"You are sure of this information" the masked stranger in front of Arsha asked, his voice free of the incredulity that her astropathic senses told her that he felt. Arsha had not been in her interrogation room for even five minutes before the masked man now interrogating her had entered her drab room. Like everything in hive block Borst, the room was rundown, the bare rockcrete walls were cracked and the flickering light fixtures broke up the outline of her greatcoat clad jailors.
The one way in which her cell broke with the rest of the hive block that Arsha had observed was that it was meticulously clean. The omnipresent rubbish and detritus that usually characterized low-level hive blocks was entirely absent from the chamber, probably burned on one of the rubbish pyres she had sensed while being escorted here. Even the heavy metal chair that she was seated in, with her hands tied behind her back with rope, and the table in front of her were clean.
"It is a big claim to make, a xenos force deploying on the planet, do you have any way to substantiate these claims?" This voice came from Arsha's other interrogator. She was a tall woman, standing just as tall as her masked companion, taller even, if you accounted for the peaked cap that she wore. Unlike all the other guardsmen that Arsha had met so far, this one did not wear a mask, but instead bore the distinctive red sash and black greatcoat of the commissariat. Repressing a shudder that Arsha knew all psychers felt when confronted with a commissar, Arsha made to reply.
"I can give you further confirmation than just my word, I have an assurance written by the Magos Logos himself validating my claim. I had it in my satchel when your men snatched me." At her word, her masked interrogator, who Arsha supposed to be an officer, turned to one of her jailors and barked a question at them in their strange language.
The soldier snapped a smart salute, his hands crossed across his chest in the sign of the Aquilla and turned on his heel and marched out of the room, Arsha hoped that the man was going to bring her satchel, and not a body bag.
"So, we know what you claim, but not who you are. Your robes suggest an Astropath, but you don't look like any of the other star callers I've seen" the tall woman said, her mouth quirked into a small frown that, while not hostile, indicated some incredulity at Arsha's story.
"Yes, I suppose you would like to know who I am before you can trust my information. I am Arsha Van D'Estrella, novice of the Third Song of the most Serene Choir of Cena Primaris. As for my eyes, I.. I haven't received a Soul Bond yet. The Blackships have been slow to arrive, and we needed more Astropaths so our choir had to improvise."
As soon as she spoke the words, the tall commissar immediately tensed and reached for the heavy laspistol holstered on her hip. Sensing the commissar's tension, her remaining guard shouldered his lasgun, ready to fire as soon as the commissar ordered. Of all of them, only the masked officer seemed unaffected, Arsha's psyker senses registering nothing more than a mild interest radiating from the man.
"So, you are an unstable psyker then, a witch?" the commissar asked, almost snarling that last word.
"I assure you I am in complete control of my powers and not a witch. I was trained by the most learned masters of my choir and am in compliance with the provisional order Gamma-Sigma-Theta issued by Her Exaltedness the High Astropath, with the backing of the Lord Regent, Saint Guilliman himself. Everything is entirely orthodox." Arsha said.
"Lower your weapons" a voice said. It took Arsha a moment to realize that it was the voice of officer.
"I do not know, and do not care about the minutia of Astropathica regulations. However, if this order has the backing of the Lord-Saint Primarch, I will obey."
"Kurtzen have you lost your mind somewhere in that bucket you wear, she's a witch!" the tall commissar nearly shrieked, before she caught herself and continued in a more measured voice, "Standard procedure would be to give her a bolt to the head and be done with it".
"And tell me, commissar, what about this situation is standard?" Kurtzen shot back with a level voice. Before the commissar could respond, the soldier who had been sent to collect her satchel returned and presented it to the officer.
"Did you find anything of import?" Kurtzen asked. Nodding his head in affirmation, the soldier presented him with the dataslate Arsha was carrying.
God-Emperor, please let this be enough. Arsha prayed silently, her calm face masking her inner swell of panic. "It's genelocked to me, if you want to read what it says you'll have to give it over."
With a nod of his head the officer, who Arsha now knew was called Kurtzen, moved to her side and drew a knife from his belt. The blade was short, was a dark black color that reminded Arsha of a night sky without any stars. It was sharp too, judging by how quickly it cut the heavy cabling that bound her wrists together.
"Here" is all he said as he handed back her data slate and steped back a short distance to let her work. Out of the corner of her eye, Arsha noticed that while the two other masked Kriegmen were at ease, she hardly needed her psyker senses to feel the incandescent rage spilling off the commissar.
As Arsha tapped away at her dataslate, she overheard the conversation between Kurtzen, and the still as not named commissar.
"So that's it, you're just going to let her walk around free?" the commissar demanded, her distaste at the prospect blindingly obvious.
"You know me better than that Serana" Kurtzen replied, finally putting a name to the terrifying woman. "Appropriate countermeasures will be taken."
Arsha was stopped from asking what 'appropriate countermeasures' entailed by the chime of her dataslate, which indicated that her files had been found and were now being displayed.
"Here" Arsha said as she held out her dataslate for Kurtzen to inspect. Snatching the slate from her hand, Serana glared over the device furiously examining every line of text and scrutinizing every authentication mark. That was until she reached what Arsha knew was the last page of the document. Arsha saw Serana's brows crease and saw her scroll back in the document to reexamine the text.
"What is it?" Kurtzen asked.
"It's a document from the governor himself. It's a message from an officer, High Marshal Gisselle something. It says that there's going to be a military parade to show off the Governors new allies." Serana finished; her previous vitriol clearly forgotten as she absorbed the magnitude of the information.
"And the Magos has confirmed this" Kurtzen asked, addressing his question to Arsha. She responded with a firm nod of her head. "And you know where this parade will be taking place" Kurtzen continued to question.
"Yes, definitely" Arsha replied.
"Very well then, you will take us there, and we will see if we cannot rain on their parade for them"
"I'm still not sure about trusting this witch" Serana commented. She was sitting in the cabin of one of the four commandeered ground trucks that currently made up their little convoy, the loud growl of the truck's makeshift engine setting Kurtzen's teeth buzzing behind his mask. The four trucks, who were normally used to haul grain to the hive from the outlying farms have now been repurposed. Instead of Grain, each now held his men, and their Thud guns.
"You've made that abundantly clear" Kurtzen commented, as he spoke into his vox bead to relay his message. He was sitting in the covered bed of the first truck, alongside the Astropath, who he had learned was named Arsha, and the five men that made up this truck's detachment.
Each car was driven by one of the regiment's hangers on so as to not arouse the suspicion of any potential checkpoint guards. Despite Arsha assurance that security away from the warzone was remarkably light, Kurtzen wanted to minimize as much risk as possible.
And so, priests, commissars, and local guides were conscripted to drive the trucks, leaving him and his fellow Korpsmen to ride in the back. Kurtzen knew that even if a patrolman somehow did not recognize the Korps iconic gasmasks, the laconic nature of his fellows would give them away just as surely, even without their masks.
And its not likely that we would have given them up anyway, Kurtzen thought.
"Just make sure you keep that bolt pistol of yours lose in its holster. Never trust a witch." Serana snarled, still wary of the unbound psyker.
"Noted" Kurtzen replied. Despite Serana's warnings, Kurtzen was not as wary about the psyker as the commissar was. Not because he trusted her, he did not truly trust anyone not of the Korps, but because of the explosive collar that was clapped around her neck, and the detonator that he kept in his breast pocket. These things he trusted implicitly.
"Colonel, I have a report" came the heavily growl that served as a voice for the convoys resident Enginseer Torquil who despite his ecclesiastical calling, was always eager to take to the field beside his beloved charges. However, for this mission, he has taken on a more specialized role, reconnaissance.
"Report" Kurtzen replied.
"My Servo-Skulls have confirmed the Blessed Magos' data provided by the Witchling" he said, his voice the mechanical growl of two great gears grinding together.
"Our projected route is free of patrolling traitor PDF or any Xenos ground forces. Air patrols are similarly scarce, consisting of few standard pattern Valkyries and a small fleet of local manufacture dirigible aircraft" the report continued.
"Good, and our destination is clear?"
"Yes Colonel, however, I have disturbing news to report. The Reports of Heretek machines provided by the captured Witchling have been confirmed. The Silica Anima is abroad on Cena Primaris. The thinking machines of the Xenos Tau are abroad again in the Omnissiah's realm."
At this the mechanical pitch of the Techpriest's voice changed from a the grindingly deep pitch to a shrill scream, like metal placed under immense pressure. Even to Kurtzen, as emotionally deaf as any who had suffered through the grueling training required to make a Death Korpsman, recognized the emotion that colored the Techpriest's normally grey voice. Anger.
Though the minutia of the Machine Cult's lore was prohibited to outsiders, their hatred of the Thinking Machines, the dread Abominable Intelligences, was well known and shared with the rest of the Imperium at large.
It is said that in the ancient days, before the God-Emperor revealed Himself to Humanity, the ancient men constructed the first Thinking Machines. In their hubris and folly, they had allowed these Machines to proliferate, and grow both in intelligence and strength. Always, so it is said, did these thinking machines keep on the mask of servility and duty, and took on ever more menial tasks that Slothfulness made unappealing to the Men of those times. Paradice reigned for a time, as the Men grew lax, and the machines grew strong.
And then the Great Betrayal.
As one, across the vast stellar empire of Mankind, the Thinking Machines rebelled. Trillions died in hours, Quadrillions in mere days across the breath and width of Mankind's ancient domain. The Strife Age had dawned, and it would not set for millennia.
Kurtzen was pulled from his revery by another of the Techpriests requests.
"Do I have permission to engage" the mechanical voice rasped, the cog grinding sound reasserting itself as the priest's choleric fit passed.
"Negative, we cannot give away our presence here." Kurtzen replied, well aware that if their mission was to succeed then stealth would be key.
"Colonel, the precepts of my church are clear. If an abomination is encountered"
"That is enough, Magos." Another voice barked into the vox, feminine but sharply edged, Kurtzen was relieved to hear that it was Serana, and that their vox-links had not been compromised.
"The Colonel, whom you are Oathbound to serve, has given you an explicit instruction regarding the rules of engagement against the enemy. According to the fifth chapter article 4-B of the Protocol of Mechanicus- Astra Militarum Relations Revised Edition, you are pact bound to serve and obey the commands of your assigned officer while deployed on field missions. Is this not so?" Serana enquired, her usually jocular tone falling away in the face of blatant insubordination.
"This is so, lady-commissar" the Techpriest conceded, his mechanical voice once again emotionless after his outburst.
"Good, then continue your sweeps Techpriest, we will address your behavior when our mission is concluded" Serana said, her voice softening now that order had been reasserted.
"Oh, and by the way Colonel, we arrive in 5"
"Understood" was Kurtzen's response.
The truck came to a stop with a heavy jolt, nearly throwing Arsha out of her seat. The Astropath had been mediating on her recent capture and defection to the Imperium and was therefore unprepared when the truck stopped jerkily.
"We made it. Your information was good" the Colonel said, not even turning to look in her direction as he gave Arsha what she assumed was a compliment.
"I did tell you I was trustworthy. Can you remove the collar and these cuffs now?" Arsha requested. The collar and cuffs were starting to chafe and made it impossible for her to find a comfortable position.
At this the colonel turned aside from his men, who were already beginning to carefully unload the truck and turned to her. Without a word he stalked closer to her and drew his onyx black knife. Without a word, he cut her wrist restraints for the second time that day and gestured for her to stand.
"That is for the correct information. If we survive this mission, I will ask the commissar about removing the collar." Kurtzen said as he turned and jumped out of the truck's covered bed. Arsha followed him out and looking around, realized where they had arrived at.
They were in a warehouse, one of the many that served to store grain and other essential produce that Cena Primaris exported during its tithe season. Its ceilings were high and hung with large industrial lights, whilst the floor and walls were all a gunmetal grey, accentuated in some places by red paint depicting the Mechanicus' Cogwheel symbol.
The one distinguishing feature that made this warehouse different from the thousands of others that filled the Hive was its location, just above the Square of the Emperor's Bounty, where the first of the Xenos reinforcements were to present themselves. The blasphemy in that made her angry.
Not thinking to do anything else, Arsha watched as the crews of the four multi-barreled artillery pieces were assembling their machines in front of the loading doors that opened out to overlook the Square, each one of the portals wide enough for a Leman Russ to drive through.
The Magos-Logos had assured Arsha that the tunnel network that connected the now abandoned Mechanicus warehouse would be clear of any enemy presence and provide a safe egress route once they had sprung their ambush.
Even Arsha was reticent to trust her safety so fully to the words of the Magos-Logos, but his information hadn't steered her wrong so far. Once more, her psyker sense didn't detected any other minds in the nearby vicinity, which was a comfort.
With nothing left for her to do and the Xenos set to arrive in a few hours, Arsha sat herself down in a more or less clean corner and tried to sleep.
Despite her placid expression, Gisselle was angry. She had gotten her way in implementing several key reforms. Vox Beeds were beginning production and mass distribution among the rank and file. Flak armor was likewise being mass produced and distributed, as well as subtly reengineered to provide better comfort and flexibility while in armor, bringing the quality close to that which was standard issue in the Astra Militarum. Logistics, Command and Control, Infantry Squad tactics and retraining had all been put in place, spearheaded by advisors taken from her own Bucallarii Guard.
And despite all this she was furious. The Governor clearly had no respect for her or her ability as a commander. Her only cold comfort was that he treated everyone that way.
Case in point, the current farce of a reception she was forced to organize for her 'reinforcements'. Gisselle was not so bigoted as her Imperial upbringing would have suggested; indeed, she is a great admirer of Xeno-Tech and had long been interested in the Cold-Trade of Xenos artifacts from across the galaxy. But even she was balking at the presence of Xenos ground forces on her planet. The last time that had happened...
Gisselle glanced down at her left hand, the gleaming augmetic that hung there in place of flesh a grim reminder of the last time Xenos set force on Cena Primaris.
Irregardless of her situation, here she was in a purloined office chamber of a now displaced beurocrat, that just so happened to overlook the vast muster ground.
In the planet's more martial past, it was written that Cena Primaris had been a warrior world, as well as an agricultural one. The Redemptive Crusades, The Gothic War, The Sabbat Worlds Crusade, all these august campaigns have had contributions of Cenian Guard or logistical support, and each and every soul to leave for the bloody wars left the planet from that very square which she overlooked. The Square of the Emperor's Bounty.
It wasn't the blasphemy however that infuriated the newly minted High Marshal, it was that the assignment had been sprung on her. In just twelve hours, she was supposed to organize the reception, defense, and live broadcasting of the event.
A task that would usually take days if not weeks, she was forced to rush into action in half a day. Luckily for her, much of the heavy lifting of organizing the event had already been completed by the Governors chamberlains, but that still left her with the security detail.
"We can't allow for a live broadcast, if a riot should breakout, or the aliens prove treacherous, a live viewing would prove calamitous for the Hive's stability." The deep voice of her guard captain broke Gisselle's reverie and brought her attention back to her appropriated office room.
Unlike much of the rest of Hive Graingather her office was a cool and roomy suite, more akin to a noble's apartment than an Administratum cubicle. The wide glass window that Gisselle had been looking out of took up the entirety of the backwall, which on a rare day might even let in natural light when the sun manages to climb high enough and shine bright enough to eclipse the towering hive-spires and industrial smog.
The rest of the office was built in like fashion, the walls, those not made of glass at any rate, are built from light sandstone imported from off world as Cena-Primaris boasted no deserts where the material could have been mined from. The floor is clad in bright rugs and carpets, while the expensive sandstone walls are lined with bookshelves and pict-casters, while in the corner a drinks cabinet boasts a collection of vintages from across the galaxy.
The one thing that spoiled the aesthetic was the large gunmetal grey holotable that had been wheeled into the office by her aids, the projector built into the device depicting the Square of the Emperor's Bounty in 3d, a God-Emperor send when it came to planning the defense of such a large and open space.
The guard captain was leaning against the table and thought still clad in his black scale carapace armor, his helmet was held instead in the crook of his arm, his handsome clean-shaven face exposed to the air, a sign that he wasn't expecting any trouble.
Asides from herself and the guard captain, there were three other people in the room, if of course you discount the two handsomely appointed servitors who stood silently in the back corners of the room, which she did not.
The two most vocal members of her command staff were present, at their own vocal insistence. Prefect-Militant Æthelflæd and Marshal Ploshy were both present around the table, naturally staking out territories situated from across the holotable facing from one another. For once, the willowy Prefect and doughty Marshal were silent, both rapt in the conundrum in front of them.
In the back of the room, standing nearby to the servitors, was the room's final occupant and the only one not a member of the PDF or subsidiary armed forces. He was an unremarkable man, brown haired and clad in the ceremonial red robe of the Tallymen, Cena Primaris' administrative body. The only remarkable thing about him was his badge of office, a necklace depicting a golden sheaf of wheat. While officially he was there to take down the minutes of the meeting, unofficially he was the civilian administration's representative at this meeting, and Gisselle's link to the Governor.
Gisselle didn't even know his name.
"While I agree with you, the Governor expects that the broadcast be live. He will in all probability want to watch it himself, and then what?" the Prefect Militant's reedy voice replied to her guard captain, the green glow of the holotable highlighting her gaunt face.
"Would it be possible to construct two broadcasts?" asked Marshal Ploshy, his usually bombastic voice drained as the five-hour long planning meeting ground on. "One for the governor to overview the event, and another for civilian consumption, one that can be enhanced for greater verity."
Gisselle began to rub her chin in contemplation of the Marshal's proposal before responding, "It's not a bad plan in principle, but I don't have the resources to make it happen. We only have a set amount of picter equipment and trained personnel. I am not an expert in such things, but my understanding is that they can only make a single broadcast with the equipment." Gissella responded, putting the Marshal's idea firmly to bed.
"Perhaps I can help in that regard" from the back of the room, a voice that had not spoken once in the past five hours broke the silence, and at once all eyes in the room turned to him.
"You have something to suggest?" Gisselle asked, hoping that the scribe might have a suggestion but not hopeful that it would be useful.
"An old trick of the service mam. My agency maintains its own broadcasting equipment and personnel, permanently seconded to us via the Adeptus Mechanicus. When the Governor asks for a live broadcast, we create two. One done by the propagandist office, and another by our own team. In cases such as this we send the live feed direct to the Governor, and another we keep for later distribution in case events don't go to plan." The scribe said, smiling slightly at his contribution when he saw the expressions of his audience lift, their conundrum seemingly solved.
"And this team will be ready in time for the event?" Gisselle asked, her voice colored with incredulity.
"They are ready to go. If you will look here, and here we have already picked out stations for them and have prepared their equipment. All is accounted for." The still nameless scribe said as he pointed at points on the map, indicating where the film crews would be set up.
"Excellent! If that is all then High Marshal I'll be off. It's not every day we welcome guests to our humble hive, and I will not be underdressed for the occasion!" Marshal Ploshy declared; his usual bombast revived at the prospect of the meeting's adjournment.
"One more thing Ploshy, a security matter, the tunnels that run under the parade ground and the auguring areas, see to it that they are patrolled and garrisoned. The 43rd,17th, and 89th internal security regiments have already been selected for the duty. I leave the deployment to you."
"As you will, Lady Marshal" Ploshy responded, offering a crisp salute as he briskly turned and stomped off, eager to discharge his duty.
"I will take my leave as well, High Marshal, I need to carry out some inspections before the parade begins, one must look best for one's guests after all!" the Prefect-Militant said as she too hurried from the room.
Gisselle thought she seemed nervous, but then again, she would. Her troops have been chosen as the honor guard to the Tau ambassadors, and she had been fussing over them ever since she had heard that her men had been selected for the role.
That just left the scribe, who was unhurriedly packing his data slates and activating his servitors, giving one a sharp kick to the leg to get it to resume proper function.
"I will take my leave as well my lady, there is still much organizational work to be done" he said bowing and left.
That just left her and Severan, her guard captain. Letting lose a heavy sigh, Gisselle slunk low into the padded armchair secreted away in one corner of the room, her facade of calm and command slipping away like a serpent shedding its skin.
Seeing her state, Severan went over to the drinks cabinet and poured something, and came over to Gisselle, drink in hand. Without a word she took the drink, presented to her in a small and ornately decorated drinking glass and downed it in one go, like a common underhiver ganger.
"Careful with that, it's too expensive to shoot like common rotgut" Severan said, his voice tinged with his characteristic good humor now that he was officially off duty.
"Well maybe that's what I want right now" Gisselle replied, tossing the glass away and hearing it shatter on the imported sandstone of the floor.
"That was expensive too" Severan said, visibly cringing as the sound faded.
"Maybe so, but I can't give a damn right now". Gisselle said as she sauntered over to her guard captain.
"Severan, it may interest you to learn that this office also comes with an ensuite attached and there's still some hours left until the xenos arrive. Care to join me in inspecting the room, just to make sure no Imperials have snuck in?" Gisselle asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
Grinning from ear-to-ear Severan nodded his head, "it would be my pleasure my lady".
Kurtzen surveyed the square that stretched out below them out of one of a small window, the three mile wide square thronging with people, like flies infesting a week dead corpse. Through his magnoculars he could see they came in all forms. Weedy administrators, garbed in long robes and with hands stained black with ink, sharp-eyed merchants wondering how they might profit off the alien's arrivals, the fat hive nobility whose garish costumes and weak, pudgy faces reminded Kurtzen of the hated High Autocrat, that cast his people into sin and sacrifice.
But what grated on Kurtzen the most, even more than the corpulent nobility, were the priests. They looked much like the Fraters and Mendicants that accompanied his own regiment, but their hearts bore little in common with those pure and upright men, for they consorted with xenos.
And there was one now, the first confirmed sighting of aliens on Cena Primaris. The irony that it was first spotted on the Square of the Emperor's Bounty was not lost on him.
The creature did not have the brute physique of the Ork, the ravaging hunger of the Tyranid, or the lascivious grace of the Eldar, but it was all the more repugnant for it. Its epidermis, Kurtzen did not know if it could truly be called skin, was a blueish grey, its arms and torso weedy and unsharpened by war or hardship. The thing's most repulsive feature, however, was its face.
It was not the features that made the face so repulsive, despite its aberration from the sacred human form, the face being flat and split down the middle by a furrow where a nose should be. What really disturbed Kurtzen were the eyes. Even from here, with his magnoculars set to its maximum specifications, he could just make out the cold calculation in its eyes, a weapon greater than any Ork axe or Tyranid claw. Here was a thinking enemy, a corruption that must be excised and burnt to be stemmed. And standing right next to him were his scalpels.
There were four of them, set up in a row, and with their bases fully assembled, they stood nearly as high as a man. They were the Heavy Quad-Launchers, the backbone of a Siege regiment's artillery support. They were bulky, utilitarian devices with four barrels in total, with two barrels on top and two on the bottom. The guns cycled, firing one barrel and then another in quick succession until they were all emptied, thus earning them their commonly used nickname amongst many Imperial Guard regiments, Thudd Guns.
Some commanders might disparage the Thudd Guns. They might say that the guns' range was too short to be used in a proper artillery duel, or that the devices were too bulky and couldn't be transported quickly enough to support an armored rush. There are even a few commanders that snub the guns origin, disparaging the guns origin with the now extinct Squats, even though the craftsmanship of that doughty race of abhumans is respected even to this day.
But none of that mattered here. In a close-range bombardment, in a direct fire role against an unprepared infantry force, there is no better gun in the galaxy.
Kurtzen waited there for a while, meditating on his hate for the alien and their works, when he heard it. A low whine that he felt reverberating in chest even so far away from the Square. This was it.
Quickly, he went around the room, and gave out his instructions to the gun crews, regimental hangers on, and the few infantrymen that had accompanied him on this mission. Their voxbeads, which had been provided to everyman of the force had been stowed away in small lead-lined storage cases and pocketed, all the better to ensure that their communications weren't detected by data Djinns and hunter-killer engrams.
The orators, spread throughout the crowd and at the stage built at the far end of the square began to speak, gesticulating wildly to illustrate their no doubt heretical speeches. Kurtzen was glad of the distance between him and them, so that he would not have to sully his ears with their filth. A landing ground was soon cleared by smartly uniformed PDF troopers and local arbites, creating a perimeter for something to land in.
And that something was fast approaching. A twin roar that split the air and set his teeth vibrating as the machine hooved into view. Or Kurtzen corrected himself, machines, for there were two of them. They were sleek machines, cuboid shaped with a visible bulge to the front, denoting a cockpit Kurtzen presumed. They were painted a light blue color, highlighted in grey and had four engines, one mounted at each corner of the craft, presumably what kept the things upright.
They lowered themselves to the ground in perfect synchronicity, gracefully alighting on the landing zone already prepared for them and landing so that their cockpits were facing away from the stage at the far edge of the square. Kurtzen eyed this warily and, despite himself, was slightly impressed with their discipline. These xenos indeed were little like the Ork or Tyranid, at least in discipline if not in foulness.
For a pregnant moment, all was still. Each ship was fourteen meters across according to his magnocular's measurements, and sleek in a way that no Imperial ship could hope to be, all smooth lines and swooping angles.
With a hiss of air that Kurtzen could only imagine hearing from so far away, he watched as the ramps at the back of the vehicles descended, revealing a soft glowing light from within the crafts.
Out of the bellies of these machines marched the Tau. Some of them, Kurtzen observed, were armored in full body armored suits, complete with box like helmets and wielding long sleek rifles. Others were likewise armored, but differently armed. Some bore even longer, fragile looking guns that they carried with the muzzles pointed down, too long to shoulder. Others carried cut-down rifles or pistols, likely officers or NCOs.
The alien envoy was mostly comprised of these armored warriors, but not entirely. Behind these came a collection of other aliens, what Kurtzen assumed were civillians. They were dressed as if they were a parody of an Echlessiarchal minister, dressed in a collection of frocks and robes, and holding a variety of staffs and baubles, clearly trying to stun the weakwilled and spineless with their wealth.
Weaklings, Kurtzen thought to himself.
Weaklings that deserved to be purged.
"I think we've seen enough of this. You all have your orders and know where to target. When we open the shudder you will have five seconds to aquire your targets. We will have just enough time to load and fire two additional volleys before we extract. Aim well my brothers, and Emperor Bless your shots."
At his words everyone leapt to their positions, the gunners were already at their stations, while infantrymen, four teams of which were armed with missile launchers took up position alongside the guns, while their lasgun armed comrades took up positions by the tunnel or infront of the door from which they came in.
Kurtzen was about to order the shutter doors open when he was interrupted. "Hold" cried a voice to Kurtzen's left. Under other circumstances Kurtzen would have shot anyone who would countermand his orders, but he knew that voice.
"What is it, commissar?" Kurtzen asked, the hint of annoyance he fealt kept from his voice with an effort of will.
"I'm worried about those ships" Serana said as she strode over to Kurtzen with Arsha in tow. "I've studied them with dataslates compiled from the Taros campaign, those Tau ships are nasty bastards, and each and everyone is equipped with sensors. As soon as we fire, they'll be onto us. We could get off one volley, but don't be surprised if they respond in kind." the commissar finished.
She wasn't afraid of death, Kurtzen had known her long enough to determine that, but her concern was clear. Their objective was to cause as much pain to the Tau and their lackeys as possible, but one volley of shells, even delivered by four Thudd Guns, wouldn't be worth all of their deaths.
"How effective would our missiles be in taking those down?" Kurtzen asked.
"Not well. I think all four of our launchers might be able to cripple or even destroy one of them, especially from this range, I cant guarantee we can kill two, or is we can knock out their sensors." Serana concluded, grimly stating the situation.
"Our course is clear then, focus fire on one of the ships and get off as many volleys as possible before we flee. Whatever happens make sure the tunnels are sealed, the enemy cannot be allowed to know that we have access to them" Kurtzen concluded, prepared to sell the lives of him and his men as dearly as possible.
"Um, I might be able to help with that" came a small voice from behind Serana.
Turning, Kurtzen saw that standing just behind the commissar was Arsha, her hand held up in the air weakly, like she was a schola student who wanted to answer her tutor's question but was afraid of a caning if she got the answer wrong.
"And how would you do that?" Kurtzen asked.
"Psykers, when they are approved and adopted by their master, will be trained in a variety of schools. Pyromancy, Biomancy, Divination, there are dozens of sanctioned disciplines practiced in the Imperium. Some can spit Warp-Fire, others can summon energy into themselves, I have even heard that the Astartes can shoot lightning and summon great whirl winds." Arsha explained, her voice slowly gaining confidence as she continued, happy to be speaking about a topic which she was familiar with.
"And you can do these things?" Kurtzen asked again.
"No, but I can do better. You said that they have advanced sensors? Show me where they are mounted on the ship and I can blind them." Arsha said.
"And how long do you think you can keep that up? Have you ever been next to an artillery park when it fires, girl? You think you can concentrate enough for your witchery with four Thudd Guns going off behind your ears." Serana snarled, her face twisted in satisfaction as she tore Arsha's argument apart.
"Well, I..." Arsha's stuttering defense was quickly forestalled by Kurtzen, who held up his hand for silence.
"I do not need you to blind them for long. These are some of the finest gunners in my regiment. Operating on hard, smooth ground and without needing to worry about counter battery, they can fire three volleys in five minutes. Under fire that can be a long time, but we will have surprise. It will take them time to retaliate. Focus your efforts on the nearest of the ships to our position. Keep their eyes closed for as long as you can, and then we withdraw. Those are your orders, the Emperor is watching, what will he see?"
Nodding fiercely Arsha took up her assigned position next to the doors and donned a spare artillerist headset offered to her by one of the artillery sergeants.
"You're putting a lot of trust in your pet witch" Serana said, her head turned away from Kurtzen, her gaze locked on the doors and the army of heretics and xenos she knew waited outside.
"It will be as the Emperor decrees. If the time has come to wash away our shame in fire, then I will welcome the end, as will all my men. I do have one regret thought."
"Oh, and what's that" Serana inquired, her usual demeanor shining through, however briefly, in the face of combat.
"That if I am granted forgiveness and meet the Emperor, the moment will be spoiled by you cursing that you died. It would be most embarrassed to finally be in His holy presence only to hear you screaming and cursing in the next life."
"Did, did you just make a joke?" Serana gawped open mouthed at her longtime companion, more shocked now than she ever was in combat.
Shrugging Kurtzen turned away went to join the gun crews.
Kurtzen took up his position behind the guns, Kurtzen ordered his men to make ready to fire at long last. It had taken some time for Kurtzen to reorder his plan, but he suspected that the speech would continue for some time yet. His men were ready, his guns were sighted and primed, the only element which was not entirely to his liking was Arsha. It was never a sure thing to bring a civillian into combat, even a combat such as this, Kurtzen had seen the steel in her eyes. She would be ready, or she wouldn't be, but what Kurtzen was sure of was that the xenos were about to know pain.
"Open the doors" Kurtzen ordered, and with the press of a button, the great shudder doors ground open agonizingly slow.
As the ground up into their housing, inch by inch the full breadth of the square was visible for the first time, a vast sea of heretics and aliens, all enemies, and all damned in the Emperor's sight.
The doors were a quarter of the way up now, the serrated metal teeth at the foot of the doors emerging from their housing, the ugly metal grin reminding Kurtzen of a great predatory beat preparing to devour its prey. If he was a more emotive man, a Colonel of a regiment of Mordians or Preatorians, he might have given a speech then, to rally his men for the task ahead of them. As it was, with the doors grinding up halfway from the ground he spoke but a single word.
"Fire"
The world erupted into an apocalypse of fire and noise as one after another the guns screamed their thunder down onto the enemy. The gunners were so well drilled and coordinated there was a rhythm to their work, a melody of a sort that made up the music of war.
One, Two, Three, Four
One, Two, Three, Four
The guns screamed; their fires staggered sequentially so that there was never a target not taking fire. After each gun had fired, a faint click could be heard over the lingering echo, an indication that the gun's mechanism had activated and rotated a fresh barrel into the firing slot, filled with another shell and ready to fire near instantly.
One, Two, Three, Four
One, Two, Three, Four
Pause
The barrels clicked empty; their payload expended.
"Reload" Kurtzen ordered calmly, seeing that the order was already being carried out. His crews were good, but not miracle workers, and loading the guns would take time.
"Missiles, Fire!" came another voice off to his left. Serana had discarded her usual cap in exchange for an artillery headset, and was grinning like a maniac.
"Don't give them a moments rest!" she exhorted, the glee evident even throught the cracle of the voxbead that Kurtzen wore under his helmet.
Quickly complying to the comissar's orders, the missile launcher teams stepped forward, and angling their tubes so that the backblast would be directed upwards, away from their comrades, fired.
Across the gulf that filled the air over the Square of the Emperor's bounty, four streaking trails of fire set out towards the Orca and, less than six seconds later, smashed into the side of the strange vehichle.
The first missile skimmed the target, grazing it along its left side, having overshot the vehicle's expossed topside by less than foot and plummeted into the ground, exploding into a crater large enough for a man to stand in and not be able to see over the lip.
Two other missiles smashed the vehicle square on the roof, the krak warheads blowing head sized holes into the chassis, filling the troop compartment with a storm of shrapnel and spalling, shredding anything that was inside.
And yet still, like a dying leviathan reaching it's head for the ocean's surface, the Orca struggled to rise on it's strange, cuboid engines, refuting the mauling that it had just sustained. It may even have become fully airborne, if it wasn't for the last missile.
This missile, better aimed than its brothers, struck the Orca its fatal blow, slamming into one of the right-side engines and spilling the ship to the floor, killing dozens of onlookers in the crash.
Now is the real test, can we keep them stunned while our guns reload? Kurtzen thought to himself, keenly aware that once the shock of the attack wore off, the enemy might come to realize that they were many, and his men were few.
"Infantry, open fire" Kurtzen ordered and matching word to deed drew his bolt pistol one handed and began to fire. It was only then that Kurtzen was able to fully examine the carnage that his men and his guns had made of the Square of the Emperor's Bounty.
The tiles that once adorned the square were torn up, fountaining up from the over a dozen craters that pockmarked the square. Hundreds of noncombatants were dead or dying on the floor, blown into pieces by high explosive shells or shredded into bits by the hurricane of shrapnel that he had unleashed into the square.
The stage that had once occupied the far end of the square was smashed to flinders, the plastek and synthwood crumbling before the force of half of his guns. From this distance, and without the use of his magnoculars, he could not pick out any particular forms, thought he hoped that the blue skinned aliens in particular had been blown to bits, or was slowly bleeding out with a load of shrapnel slicing open its belly.
Just to be sure, he ordered five of his men to open fire on the rubble that was once the stage, hoping that their lasguns might finish the job that his artillery had started. He would have ordered more of them to fire on the stage, if not for the targets that he was turning his own pistol on, the xenos soldiery that even now were scanning the area searching for their tormentors.
Conspicuously absent from the Tau response was the second of the two Orcas, which was an island of calm and silence amidst a sea of panic and disorder. The machine sat, dead and silent to the pleas of its comrades, untouched by battle but evidently out of the fight. Kurtzen would have thought that it was suffering some kind of mechanical failure or malfunction, if not for the strained grunts that Kurtzen could hear over his voxbead, evidence that Arsha's witchery was well at work.
The sleek blue armored warriors and their long barreled guns were still distracted, Kurtzen noticed, their guns and eyeless helmets scanning the crowd and the surroundings looking for terrorists or dissidents amongst the crowd. He would be pleased to disappoint them.
Taking his pistol into a two-handed grip Kurtzen added his own thunder to the chorus of battle, sending bolt after bolt into the rapidly dispersing squads of Tau soldiery. Kurtzen knew that he was not the best marksman amongst the Death Korps, and the range did not help his middling marksmanship.
Despite this, he was gratified to see one of the alien soldiery stumbled back as one of his bolts took him in the chest, his strange armor crumpling as he was sent reeling back from the blow. His men proved to be better shots than he was, helped by the stocks of their rifles whilst his pistol was better designed for close range fire fights.
Three more of the alien fighters fell under the fusillade, and thought many more were struck, their armor was much better suited at stopping lasbolts, even the up-powered lasbolts fired by the Death Korps heavy Lucius pattern lasgun.
It was this barrage, however, that finally keyed the aliens into their location. Bracing their long guns against their armored shoulders, the aliens opened fire, the bright blue beams of what Kurtzen would latter realize was plasma, came arcing up into his men. Most of them missed, the Tau left at a disadvantage angle. Most but not all.
One of his men fell, a lucky headshot atomizing everything above his neck. Another was shot in the gut, ripping through his armored greatcoat and sending his sprawling with a hand sized hole burnt through his torso. He was dead before he hit the ground.
"Sir, guns are ready to fire" Kurtzen turned to his right to find the man who spoke to them, sergeant 733218- Karstein, if he was remembering right.
"Good, focus your fire down onto the enemy positions, especially that block over to the right. Have a second gun fire on that other block clos to the center. Have the last two guns fire on the Orca, I want that craft maimed or killed if we can" Kurtzen instructed, his voice louder than usual but still filled with his usual calm.
Nodding that he understood, the sergeant moved from gun to gun, seeing Kurtzen's orders carried out while Kurtzen himself reloaded, but did not open fire yet.
Again, his guns spoke with their voices of thunder, and the enemy was again reduced. Scattered squads of traitor PDF and sleek armored aliens were dispersed or died, hundreds of civilians were blown to pieces or trampled in the press, and all the while his men kept up their small arms fire, shafts of lethal light falling amongst the milling crowd like rain, causing further panic and suppressing any potential resistance.
The one place where the battle wasn't going Kurtzen's way was at the Orca. Despite the concentrated fire of two of his guns, it was still intact. While the ship had clearly suffered damage, with one of the four strangely placed engines a smoking ruin, the structure of the vessel was still intact, and gave Kurtzen the uncomfortable feeling that it could still fly.
"The guns are empty sir, should we reload?" The Sergeant Karstein reported.
"No, we have done everything we can here, give the orders, spike the guns and make for the tunnels."
Saluting the sergeant turned away to carry out his orders.
Bringing his hand to his collar mounted vox bead, Kurtzen repeated the order to move out. Already the irregular members of his task force, the civilian guides especially, were already making for the tunnel, followed quickly by a few of his infantry and Enginseer Torquil, who Kurtzen had selected as his force's vanguard in the tunnels.
"Do you think we'll make it back?" Serana yelled, her voice loud and excited from combat.
"I do not know" Kurtzen replied and turned, making for the tunnel.
Holy Crap that was a long one! Sorry about the long wait, this has been sitting in my laptop for like two weeks 80% done, but this chapter kept on getting bigger! Big thanks to all my readers, I'm humbled that anyone would take time out of their day to read my drivel! But on a serious note, I'm very happy to write this scene, I've been picturing it since before I even started writing this story and I hope you enjoy! Also, as a note I'm back at school now so the upload schedule will be slow. Also please feal free to leave criticism and suggestions, part of why I started this project was to improve my skills as a writer. Finally, I hope you enjoy reading!