main gun. "Grand Master, this is Aquila-2. We have a Reaper sighted. Grid point…" Mihun looked down at the map at their location. "1175. We'll push the Reaper towards your position as planned. Over."
"Grand Master Agememnon to Aquila-2. Understood. We are at grid point 1234. Push towards our position, and we'll see you there. Out," came the reply.
The armored convoy crawled slowly towards the Reaper. Mihun let out a deep breath. Hopefully there weren't more of them lurking about somewhere. At least Rannoch was open and airy, allowing the Tallarn to use the full extent of their legendary armored movement abilities.
As the Tallarn tanks ground ever-closer to the massive, monolithic form of the Reaper, an uneasy anticipation crept upon Colonel Mihun. If it turned on them now, then they were done for. If they got too close, they were also done for. That was the issue with Imperial Guard armor fighting Titan-grade engines. They had no shielding, only their armored plate to protect themselves against weaponry that was powerful enough to bring low mountains.
The anticipation was swiftly replaced with sheer panic as the Reaper swung around… and stared its malevolent crimson eye. Mihun sat back down with a thud. Deserimund looked up and swallowed nervously. Mihun cocked his head.
"Well, we certainly got its attention," he muttered. Ryrea looked between both of his superiors nervously. Mihun turned back to his vox set. "Aquila-2, we need to move!" he warned urgently. Far below, the vibrations of Emperor's Talon increased as Rhubar kicked the drive into its highest gear. Around Emperor's Talon, the other super-heavy tanks of Aquila-2 spread out, weaving and darting apart from each other so as not to present a single target.
As the Baneblade ground through Rannoch's earth beneath him, Mihun activated his vox once more.
"Grand Master, this is Aquila-2, we are currently being pursued by a Reaper. Leading you to them. We would appreciate any assistance. Aquila-2 over."
"Copy, Aquila-2. We are in position and advancing," replied the Grand Master. "Good luck, Aquila-2. Grand Master Agememnon out."
As the armored formation moved, the Reaper sounded its siren, roaring over the plains of Rannoch. The awful noise seemed to reverberate through the metal hull of the tank. Mihun winced.
Finally, in the distance, as Colonel Mihun peered through the vision slit, he could see the advancing forms of Honorum's god-engines. The Titans, though they were smaller than the malignant form of the advancing Reaper, seemed so much more vastly powerful and regally handsome than the monstrosity. Mihun smiled. Though the Reapers were powerful, the forms of the Omnissiah incarnate were far moreso.
The Reaper screamed again. The sound echoed off adamantium hulls. Mihun slammed his targeting equipment in place.
"Turn the turret 180 degrees!" he ordered. Deserimund nodded and cranked the Baneblade's turret around, then peered through his scope. The behemoth form of the Reaper took up nearly the whole thing. Mihun swallowed. "Sergeant, do we have a solution?"
"Yes, sir! Angle ten degrees up; aiming for the eye!" He spun a nearby lever. The gun moved upwards. "AP loaded?" he roared in Ryrea's general direction.
"AP loaded!" confirmed the loader.
"Fire!" yelled Mihun.
"Fire!" confirmed Deserimund. He pushed a pedal. The gun roared. The turret jerked. The sharp, acrid tang of propellent filled the space the Tallarn troopers occupied.
The Baneblade's shell streaked forward… and dissipated harmlessly against the Reaper's kinetic barriers. The massive monstrosity roared a challenge again, noticing the Titans of Legio Honorum for the first time. It turned in their direction. Mihun breathed a sigh of relief.
"AP!" roared Deresimund.
"Loaded!" replied Ryrea, pounding the shell into the gun's open maw.
"Fire!" The Emperor's Talon's second shell of the fight streaked away… and, once more, did nothing. The Reaper's kinetic barriers were too strong.
With a gestalt roar that shook the very earth, the entirety of the Legio Honorum battle line opened up as one. Missiles and rockets streaked away. Smoking trails criss-crossed the sky. Plasma bolts, glowing bright white-blue, smashed against the Reaper's hull. The monstrous machine screamed in agony. As many of its kin had previously found out, kinetic barriers could not stop energy weapons.
Bolter shells filled the sky in such quantities that the entirety of the Reaper's frontal barrier alighted with explosions. The Titans and Knights advanced. The Reaper screamed once more, and planted its multitudes of legs in the dirt.
With an incandescent glow, it unleashed its main weapon. A beam of crimson power reached out and touched a Warhound Titan. The black and red engine simply ceased to exist, as if deleted by an angry god. Mihun winced. The Reaper could do the same thing to the entirety of the armored column with even less effort than the Titan.
Rannoch's plains pulsed with the sounds of combat. From every side, Imperial and Mechanicus weaponry pounded the Reaper. It roared again.
"Left twenty degrees, down three!" The Baneblade turret swung. "AP loaded?"
"Locked and loaded!"
"Fire!" The gun roared again. The Baneblade's huge shell was simply one more amongst the all-consuming bombardment that struck the Reaper.
The huge machine skittered forward and lashed out. Its skin was already littered with plasma and heavy laser pockmarks. Mihun grinned in satisfaction. They would take this damn thing down.
Thrashing legs bowled over a Knight. A streaking laser blasted apart another Titan and its duo of supporting Knights. The allied bombardment continued all the way, gradually whittling away the Reaper's strength.
From the Reaper's right flank, directly beside Colonel Mihun and the Emperor's Talon, a Shadowsword rolled forward and took careful aim. As the Reaper chittered and scuttled back to take aim once more, the Shadowsword fired.
The huge lance of the tank's volcano cannon took the Reaper directly in one of the deepest plasma pockmarks scoured in its skin. Blasting through critical interior machinery, it blew a crater into the Reaper's systems.
The massive machine roared again, the bucked, and slowly, ever so slowly, toppled over into the dust, dead. The massive thud of its body hitting the ground threw up a minor shockwave. The bombardment stopped.
"Aquila-2 and Wrath of Tallarn especially, excellent shooting," came the voice of Grand Master Agememnon over the vox with a hint of heartfelt approval in it. "Reaper down, I repeat, Reaper down. Return back to allied lines for refueling and restocking. Grand Master Agememnon out."
Within the turret of the Emperor's Talon, Mihun breathed a sigh of relief and slumped back in his seat. Carefully, he took off his helmet and put it in its place. For some reason, both it and his uniform were soaked in sweat.
"We did it, Colonel!" came Ryrea's joyous shout. Distantly, Colonel Mihun could hear the cheers of the rest of the Baneblade's crew celebrating. He allowed himself a smile.
"Yes we did, gentlemen. Yes we did." He accepted Deserimund's congratulatory handshake. "Reaper down indeed."
oOo
Chapter Master Kastel Verchen of the Iron Fists growled behind his adamantium helm as he drove his thunder hammer through the head of a Marauder. The head of his massive weapon crackled with divine lightning as he whirled it around, taking out half-a-dozen Husks, the weight and sheer power of the thunder hammer smashing through them as if they were drywall.
Turning, pivoting even in his huge suit of power armor, he brought the hammer down in a massive overhead blow. It landed with a boom, the energy along its length smashing out in a shockwave of almighty power. Husks and skitarii alike went flying like ragdolls.
In Verchen's peripheral vision, he could see the silver-clad forms of his brothers fighting beside him. A phalanx of Terminators formed a press to both of Verchen's sides, supporting him with their own massive weapons. Each in the front bore storm shields fashioned into the Iron Fist's emblem: a clenched gauntlet. The Terminators stood side-by-side, red eye lenses glowering from behind their helms as they mauled everyone and anything that came their way. Element zero and las fire bounced off their storm shields. Skitarii claws made terrible screeching noises as they slid across armor before their wielders were put down by the Iron Fist Terminator elite.
They were within the interior walls of the Adas forge itself. The massive metal bastions of the fortress, decorated with the cogwheels of the Mechanicus, towered around Verchen. In front of the Fists was a smoking pile of ruble: the only breach the Dark Mechanicum had managed to make within the forge.
The Dark Mechanicum was losing. Verchen felt his lips curl up in a smile. While the traitors and their machines raged unchecked upon countless worlds throughout the galaxy, Adas had prepared. They were ready to sustain the onslaught. Perhaps Fabricator General Natrius was not as foolish as the Chapter Master originally thought.
With the power of the skitarii legions of Stygies, alongside the might of the Iron Fists, House Raven, and Legio Honorum, Adas had thrown back the worst the Dark Mechanicum and Reapers had to offer. True, there might not have been as many or nearly as powerful forces in the Tikkun system as there were on Earth or Palaven, but it was still a full-scale Reaper and Dark Mechanicum invasion.
There had been casualties, and they had certainly been heavy, but the power of the Mechanicus and the Marines were able to throw them back. Thanks to Natrius's defensive plans and preparations, the defenders of Rannoch and Adas stood a far greater chance than anyone else throughout the galaxy.
However, the Dark Mechanicum had realized they were losing as well, and hatched one last-ditch attempt to break the Adas forge.
Every dark creature, every monstrous machine, every corrupted skitarii the Dark Mechanicum had in their arsenal on Adas was mustered up and launched into a full-scale, continent-wide assault. There wasn't much strategy in such a move, for there didn't need to be. The Dark Mechanicum hoped the power and the sheer, overwhelming, awful numbers they possessed would easily swamp the defenders. Casualties didn't matter to them, for their monstrous puppets were easily replaceable.
The attack had come unexpectedly and without warning. The Dark Mechanicum did a good job at disguising their mobilizations. When the massive assault had come, it had surprised and overwhelmed even the Marines of the Iron Fists. The defensive lines around the forge had been broken in multiple locations, with hordes of Dark Mechanicum and Reaper creatures pushing through.
One flank of the Dark Mechanicum push had been bogged down by the forces of Stygies. Already, there was a huge and utterly brutal skitarii vs. skitarii fight going on in the plains of Adas, with neither side willing to back down or give any semblance of mercy. Legio Cybernetica automatons shook the ground and unleashed every weapon in the Machine God's arsenal as the zip and crack of galvanic rifle fire drowned out all sound. Kataphron servitors rolled forward, smashing through ranks of enemies with tread, claw, plasma, and flame alike. Kill clades of Sicarians stalked the plains, slaughtering anything in sight. Skitarii ripped each other apart with both blades and bare fists, uncaring about anything but their opponents' demise.
Most of the central attacks had been thwarted by the Iron Fists. Though outnumbered, they were unbowed and certainly not outgunned. They fought with the grim determination and stalwart fury as only sons of Manus could, halting a huge number of Dark Mechanicum and Reaper soldiers in their tracks.
The Reaper's other flank made the mistake of swinging too wide, putting it out of range of the forge. Natrius simply ordered it to be bombarded from orbit. Other fronts of the war might not have had orbital supremacy, or perhaps their commanders did not want to risk their forces on the ground or destabilizing the planet beneath them. The Adeptus Mechanicus and the sons of Ferrus Manus did not share such weaknesses.
However, due to the sheer number of enemy forces present in the attack, the loyal servants of the Imperium and Machine God could not stop all of them. The Fists were too few in number to contain the attackers at the static defensive lines outside the forge complex, and thus many had managed to break through.
The assault had managed to reach the walls of the forge itself. The skitarii defenders, alongside whatever menials, Tech-Priests, and servitors Natrius had managed to gather, had done a remarkable job in holding the walls. Even now, the defenses were manned by the violet, black, and red skitarii of Adas. The crack of their galvanic rifles sounded as a dull, constant background buzz in Verchen's ears as they pumped round after round into the seething hordes beyond the walls. Turbo laser and heavy artillery emplacements sounded infrequently, blasting apart the assault whenever their firing lines were clear.
However, despite the constant fire from the defenders, the forces of the Dark Mechanicum had somehow managed to breach the walls. The jagged hole in the stout outer walls was a small thing in the grand scheme of things, only about the span of ten Marines wide. Yet the breach represented an immediate and dire threat to the forge, for if the forces of the Dark Mechanicum were able to breach the defenses and run amok within the forge complexes, Adas would surely fall.
Chapter Master Verchen, alongside three quarters of First Company, had teleported from orbit directly into the breach, determined to crush any hope of traitor victory. Verchen was determined that the bodies laying messily dead in front of him would be the high water mark of the Dark Mechanicum attack. It was do or die- if the Dark Mechanicum lost here, most of their forces would be depleted. There was no hope of any other massed attacks after this.
A flash of deep blue flew by Verchen, exploding into a black hole in the cramped Reaper lines. Fallen skitarii chittered in distress as they were pulled into the heart of the singularity. It was followed a moment later by a bolt of psychic lightning, igniting the singularity and causing it to explode with an almighty crack. Biotic energy, licking with tendrils of eldritch lightning, coursed over the enemy hordes, blasting them apart.
The Terminators growled as one and advanced, shields locked. Perfectly in sync, they shoved, knocking back what enemies remained in front of them even farther towards the breach. Swords and hammers fell as the shields opened like gates, slaying a line of skitarii. The shields snapped back into place. Terminator boots ground over heaps of dead.
Verchen looked back for an instant as he felt the armor around him harden and toughen with unnatural force. Chief Librarian Modiar, psychic hood flashing with Warp energy, nodded in reply to the Chapter Master as his unnatural powers supported his brothers.
Strangely, the figure standing next to the Iron Fist's Chief Librarian was not, in fact, a Marine. It was also not one of the skitarii or Priests of Adas: instead, it was a mortal human woman. She wore a tight-fitting jumpsuit in the black, red, and violet of Adas. Her hair was midnight black, face round and formed into an expression of grim concentration and knowing amusement.
Biotic power flickered and flared around her form, and with a swoop of her arms, she sent it lashing towards the incoming Dark skitarii. They scattered like ninepins.
Verchen turned back to the battle at hand, casually crushing a Cannibal's head to a pulp with his hammer. Operative Lawson was the woman's name (Operative Lawson the elder; there were two of them). One of Natrius's agents, though why a Tech-Priest would keep an augmented human around as one of his assistants, the Chapter Master had no idea.
From what intelligence Verchen could gather, Miranda Lawson was a biotic (which apparently was not the same thing as a psyker) of fearsome potential. In fact, she was one of the two most powerful biotics in the human race. Verhcen considered the question as he brought down his hammer with a shockwave of lightning, pulversing a group of Husks. Perhaps it was because Lawson was such a good biotic. Maybe that was why Natrius kept her around.
There were whispers of her serving some now-defunct terrorist organization to save her sister as well. Then again, apparently Lawson had been genetically engineered, a fact that Verchen approved of (though he didn't understand why she lacked cybernetics), so perhaps the Tech-Priests were interested in that aspect.
Shaking himself angrily out of his thoughts, Verchen turned back to the battle at hand. It would not do to lose focus now. For the honor of the Emperor and Ferrus Manus, he would crush these traitors and break the back of their attack.
Farther behind the Iron Fist line, Fabricator General Felis Natrius himself surveyed the field as he took potshots at the advancing hordes with the multitudes of weapons clutched in his myriads of limbs. Next to him stood his apprentices: Piloc, Zore'Reer, and Daro'Xen. Despite the battle raging around them, Natrius found it incredibly amusing to watch the differences in all present.
Piloc was as grim and efficient as always. His voluminous robe billowed around him as he neatly took a Husk's head from its shoulders with his power axe. Around him, half-a-dozen combat servitors prowled, dispersing of any threats to their controlling master.
Daro'Xen stood back and watched the combat taking place around her with a cold, clinical detachment. Occasionally, she would throw out devices of her own invention, and watch curiously as tiny machines tore apart Husks with surgical precision or oddly-colored explosions obliterated skitarii. Xen was always the curious and inventive one, reflected Natrius. She'd get along well with Cawl… if her more cold and aloof personality wasn't at complete odds with the Archmagos's near-maniacal cheerfulness.
Still, it was nice to have her. The ex-Admiral had taken to the Priesthood of Mars like a duck to water. (What was a duck, anyway? Natrius had heard of such creatures, though never enough to find out precisely what they were.)
Then, of course, there was Zore'Reer. Natrius's newest direct apprentice, and perhaps the individual he liked the most right alongside Piloc. Though emotions were shunned amongst the Machine Priests, Natrius had always kept his. He saw it as a benefit instead of a detraction.
Either way, he liked Reer. She was a good apprentice. As of now, she was surrounded by the skitarii of Delta squad, ever loyal, ever prevalent, ever crazy Delta squad, fighting to protect their master at any cost.
Her face was still biological, her form still lithe and distinctly Quarian beneath the trademark voluminous robes of a Tech-Priest's office. A few Mechadendrites and a servo arm poked from her back, and in her hands was an Omnissian power axe, a Tech-Priest's badge of office. Though she was still learning, though she was still by Natrius's side, she was now a full-fledged Tech-Priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and her master couldn't be more proud.
047 stood directly by her side, and Natrius couldn't but help roll his eyes and shake his head in resigned amusement at the sight. Though they certainly had a totally unique and never-seen-before relationship, he thought it was… interesting. Purely for scientific purposes and the further modification of skitarii, of course.
As further skitarii of Adas hustled towards the breach to help support the Iron Fist Terminators (though Natrius didn't actually think Lord Verchen needed help), Chief Librarian Modiar and Operative Lawson threw out another highly explosive combination of biotics and Warp lightning.
Lawson was another addition to the eclectic nature of Adas. Though there were many ex-Cerberus personnel serving the Mechanicus, Lawson was one of Natrius's top agents. Her old work for Cerberus prepared her well for her work, and Miranda herself enjoyed working for the eccentric but kindly Natrius over the calculating and ruthless Illusive Man.
Natrius smiled as he swirled his phosphor blaster around a finger and unleashed a barrage of white-hot chemical fire into the incoming Dark skitarii.
Back in front, Chapter Master Verchen swung his hammer in a huge horizontal arc, sweeping away a press of Husks from the Fists's lines. Behind him, the skitarii of Adas rushed to add their firepower to stop the breach. The Terminators gave another almighty push, shoving back the Reaper forces with their locked shields. Somewhere behind the Chapter Master, two Quarian Tech-Priests added their weight to the fight as his Chief Librarian meshed his powers flawlessly with the element zero energy of a normal human woman. The Fabricator General of the forge was here in person, blasting away with a multitude of mechadendrite-wielded weapons. At least he was here. There were far too many Magi of the Cult Mechanicus that would be holed up in their offices in similar circumstances.
One thing was for certain, Verchen knew. This was by far the strangest forge world he'd ever been on.
At least they were winning.
oOo
"Garrus, Camivia, Protocus, good to see you all," greeted Primarch Fedorian warmly, reaching out his hand. Garrus took it and shook it, grinning. It was good to see the Primarch safe and sound.
"Good to see you too, Primarch," said Camivia, reaching out her own hand. Apparently, all three of the newly-arrived Turians shared the same sentiment.
They were on Palaven, having slipped through the Imperial Navy cordon that still, thankfully, controlled the void. Garrus was momentarily saddened and frightened at the thought of his friends back on Earth, and the ruin they must have been experiencing, but quickly shook his head to clear his thoughts. There was enough ruin on Palaven, and he had to focus on the here and now.
Legio Tempestor had come, and the war on the ground… Well, the less said about it, the better. Already, the Hierarchy high command was drawing up an emergency plan for orbital bombardment if things didn't get better. Such an action would probably irreversibly ruin the planet, but it was better than every soldier on the ground dying.
Until then, the combined Imperial and Hierarchy forces would hold out, hoping for a better option. Hopefully the Imperium would send another Titan Legion to combat Tempestor, but until then, they were stuck with the ten remaining Titans of Pallidus Mor, the rest of House Vulker, the Steel Legion and Tank Legions super-heavy armor, the Aeronautica Imperialis and Hawk Lord air support, and, last but not least, the nuclear option. It wasn't looking good.
"I'm sorry to have to draw you away from the Normandy and the war on Earth, but you are some of my top commanders and the war for Palaven takes precedence," said Fedorian apologetically after they had all been acquainted. Garrus and the others nodded in reply. It was their duty as generals of the Hierarchy to be on Palaven. Garrus knew it, and he knew that Shepard, Tali, and the others understood it. It was their duty as soldiers- nothing more, nothing less.
"What's the situation here?" asked Protocus briskly, starting the conversation for the real reason they had come. Fedorian only sighed in response.
"It's bad. I won't lie. It's really bad," he replied. "As you all know, Legio Tempestor basically has free reign. Even with Hawk Lord, Mechanicus, and Imperial Guard support, we're losing ground rapidly. The Steel Legion is mounting a mechanized counter-attack on Tempestor's flanks; hopefully they can harry the Titans or gain some ground, but there isn't much else we can do. Vulker and the remnants of Pallidus Mor are resupplying to do whatever they can, and the Hawk Lords are jumping from hot spot to hot spot, trying to stem the tide wherever they can." Fedorian's tired eyes regarded the generals carefully. "If you have any ideas, I'm open to suggestions," he remarked dryly.
"I don't think there is much else we can do," said Garrus mournfully. "We continue the fight, and hope the Imperials can come up with reinforcements… or use the last resort." Suddenly, Garrus realized what Exterminatus truly was. Damn this war, for killing his friends, his people, and for finally making him understand the tragedy that was the Imperium.
"Indeed," replied Fedorian. Camivia and Protocus nodded in agreement. There wasn't much else they could do, besides wait for reinforcements and hope the Imperials could pick off an enemy Titan here or there. The Primarch sighed. "Well, I guess there's nothing more to be done besides fight… and die for the cause," he said with a fatalistic grin. The other Turians, even Garrus, who had never much been one for Hierarchy platitudes or the idea of duty, grinned back. "Let's go join the front lines."
So saying, Fedorian turned and left the bunker they were in to retrieve his weapons and armor. The three remaining generals looked at each other. Protocus broke the silence.
"Well, I guess this is it," he said with a sigh. "It's been an honor to know both of you." He stuck out his hand. Garrus and Camivia took it. "I'll… uh, leave you to it then. Go check on my bolter," he coughed lamely before exiting the room.
Garrus and Camivia stared at each other for the briefest of moments before both rushing together. Pressing their foreheads together in a Turian kiss, Garrus sighed. Despite the fact they would serve on the battlefield side by side, this might be the last time he ever got to hold her, the last time he ever got to kiss her.
"Garrus…" Her voice cracked. She looked up at him, foreheads still pressed together. "Garrus… Thank you for loving me. Thank you for being the only person who really does." Her confession out in the open, Camivia shuddered against him, pulling him even closer.
"I love you," he replied. "You are worthy of love; far more worthy of it than a broken man like me," he replied with a small laugh. She stepped back, about to rebuke him for his lack of self-respect, but he grinned to show he was teasing. "So I think we're a little less broken together. And I think I want it to end that way. No matter what comes, we'll be together on the field. Side by side. Me and you; my rifle and your biotics. As it should be." As it should be. No words ever felt so right.
"So we go down together," she said with a grin. Garrus playfully pushed her shoulder.
"Yep. And if the Hierarchy goes down with us… Let it be known it was the most noble end in history."
As one, they strode from the room.
Together.
oOo
"God-Emperor on His holy Throne!" spat Colonel Reichen as she turned in a full circle, surveying the mess around her. Steel Legionnaires fought desperately, kneeling in the dust of Palaven's destroyed cities, reloading and firing and reloading again as they desperately tried to stave off the incoming enemy hordes.
The 59th Steel Legion had been ordered to push up through Palaven upon ground that had been theirs only days before in a desperate attempt to stem the tide of the Dark Mechanicum. Legio Tempestor was somewhere off to the east; where, precisely, Colonel Reichen did not know.
This operation was supposed to be easy. (Well, as easy as things could get in the present situation.) The Steel Legion was supposed to flank around in a lightning-quick armored attack, thrashing whatever Reaper forces they could find. Buying time for the Turian and Graian skitarii center, they were to harass, destroy, and generally cause whatever mayhem they could in this wide sweeping thrust. If they ran into Tempestor, they would retreat. It was that simple.
However, that idiot General Melcom had somehow managed to screw the whole thing up. No doubt he was back in headquarters, boots kicked up on his desk, ponderously trying to figure out precisely how an armored thrusting column operating by itself with no support and no intelligence could possibly be outmaneuvered by a far superior enemy force. Throne damn that idiot!
However, despite Melcom doing his very best to screw things up as idiotic superiors were want to do, Colonel Reichen would be damned if she didn't pull her men out of this. Melcom and whatever morons inhabited headquarters could rot. Legio Tempestor could rot. The Steel Legion would see this through.
Around her, the tanks and other armored vehicles of the 59th were arrayed in a defensive circle, all blasting outward with whatever ordinance they had to try and stem the massive incoming tide of cackling Reaper and Dark Mechanicum monstrosities. Leman Russ Punisher gatling cannons roared, spewing thousands upon thousands of bolters shells per minute at the charging enemies, turning them into so much bloody and rotted pulp on the cold earth. Exterminator autocannons pulverized the larger Marauders, Brutes, Banshees, and skitarii, spraying black and red mist across the battlefield as the explosive shells vaporized their targets. The normal battle tank main guns fired as fast as they could, obliterating entire columns of Husks with single blasts.
As the enemy forces got into ever-closer ranges, they had to contend with the overwhelming lasgun, bolter, plasma, and autocannon fire of the Steel Legionnaires combined with the mammoth close-range firepower of the Eradicator and Demolisher tank patterns. Nova shells exploded with the force and heat of stars, while nearly hilariously large-caliber Demolisher shells bowled over dozens of Husks and Brutes alike.
The tanks and the troopers were not the only ones fighting for their lives. Whirring around the Legion's defensive barricade of armor were the lighter vehicles, all jockeying for position and moving around as swiftly as their chassis would allow them. Speed and constant movement was key for the lighter vehicles in an armored battle, even one as surrounded and defensive as the 59th was in. To stop or slow was to die.
Sentinel walkers pounded away with whatever light weapons they had, dancing in and out of the Reaper lines upon their two legs. Reichen always marveled at how the Sentinels moved: one wouldn't think of it by first seeing them, but they actually had nearly as wide a range of motion as any human or other biped. They could jump, spin, swerve, and dodge… or, at least they could in the hands of a very capable pilot. At least all of the 59th's Sentinel pilots were capable. Too bad they wouldn't let anyone forget it.
A Sentinel moved in and out of a group of Husks surrounding a Brute, chainsword mounted on the front of its chassis darting. It ripped apart the Brute in a fountain of gore, neatly pirouetted on a Husk's head, and moved to seek another target elsewhere. Multi-lasers, las cannons, bolters, flamers, and other weapons blasted, tore apart, vapourized, and crisp-ified skitarii, Husks, and Cannibals in their multitudes.
Moving more slowly around the 59th's perimeter of adamantium and steel, the modified Chimeras unleashed their weapons of flame and toxic gas. Hellhounds spewed cleansing fire, burning legions of shambling monstrosities to crisps as Devil Dogs punched huge melta rounds through the largest and toughest of enemies.
However, the largest linchpins of the beleaguered defenders were, of course, the famous Steel Legion super-heavy armor. They only had two, but two were enough. Steel Hive, the Stormlord, added the overwhelming firepower of its gatling-style vulcan mega-bolters to the fray, eviscerating anything that came close. Hero of Hades, the Doomhammer, rarely used its magma cannon for fear of its monstrous heat incinerating nearby Legionnaires, but when it got a clear shot, entire waves of enemies were simply erased from existence. Both had come as line breakers and troop carriers, and even now, their huge armored holds were being used by the medics to treat the alarmingly-increasing number of wounded.
As Colonel Reichen breathed in the stale recycled air from her gas mask, she took in the sight, sound, and feel of the battle around her. They were lasting, yes, but they were surrounded and cut off from supplies and reinforcements. It would only be a matter of time before the endless numbers of the Reapers and Dark Mechanicum took their toll. They had to get out before it ever came to that.
Looking around, Reichen casually blasted away with her laspistol at an incoming wave of Husks. She didn't wait to see the results; instead, her eyes scanned around her for the Officer of the Fleet accompanying the 59th. No doubt Melcom would further destroy things if she asked him for reinforcements, or perhaps none would be forthcoming. She had to find another way out of this predicament.
Reichen's eyes fell upon a Tech-Priest fixing a broken Chimera tread, then another walloping a Brute with his (or hers, maybe, or its; Tech-Priests were weird) huge Omnissian power axe. Commissar Toyi was firing his bolt pistol at a Marauder. Nearby, a gas-masked duo reloaded their autocannon to turn it on a thrashing skitarii. A Leman Russ fired its main gun, and a group of Husk limbs went flying through the air.
Finally, Reichen found who she was looking for. Huddled together with the regiment's vox team was the blue-coated, gold-braided, epauletted Officer of the Fleet.
The Officer of the Fleet was an Aeronautica Imperialis officer attached to a Guard unit in order to coordinate Aeronautica and Imperial Navy attack craft and transports. He was the air liaison officer; an utterly invaluable role to any army. And right now, Colonel Riechen couldn't think of anything better to help the 59th.
"Officer Westron!" she roared over the din of squealing skitarii, exploding bolter shells, and the almighty booms of the heavier tank guns. Westron looked up from his portable vox, eyes tired and blue uniform stained by dust.
"Colonel," he replied politely, saluting and nodding his head in greeting. "What can I do for you?" he asked as Reichen returned the salute.
"Hull flash," she replied. Around them, Steel Hive's multitudes of huns opened up. Somewhere, a Chimera exploded, hit by a biotic blast. Westron's eyes widened.
"Hull flash? Are you sure, Colonel?" he asked. Reichen frowned, irritated, behind her mask.
"Yes I'm sure!" She spun and snapped movement orders to another passing officer, then turned back to Westron. "This is the only way we get out of this. You need to coordinate that firepower enough to provide us with an escape corridor. Can you do it?" Westron looked momentarily stunned. "Can you do it?" repeated Reichen again, more urgently.
"...yes! Yes I can do it," said Westron, shaking himself out of his thoughts. Reichen punched his shoulder.
"Good man. Get to it," she ordered, before storming off to redirect a group of Chimeras, Steel Legion greatcoat swirling in the dust behind her. Westron looked down at his vox before taking a deep breath and putting the transmitter to his mouth.
"Hull flash! Hull flash! I repeat, hull flash!"
oOo
"Hull flash?" Captain Postilius of the Hierarchy Army turned to Major Vyrne of the Steel Legion. Around them, dozens of different individuals of two distinct species wearing seemingly hundreds of different uniforms bustled about. Tech-Priests in the bright scarlet robes of Graia huddled over machines or daubed computer banks with oil, much to the bemusement of watching Turians. Various Minervan, Steel Legion, Aeronautica Imperialis, Imperial Navy, and both Hierarchy Army and Navy personnel went in and out of the massive room carrying papers, equipment, and other missives.
It might have been odd to see the stalwart forces of the Imperium of Man working directly alongside xenos, but it was a necessity. The allied forces had to be coordinated somehow; to do otherwise was to invite defeat. It was Palaven Central Command's duty to avoid such an outcome.
Besides, as Major Vyrne had been finding out over the last several weeks, the Turians actually weren't so bad. They were calm, professional, and, unlike the xenos he had heard about from his home galaxy, perfectly polite and kind. Shockingly, they seemed to have no desire to do anything other than work alongside humanity to retake their home. Vyrne, being from Armageddon, could understand that sentiment.
Palaven Central Command itself was large, dotted with enough cogitator banks, holoprojectors, and voxes to give a Tech-Priest enough to do for decades. Each group had their own stations, though they often overlapped due to the chaotic nature of the war and the realities of a combined arms approach.
As of now, Vyrne was working alongside the Hierarchy Army to figure out a defense for the common soldiers on the ground. However, both had been close enough to hear the desperate vox transmission going to the Steel Legion station nearby.
"Hull flash is an emergency call for air support," explained Vyrne to his Turian counterpart even as more Steel Legion officers hustled over to receive the call. "It means an Imperial unit's been overrun… and calls in every available combat aircraft for support." Postilius's eyes widened.
"Spirits," he murmured. Vyrne looked over to where General Melcom stood, agitatedly running his hands through his brown hair. The major rolled his eyes. Everyone knew Melcom was an idiot, and whatever situation was brewing was probably his own fault.
"Hull flash confirmed," replied an Aeronautica vox operator calmly. There were more people clustering around Melcom's station, and fewer coming and going, making room for the central officers.
"...but we can't just go and do…" Vyrne looked over to where Melcom was arguing with a subordinate and slowly shared a conspiratorial grin with his Turian counterpart. Idiot senior officers were a constant in any army, it seemed.
"What in the nine blazing hells of frakkin' Certus is going on here?" came a new voice, cutting through the dull chatter of the room like a chainsword through a grox. Both Vyrne and Postilius whirled around at its sound.
Walking through the entrance of the command room, boots ringing authoritatively on the ground, black greatcoat swirling ominously, red cybernetic eye glaring balefully, was Lord Commissar Hale. Postilius gulped. As a Turian, he tried to avoid the political officers of the Imperium as much as possible. However, working in Central Command meant he knew precisely who Hale was: Commissar of the entirety of the Steel Legion present on Palaven.
His face covered in scars from countless forgotten battles, his hair a slicked-back and uniform white, eye long gone and replaced by a terrifyingly intimidating cybernetic, Hale was everything a Commissar should be. A human saying, one that Postilius quite liked, came to his mind: beware an old man in a profession where men die young.
Right now, Lord Commissar Hale's full undivided attention was on General Melcom. He advanced slowly, menacingly, towards the commander.
"Am I to understand that an entire armored column that was supposed to be taking the enemy's flank has been cut off and surrounded because they were not only unsupported, but also under-supplied and put in the wrong location?" demanded Hale. His shining black boots rang out crisply in the sudden silence of the room. Melcom almost whimpered.
"Well, you see, it's… We were trying…" The general tried to come up with some excuse before Hale raised a gloved hand.
"Enough." His voice cracked like a whip, making the nearby officers, regardless of their station and uniform, wince. "Heresy is not only spawned from corruption, but from laxity as well as incompetence." So saying, Hal slowly drew his bolt pistol. Melcom's eyes went as wide as saucers as he slowly stepped away, babbling.
"No, please… I… it… it was…"
"In the name of His Divine Majesty, the God-Emperor of Mankind," interrupted Hale, cocking his bolt pistol ominously, "By the authority of the Commissariat and by the grace of the Golden Throne, I judge thee treasonously and dangerously incompetent, and thereby sentence you to death."
"Please!" Hale leveled the gun.
"May the Emperor have mercy upon your soul." He pulled the trigger.
The explosion, even though they both had been expecting it, was so sudden and loud it made Vyrne and Postilius flinch. Hale's shot simply vaporized Melcom's head, decorating the computer bank behind the ex-general with a red wash. Hints of brain slid down a monitor. Somewhere in the back, a Tech-Priest sighed mournfully; not for the general, but rather for the computer.
"Clean up this mess," ordered Hale as he re-holstered his pistol, gesturing to the Stormtroopers standing guard at the doorway. They made their way down the stairs and unceremoniously dragged the general's now lifeless and headless corpse out the door. Hale's eyes scanned the room. "Who's the highest-ranking Steel Legion officer here?" he snapped. Nearby, a few officers tried to scoot away, but were stopped by the Commissar's iron glare.
With a sudden horrible sinking feeling, Major Vyrne stood up, noticing all of the general's aides were Captains or below. It seemed the higher-ranking officers were elsewhere or out on the field- more testament to the late Melcom's inefficiency and insecurity.
"Congratulations," said Hale crisply, coming to the same conclusion as Vyrne. He stared at the Major. "You're now in charge." His eyes bored holes into Vryne. "Don't frak up." So saying, he turned and exited without a word. Vyrne sat down and looked over to Postilius.
"Well…" trailed off Vyyne. Postilius nodded sympathetically. The other Steel Legion officers looked over to their new commander.
"Orders, sir?" asked one. Vyrne sighed into his hands.
"First off, get that hull flash going, and get them all the air support they can. Pull them out, find out where Tempestor is, then reorganize." The officers saluted, then scrambled to their new tasks.
"Yes, sir!"
oOo
"Silver lead, this is PCC," came the voice over Gyric's vox. The Thunderbolt pilot adjusted her headset behind her heavy flight helm and tuned the controls in front of her. "Hull flash, you have new orders: divert to reference 582 and support the armored convoy. Further orders will be forthcoming when you get there. PCC out." Gyric turned her head to look at the rest of Silver Squardron behind her.
"You heard 'em!" she cried over the squadron vox frequency. "Turn right 40 degrees and divert to 582! Tally ho!"
oOo
"Scramble! Scramble! Scramble! Scramble!" The constant repetition of the order managed to sound even above the blaring alarm that announced it. All around the airfield, pilots raced to their aircraft, hurriedly strapping together the straps of their flight suits, adjusting boots, and pulling on helmets.
Servitors and Tech-Priests moved through the lines of Valkyries, Thunderbolts, and Marauder bombers, completing final checks and blessing the aircraft in the name of the Machine God. Pilots clambered up ladders and gangways, giving thumbs-up to their ground crews as fuel lines were disconnected and cockpit canopies shut.
Already, the first aircraft were away: a squadron of Thunderbolts that had been standing ready in case of enemy activity. They streaked across runways one after the other, close and fast enough to give any air traffic controller a heart attack. Behind them, Valkyries took off vertically, rear ramps shutting as they slowly lifted off then hurtled away.
The Marauders took longer. Bomb bays had to be loaded, ammunition fed to the point-defense guns, and larger checks had to be completed. Crews were briefed, and hoped the larger payloads of the bombers would be able to reach the beleaguered soldiers in time.
In the cockpit of the Victorious Victory, lead craft of Victory Squadron (its crew had a sense of humor), Captain Utraen looked over to his copilot. Both were clad in the heavy flight suits and tinted masks of their profession as they double-checked everything in the aircraft.
"Are we ready?" asked Utraen. His copilot nodded.
"We are. Good thing we were kept on close alert in case they spotted the Titans. Victory Squadron is locked, loaded, fueled, and ready to roll, sir," he replied with a thumbs-up. Utraen nodded and smiled behind his mask. Time to bring pain to the traitors.
oOo
Brother-Sergeant Hydradian's violet armored glove reached up and flicked a few switches located atop the cockpit of his Stormtalon. In front of him, the wide expanse of Palaven's horizon spread before the might of his craft. Three more Stormtalons of the Hawk Lords flew in perfect formation to his front and sides. Each was armed with enough firepower to annihilate entire armored columns of traitors, or even entire armies of slower-moving creatures. Each was piloted by the very best pilots of the Marine Chapter most known for its air power. Whatever enemies of Guilliman and the Emperor came their way stood no chance.
"We hear your plea, and acknowledge," rumbled Hydradian over the vox. His augmented ears picked out a small sigh of relief on the other end. He wondered why. Perhaps the mortal thought the Hawk Lords would not come to the Guard's aid?
Perhaps. There were other chapters that might not, but the Hawk Lords knew enough about combined arms tactics to know better.
"Copy that, Talon Flight-4," replied the voice of the Central Command air controller. "Divert to reference 582, and keep the channel open for further instructions. PCC out." Hydradian flicked another switch for his flight's communication channel.
"Brothers, our duty is clear. Divert to reference 582 and prepare to support the Steel Legion." A chorus of affirmatives rang over the vox. Hydradian turned the Stormtalon's control stick and the gunship peeled off and dove forward, hungry for a fight.
oOo
"Valkyrie-993 lead, this is PCC, hull flash, repeat, hull flash," came the voice over the Valkyrie's interior vox. Lieutenant Andros pressed the transmit button in her mask.
"Copy PCC," she replied. "Hull flash acknowledged. Awaiting instructions." Next to her, Lieutenant Quiess thumbed the controls, ready to take the gunship wherever it was needed.
"Valkyrie-993 lead, divert to reference 582 to support the Steel Legion. Keep the channel open for further instructions. PCC out."
"Well, looks like we have a close air support mission," muttere Quiess.
"Yep," sighed Andros. She pulled the controls, banking towards the reference point. "Tally ho!" she couldn't help but yell. Next to her, Quiess shook his head with a smile and sigh.
oOo
"We have craft stacked up every thousand feet, from three to forty-five thousand! We'll get 'em, Colonel!" called Officer Westron to Colonel Riechen as a nearby Leman Russ let loose with its main cannon. Reichen's eyes widened behind her mask as she fired her laspistol into a press of Husks. From what she could gather from Westron, their support was going practically wingtip to wingtip. That was a lot of aircraft.
Around them, the press of Reaper and Dark Mechanicum forces was growing exponentially. They needed out now, before things could get worse. Hopefully Tempestor wouldn't arrive…
High above, a flight of Thunderbolts announced their arrival with the scream of jet engines. Without hesitation or pause, they banked and dove directly at the hordes of creatures besieging the 59th. Reichen grinned. Much like the Sentinel pilots, the Aeronautica pilots were cocky bastards, but they always came through when it counted.
A squadron of Valkyries unleashed their rocket pods on a charging line of skitarii, eviscerating them. The whine of jet engines sounded even above the rattle and zip of bolter and lasgun fire.
"What's the plan now, Colonel?" yelled Major Tauber over the din. Both officers blasted away at a group of Husks. Dammit, they were close! Reichen turned to her second-in-command.
"We get the air support to clear away what they can, stop the press, and get the convoy moving!" she replied. Reichen winced as Steel Hive unleashed a storm of bolter shells, drowning out even the Valkyrie jets. "They clear a path and cover us as we pull out. We move fast and clear. Understood?" One of the nearby Chimeras exploded. Reichen and Tauber covered their heads, wincing.
"Yes, Colonel!" replied Tauber swiftly. He turned and started to bark out orders to the nearby APC drivers and other assorted soldiers littering the center of the 59th's defensive perimeter.
"Officer Westron!" called Reichen.
"Yes, Colonel?" came the shouted reply.
"Can you get the air support to clear out the area? We need to get the convoy moving again!"
"Yes, Colonel!" Reichen nodded.
"Good! Get to it!" Westron nodded and immediately turned back to his vox. Reichen surveyed the battlefield for a moment before pushing the button that activated the comm bead built into her mask.
"Be ready to mount up!" she ordered. "All drivers and pilots, be ready to leave! All troopers, stand by your assigned stations! We will be leaving as soon as possible!" Snapping her comm bead off, she took up her laspistol and fired a few potshots at a skitarii. A tank turned its bolter on the unfortunate creature, turning it into jellified mush.
High above, a group of lithe gunships, painted in the unmistakable violet and gold of the Hawk Lords, dove forward. They fell like stones, only to pull up seemingly only meters above the Legionnaire's heads, hovering in VTOL. They spun in place and unleashed a hurricane of rockets and bolter shells, smashing through anything that dared to come to try and defeat the Steel Legion.
A lascannon shot flew up from somewhere beyond the skitarii lines, blasting towards one of the Hawk Lord gunships. Reichen watched, open mouthed, as the gunship seemed to flicker in midair, jinking out of the way of the shot, only to spin around and retaliate with a perfectly-aimed rocket.
As the Aeronautica and Hawk Lord air power continued to blast away, the press of enemies fell away. Reichen grinned. It was working. Behind her, there was an almost inaudible sighing groan as Westron was hit in the stomach by shrapnel. Blood dripped on the vox as he doubled over, clutching his abdomen. Reichen gestured to the nearby troopers.
"Pick him up and put him in a transport!" she ordered. Westron didn't protest. He groaned in agony as the troopers' movement jostled his wound. "We're getting out of here!"
Above, Thunderbolts dove and weaved, strafing the Reaper forces on the ground and pulling away to allow even more firepower to take their place. The Valkyries and Stormtalons formed a protective perimeter above, adding even more overlapping firepower to the vehicles already on the ground.
A dull, thrumming hum permeated the air, seeming to shake even the ground beneath. Colonel Reichen looked up to see the black forms of a sea of bombers high above. She smiled.
"59th, move out!" she yelled over the din. Vehicles growled as their engines roared to life. The troopers scrambled back into their transports. Steel Hive took its place at the front of the convoy. As the Stormtalons and Valkyries roared overhead, accompanied by the streaking forms of Thunderbolts, the 59th began to finally, finally, move. Marauder squadrons began their bombing runs in the distance, the power of their explosive payloads shaking the earth. It had been a close thing, reflected Reichen, but with the powers of the various Imperial military branches combined, they had managed to pull through.
oOo
Commissar Savron cursed as he kicked back a Husk and shot it through the head. The bolt pistol's kick jarred his wrist, throwing his hand back even as his target exploded in a shower of gore. Savron didn't even look back as he turned to another Husk, blowing it away. He fired and turned and fired again until his bolt pistol was empty. Cursing once more, he reloaded, jamming a fresh magazine into the weapon's hungry maw.
Steel Legionnaires blasted away with their lasguns at the seemingly ever-increasing press of enemy monstrosities, accompanied by the telltale whine of Turian mass-accelerator weaponry. It had been odd (treasonous, blasphemous) to see the soldiers of the Imperial Guard fight side-by-side with xenos, but now Commissar Savron didn't even register it. This was a fight for survival itself, and the Turians, though xenos, were putting every iota of effort in the battle.
(Heresy, yes, but it had been ordained by the High Lords of Terra themselves that they work with xenos, so was it truly heresy? A thought for another time. Commissar Savron let it go.)
But, regardless of what he had been taught all his life or what he had been learning in his days in this new reality, this situation was, to put it bluntly, frakked up.
They were on the allied defensive line, fighting whatever came their way. The Turian and Imperial forces had been pushed back all over the planet by the destruction of Legio Pallidus Mor, and Savron's brigade was no different. The Commissar didn't precisely know where they were at the present moment, or the greater strategic plan for the destruction of the traitors and the reconquest of this world. All he knew was the whine and zip of gunfire, the screams of the wounded, and the constant, muscle-straining jerk of his bolt pistol as he fired it.
A Chimera traversed the line, blasting away with its autocannon and heavy bolters. A Steel Legion lascannon team sighted a Brute and let loose with their weapon, vaporizing it. Somewhere behind Savron, a Turian medic worked on xeno and Legionnaire alike, alternating between levo and dextro medical supplies with breathtaking speed and accuracy. What once would have been a bile-raising sight for Savron, a filthy xeno entrusted to caring for the dedicated soldiers of the Throne, now only caused grudging respect. The xeno medic was very good. It… she… had kept many a Legionnaire alive when they otherwise wouldn't be.
However, as Savron looked out on the hordes of corrupted monstrosities coming his way, firing his sidearm all the while, he knew they would have to do something soon. Muttering to himself, he activated his comm bead… only to receive static.
Throne dammit.
That was not good. Turning, greatcoat swirling, he made his way down the firing line, passing Legionnaire and Turian alike, his presence both a malignant and reassuring shadow to the troops.
"Vox operator!" he roared, trying to ignore a stacked pile of bodies next to him. There was something both inherently wrong and strangely poetic of both human and Turian soldiers lying side-by-side in death.
"Yes, Commissar?" replied the vox operator, looking up from where he was desperately fiddling with his equipment. Next to him was Enginseer Viquen, the regimental Tech-Priest.
"What's going on with the vox system? The comm beads aren't working," said Savron, checking to make sure his pistol was topped off. To the Commissar's surprise, it was Viquen who replied.
"We are being jammed, Commissar," came the strangely metallic voice of the Enginseer. A mechadendrite plucked at his red robe agitatedly. "The hereteks are overriding our systems. For what reason I do not know, but I can surmise it is not a good one. Unfortunately, I can do nothing," he finished mournfully.
"Dammit!" cursed Savron again. What to do? He didn't know where the regimental officers were, and neither did he have the time to find them nor could he contact them over his jammed comm bead. They couldn't retreat, for that might leave a hole in the lines. Information and communication were so incredibly important, and without them, Savron and the brigade were lost.
The Commissar thought for a moment, scanning the lines, before making a decision. Stepping forward, he grabbed a Steel Legionnaire by the shoulder and shoved whoever it was out of the firing line. He held up a finger, ordering them to wait, then grabbed a Turian trooper.
"You and you," he said, pointing to each in turn. "Are going to be runners. Our comms are being jammed. You," he pointed to the Legionnaire, "Are going to go southeast and find the 117th artillery, and ask them for fire support. You," this was directed to the Turian, "Are going to go south and slightly west to Turian local command, give them this sitrep," he handed the xeno a piece of scribbled paper, "And ask them for the overall strategic plan. Come back here as soon as possible, and if we're not here, go find another unit and attach yourself to them. Your passes," he said curtly, handing them each a paper. This would show they were acting on orders of the Commissariat, not deserting. "Get going!"
Angela Kyrtos turned to Nictus Faldros, looking up at him in shock. How odd they had both been chosen. Random circumstance, she supposed. She hadn't had any time to think about him or… anything else involving what had happened in that tent seemingly so long ago. The war and arrival of additional Dark Mechanicum forces took precedence, and the idea of survival through any other thoughts from her mind.
However, even now, Nictus gave her a look that said, stay safe, please, before turning and running away from the line and towards the south as fast as he could go. There was a pang of… something she couldn't identify as she saw him go, and she suddenly realized this might be the last time she saw him, and this wasn't the last time she wanted to see him. She swallowed behind her gas mask.
Already, Commissar Savron had turned back to the battle. She looked around once more before taking off in the direction he had instructed. Hopefully they'd see this through. Hopefully Nictus would see this through. She didn't particularly care if she died, but, for some strange reason, she wanted him to live.
oOo
There we have it! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Things are going well on Rannoch and Adas, and not so well on Palaven. A traitor Titan Legion will do that to you. I am very excited for next chapter, because things are finally coming to a head, and the final battle shall commence between Hal in person and the forces of the Golden Throne. I can't wait to see you all there! Until then, I welcome any comments, criticisms, questions, concerns, or reviews!