Ch-15
To be or not to be.
Central Clinical Hospital of the Administrative Directorate of the President of the Vostokvakian Sovereign Coalition
The sound of beeping machines and stabilizers was the only sound directly heard in the room. The old man lay in his bed catatonic. He couldn't bear it, the sight before him had put him in shock. Air raid sirens were blaring; arcs of tracer fire were streaking across the sky; explosions were going off here and there throughout the cityscape. The old man in the bed was one of the most powerful men in the world and yet there he lay, in his hospital gown with the linen sheets pulled over him, looking weak and pathetic, a sad and disheveled wreck of a man.
Sitting on a chair next to the bed, attending to the man's needs. Svetlana Karmelova definitely was not one you called soft. At 20, she was one of the youngest members of the Politburo and that was a rare achievement. So much so, that her nickname was Myshja, baby girl on the account that most of the others were past their 20s.
"All those people... dying," coughed the elderly man, "all those... years we have had to prepare... all those resources we have dedicated... all that mighty technology...and we could not stop this day from coming."
"With respect, Comrade Secretary... you couldn't have predicted this." Karmelova stood up and walked towards the bed, "Not even our greatest AIs could have suspected this. The Concordians, yes. But this is a new enemy the likes of which we have never seen before. An enemy from the Stars. The latest news is that even OFN is getting hit hard by them. Los Angeles, London, Tokyo, Hong Kong... all great citadels of the capitalists, all burning right at this very moment too. Even the neutral Ulraznavians are not spared, Comrade. "
"They will fight back," said the old man, "and so must we! We must show them... we must... we must..." He didn't finish his statement before breaking out in a fit of coughing."
"I assure you sir, the Taman Guards Division is moving into the city. We are holding on the best we can sir." Karmelova helped the man settle into a more comfortable position while reassuring him. Truth be told she was in the dark just like him. She could only guess that the situation was bad from the bits and pieces of scattered info from various commands. Most of the patients and robots had been evacuated. President Narmonov had also been evacuated with a few Politburo members and their families on his personal aircraft while various others were being sent to various locations for their safety. The KGB was in shambles as the Lubyanka had been attacked in the first wave the day before yesterday. Kosov and most of his cronies were dead, and what remained had either fled or were in hiding. The attack had come so suddenly, and of a type that no one, not even their AI, "V.O.L.K" could have foreseen.
Though she was also somewhat relieved when, almost as if timed perfectly with his words, there was a thundering roar as a group of somethings flew past the building, and the windows rattled. It was a jet squadron of some kind - maybe a MiG or a Sukhoi, Svetlana wasn't an aviation specialist so she couldn't tell the difference. That was the sort of thing her younger sister Dominika liked.
"Andrey...Where is Andrey?" the old man wheezed out. "He must...he must flee."
Svetlana kept her tone reassuring as she cared for the ailing official. Inside though, her mind churned with worry.
The attack had come without warning, throwing the mighty Vostokvakian war machine into chaos. No defense had proven adequate against these otherworldly invaders and their bizarre arsenal. Entire divisions were being annihilated daily.
Worse still, communications and command structures were fractured, and information was woefully inadequate. She was effectively blind to the wider battle's course, only scant reports filtering back to her.
The aerial flyby heartened her somewhat - clearly, some of their jet squadrons still operated. But would it be enough?
She paused to peek out the fortified windows. Below, Guards mechanized units rumbled through the streets, likely the Tamans the elderly man had mentioned. Even the secret police's feared ranks were mobilized.
It was a desperate gamble, stripping strategic reserves to reinforce the capital. But if Moskvingrad fell, all was lost. The largest remnant of their government sheltered here now, protected by whatever forces could be rallied.
"The president has left the capital, Comrade General Secretary." The door opened. She looked up to see a stern-faced woman, a KGB officer in full combat gear. In her hands was an AKS-74u carbine. Behind her 4 GRU Commandos, 2 humans, and two synths entered. The woman marched over to the bed and respectfully saluted the General Secretary before turning her attention to Svetlana. "Comrade Karmelova please step outside," the woman's voice was soft, yet the order was clear. Svetlana watched the 4 commandos take their positions before following the major. One of the synths, a tall female gave her a cheeky wink. She blushed before walking out. Once the door was shut, she turned her attention towards the officer. "What is it Comrade Polinoff?" she asked.
"Hostiles are converging on the area." Polinoff cocked her carbine as if a group of soldiers might be right around the corner. "I have received orders from the highest authority to get the General Secretary out of the Capital. There's a monorail bullet train coming here in 10 minutes and I want everyone important on this train the moment it touches the fucking platform."
"Why me" Svetlana asked, "He's right there...you could have told him."
"Because something tells me that he won't take any of this too kindly," replied Borodin, "if this were a missile en route to Moscow, okay, yes, that you can not really do much against. But enemy troops on the ground? That's different. Stalin never fled, not even when we had fascists knocking right on our gates; I daresay our dear Comrade-Secretary here will take it as a blow to his reputation if we did just that. In which case, I know he trusts you, I'll need your help convincing him."
"I'm just an aide," muttered Svetlana, "where's Comrade Yuliya? Gromyko? Tikhonov? Gorbachev? All of them have more authority than I do! Could we not get one of them on the phone?"
"I'm afraid that's not a healthy option at this moment," replied Polinoff, "all Politburo members that were not with the president are already en route to various secure locations as we speak. Minimal contact is advised."
"What?!" screamed Svetlana, "you evacuated everyone else first?"
"It was a... reasonable choice," shrugged Polinoff. She strutted back towards the door of the ward. "Enough. Are you with me or not, Comrade? Because if we don't move him now..." she trailed off with a meaningful look.
Svetlana stared at her incredulously. It was insane. But there was a truth to that as well.
"Besides..." the Major began. "We evacuated most of the cultural treasures AND Lenin's body"
Svetlana straightened her suit. "Alright just one question, Major."
"Shoot" the Major lit a cigarette.
"Why did the synth wink at me?"
Svetlana flushed red as the Major gave her a knowing smirk. Clearly, her interest in the female synth commando had been obvious. She cleared her throat and tried to appear nonchalant.
"Ah, yes well...she was likely just trying to put me at ease is all," Svetlana said awkwardly.
Polinoff took a long drag on her cigarette, still grinning. "Oh I'm sure that was her intention," she said dryly. "Don't worry, Katya winks at anything that moves. You're hardly the first to get flustered."
Svetlana willed her blush to fade. She had more pressing concerns than a comely robot soldier.
"Enough of that - we're wasting time," she said brusquely. "I'll talk to the General Secretary, convince him we must leave."
Polinoff nodded, her teasing look fading. "Good. We cannot delay." She ushered Svetlana back into the ward.
Military Factory.
The scientist scratched his chin as he looked over the scavenged materials and technology from the invaders. It was all so strangely antiquated, like something from an ancient past. Yet it clearly allowed them to traverse the stars and pose a dire threat. A perplexing contradiction.
He turned to his assistant, an android named Klaus. "Remarkable, is it not? Such primitive construction, yet effective enough to challenge us."
Klaus nodded, examining a dissected lasgun. "Indeed doctor. The craftsmanship is rudimentary, but sound. Robust and reliable."
The scientist gestured at the armor samples. "And this crude plasteel - nowhere near as advanced as our own alloys, yet these 'Space Marines' withstand antitank rockets clad in it!"
"Ingenuity compensating for technological deficits," Klaus noted. "They maximize limited resources through zeal and determination."
The scientist shook his head in wonderment. "A civilization that never underwent the Tech Renaissance, yet achieved space flight regardless. Fascinating!"
He wandered over to the captured vehicles. "Internal combustion engines, solid chemical propellants - one expects actual combustion rockets!"
Klaus replied, "Yet they reached the stars on willpower alone, it seems. Admirable resolve."
"Yes, yes!" The scientist grew animated. "Sheer tenacity overcoming material limitations! Oh, to converse with their engineers and see through their eyes!"
He sighed wistfully. "Alas, we remain sworn enemies. A dreadful waste."
Just then, air raid sirens began blaring. Klaus turned to him calmly. "Speaking of tenacity, another bombing sortie approaches. We should reach the shelters posthaste."
The scientist reluctantly abandoned his studies. "Very well, to the bunkers once more." He took one last look at the relics. "I hope someday we can exchange knowledge freely, unlikely as that may be. Come Klaus!"
They hurried from the lab, the thunder of distant explosions following them.
Vostokvakian Forward Command Headquarters
"Are you sure no damage has been done to the plant?" Major-General Gennady D. Voroshilov, commander of the 233rd Motor-Rifle Division asked the major in front of him.
"Nothing that will affect the facility's operation, comrade general." The major's voice held complete conviction. "And the one of the enemy's squads will soon be dealt with. They are using one of the on-site worker apartments for shelter and have repulsed five attempts to storm it so far, but are running low on ammunition. This next attack should overrun them."
"Yes, Yes Nikola. "See that it does." Voroshilov issued a stern look at his subordinate. The general then gave a small grin, "Command probably be glad to also know that the disrupters work as advertised." Voroshilov turned his attention to the tactical display map that dominated the room. Currently, it appeared the enemy was using the forest for cover. Voroshilov examined the area, outside of the forest was a small T-72 Tankovey Company. The company had been sitting there at the entrance, waiting for the enemy to move. The enemy had already begun fighting over various cities and a heavy force had been sent in his direction. His forces of the 233rd had fortified this village. Voroshilov began to think up a quick plan. He would defeat these invaders using the "Scientific method" he was taught at the Frunze Academy.
"Contact Major Tereshkova, and tell her to prep her TOS-1 "Buratino" MLRS." He ordered a signaler, "Tell her to fire Thermobaric munitions, we will flush the rats out." A terse "Da General" was the man's only answer as he contacted the battery. Voroshilov then turned his attention back to the map. He watched in tense silence and checked his smartwatch. In two minutes the rockets began to fall as the forest was saturated.
"Target saturated comrade." An aide announced from her screen.
"Excellent" Voroshilov now decided to activate phase 2 of his plan. "Order the tank company to advance. Use caution." The signaler nodded, already tapping away.
T-72 Tankovey Company. Frontlines
Through his electrobinoculars, the company commander in his T-72BK watched the thick black smoke drift upwards. The Buratino's had absolutely shredded the area.
"Ural, come in Ural" the encrypted radio crackled to life. Headquarters was contacting him.
Captain Yuri Belov lowered his electrobinoculars as headquarters contacted him, the encrypted channel crackling.
"Ural here, send traffic," he responded.
"Ural, you are cleared to advance into the bombardment zone," came the reply. "We expect all hostiles neutralized but be alert for stragglers."
Belov did another scan of the smoldering forest, signs of life faint but present on his thermals. Nothing substantial though.
"Acknowledged command."
He switched channels to address his company. "All Ural units, we're gonna choose someone to go out and scout the area." His words sent a chorus of name calling. Finally, the unlucky person was chosen. Nonna Vasiliev was the gunner of tank 213. Belov watched as she got out grumpily armed with her AKS-74u carbine and began to march forward towards the smoke. Vasiliev stood Infront of the smoke waiting.
"There's literally nothing" Vasiliev looked extra grumpy when suddenly there was a short whine followed by the clatter of tank tracks. The entire company, plus Nonna watched as a absolute beat up tank mournfully clattered out. It was one of those cramped small MBTs these invaders used that resembled one form the 1st great war, only smaller and ill proportionate. Its main gun was missing and one of the sponson mounted guns had flowered up. The tank was sparking and sizzling before it finally stopped. Everyone readied their weapons. The hatch opened and 3 utterly dazed crew members got themselves out. Their helmets as always had a winged skull. Vasiliev kept her carbine trained on the dazed tank crew as they slowly emerged from the battered machine, hands raised in surrender. She almost felt pity for the poor bastards - they looked utterly shellshocked, covered in soot and wild-eyed.
Captain Belov's voice crackled over her headset. "Hold position Vasiliev, we're sending a squad to take them into custody."
She acknowledged and kept her weapon ready, but not aimed directly at them. The Invaders looked pitifully grateful at not having rifles pointed their way.
Before long, an infantry section arrived and quickly disarmed and restrained the prisoners, leading them towards the rear. With the area confirmed secure, Belov ordered the tanks forward into the smoldering woods.
As Vasiliev climbed back aboard her T-72, she overheard chatter on the radio. "...interrogation team wants them intact with minimal damage. These are the first live captures from an enemy armored unit..."
She tuned it out, focusing on her role as 2nd Lt. Markova maneuvered them between the blasted tree trunks. The General's trap had worked perfectly - they'd bagged valuable intelligence assets. Maybe the eggheads could make sense of their babble about holy wars and witchcraft.
For now, she kept her eyes peeled for more survivors. Markov was counting on her spotting threats before he drove into them. "Another notch for the Motherland," she thought with satisfaction as they rumbled deeper into the ruined forest.
Miles away.
The Imperial Tank commander was getting impatient. "Where on earth is the fool with his tanks." He was supposed to have been joined by a second group of tanks and they were to attack together. However, through his microbead, no information could be transmitted
He growled in frustration as he tried unsuccessfully yet again to raise the other armored unit on the microbead. Nothing but static answered him.
Where in the Emperor's name were they? This coordinated assault was supposed to smash through the enemy's flank defenses, but that wouldn't happen if he attacked piecemeal.
"My lord, shall we hold position and wait for the other units to arrive?" his gunner asked tentatively.
The commander scowled, tempted to snap at the man, but managed to rein in his temper. It wasn't the gunner's fault their vox-net was being jammed somehow.
"Negative. We cannot delay any longer," he decided. "Form a wedge, we attack on our own."
The crew chorused acknowledgements as they assumed an assault formation. The commander steeled himself, offering a quick prayer to the machine spirit. Attacking without the combined weight of the full company was risky, but he had his orders.
"Forward for the Emperor!" he bellowed. As one, the Leman Russ tanks surged towards the enemy's flank, tracks churning mud and vegetation alike.
The commander smiled grimly under his helm. They would carve a path to victory today, with or without reinforcements. The enemies of Mankind would learn to fear the God-engines of the Astra Militarum!
The tanks trundled forward, churning up great clouds of grey smoke. Most of his tank commanders had propped themselves up and out of their hatches and were staring at their maps. At approximately 0600, they were reaching the outskirts of a village or a city.
"There's the city." The commander grinned. Now where were the heretics?
His microbead crackled to life, "Captain, what's your status? We have enemy tanks on our rear." The Imperial Battalion commander demanded while in the background, the sounds of battle were being heard.
"What! Where did they…" he did not finish his sentence as one of the Russ tanks exploded, its turret flying off.
"Ambush!" a tank commander bellowed before he shut the hatch of his tank.
"They're in the trees…" another commander said before her tank was also dispatched.
"All tanks, turn left and charge these heretics" the captain screamed into his vox as the tanks swiveled and another one was destroyed.
Another two tanks were destroyed one of them, its ammunition cooking as the fires engulfed it. The loader of the captain's tank slammed a high explosive shell into the breech.
"There…target the muzzle flash" the captain exclaimed. Unfortunately, his eyes spotted a flash to his right. There was a boom and the man's vision went black.
On the forested side of the road, the Vostokvakian Saggar ATGM missile teams were hard at work nailing the tanks.
"Good hit!" the crew commander cheered, "Now target the rest of them. One of the stocky tanks began firing its coaxial weapon, shredding a Sagger and its crew. The offending tank was knocked out before it could do much damage. The result was 10 Tanks for 1 Sagger.
Miles away.
The Imperial Tank commander was getting impatient. "Where on earth is the fool with his tanks." He was supposed to have been joined by a second group of tanks and they were to attack together. However through his microbead, no information could be transmitted.
He growled in frustration as he tried unsuccessfully yet again to raise the other armored unit on the microbead. Nothing but static answered him.
Where in the Emperor's name were they? This coordinated assault was supposed to smash through the enemy's flank defenses, but that wouldn't happen if he attacked piecemeal.
"My lord, shall we hold position and wait for the other units to arrive?" his gunner asked tentatively.
The commander scowled, tempted to snap at the man, but managed to rein in his temper. It wasn't the gunner's fault their vox-net was being jammed somehow.
"Negative. We cannot delay any longer," he decided. "Form a wedge, we attack on our own."
The crew chorused acknowledgements as they assumed an assault formation. The commander steeled himself, offering a quick prayer to the machine spirit. Attacking without the combined weight of the full company was risky, but he had his orders.
"Forward for the Emperor!" he bellowed. As one, the Leman Russ tanks surged towards the enemy's flank, tracks churning mud and vegetation alike.
The commander smiled grimly under his helm. They would carve a path to victory today, with or without reinforcements. The enemies of Mankind would learn to fear the God-engines of the Astra Militarum!
The tanks trundled forward, churning up great clouds of grey smoke. Most of his tank commanders had propped themselves up and out of their hatches and were staring at their maps. At approximately 0600, they were reaching the outskirts of a village or a city.
"There's the city." The commander grinned. Now where were the heretics.
His microbead crackled to life, "Captain, what's your status. We have enemy tanks on our rear." The Imperial Battalion commander demanded while in the background, the sounds of battle were being heard.
"What! Where did they…" he did not finish his sentence as one of the Russ tanks suddenly exploded, its turret flying off.
"Ambush!" a tank commander bellowed before he shut the hatch of his tank.
"They're in the trees…" another commander said before her tank was also dispatched.
"All tanks, turn left and charge these heretics" the captain screamed into his vox as the tanks swiveled as another one was destroyed.
Another two tanks were destroyed, one of them, it's ammunition cooking as the fires engulfed it. The loader of the captain's tank slammed a high explosive shell into the breech.
"There…target the muzzle flash" the captain exclaimed. Unfortunately, his eyes spotted a flash to his right. There was a boom and the man's vision went black.
On the forested side of the road, the Vostokvakian Saggar ATGM missile teams were hard at work nailing the tanks.
"Good hit!" the crew commander cheered, "Now target the rest of them. One of the stocky tanks began firing it's coaxial weapon, shredding a Sagger and it's crew. The offending tank was knocked out before it could do much damage. The end result was 10 Tanks for 1 Sagger.
40K universe.
Macragge's Honour.
Regent Robute Guiliman.
Imperial Regent and Primarch of the Ultramarines Robute Guiliman checked his forces for the umpteenth time. If all went well, then the 4th Tyrannic War's most decisive offensive would begun. 19 different battlefleets had been assembled, yet one was missing.
"Where on Terra is Battlefleet Scolaris?" Guiliman mused. After all, Vallin was one of the most able and competent commanders in the imperial navy.
Roboute Guilliman frowned as he examined the tactical displays yet again. The absence of Battlefleet Scolaris was troubling, to say the least. Vallin was not one to be late without good reason.
He turned to the nearest Auspex officer. "Are we still unable to raise Admiral Vallin on any channels?"
The officer shook his head. "Nothing but static on all hails, my Primarch. The entire battlegroup appears to have vanished from the system."
Guilliman's frown deepened. An entire battlefleet didn't just disappear. Could they have been ambushed en route by the Tyranids? But no wreckage or debris had been detected.
"Keep monitoring all astropathic channels, they may yet make contact," he instructed. Though unease gnawed at him. Something wasn't right here.
But the planned offensive could not be delayed. The Tyranids would not halt their advance, no matter the difficulties. Battlefleet Scolaris' absence left a gaping hole in their formation, but it had to be risked.
Guilliman opened a shipwide vox. "Warriors of Ultramar, the time has come to drive back the Great Devourer once more! Though we fight on without some of our kin this day, our resolve remains unbroken! We shall plunge our blade into the heart of the beast and sever its grasp on our realms!"
A chorus of fierce cheers answered him from across the formation of warships. Guilliman allowed himself a tight smile beneath his helm. The zeal of his sons was unflagging. They would fight all the harder to compensate for their lost allies.
"Helmsman set course for the Tyranid fleet. Full combat speed," he commanded. The massive warship began building power as it turned toward the oncoming Xenos armada. Around them, the remaining Imperial fleet accelerated to battle readiness.
Guilliman watched the looming biological ships intently. "We go to face the Great Devourer. And we shall prevail, as is our duty."
No matter the odds arrayed against them, the servants of the Emperor would not falter. Battlefleet Scolaris' absence was troubling, but the living needed safeguarding first and foremost. Its mystery would be kept for now.
"Detach all escorts to screen the fleet advance," Guilliman ordered calmly. "Deploy fighter squadrons for intercept protocols."
One crisis at a time. Today, the Imperium's gaze was fixed on the Tyranid menace before them. All else would follow in time.
With stoic resolve, the Primarch prepared to lead his loyal sons into the crucible of war once more.
Commissar Emerick Talzi
Surface of Nova Arcadia
The commissar stared at the order in horror. "What on earth do you mean commissars are no longer going to wear the usual uniform!"
The junior officer shifted uncomfortably as Commissar Talzi erupted in outrage.
"Apologies sir, but Lord Admiral Vallin's orders were clear. Commissars are to wear standard flak armor and avoid anything conspicuous that identifies them."
Talzi looked aghast. "And hide the holy symbols of my office? Discard the very uniform that strikes fear into the cowardly and inspires the righteous?"
The officer stood firm. "With respect sir, the enemy has singled your garb out. Many commissars have fallen to sniper fire due to those uniforms making them priority targets." He extended the bundle of armor and fatigues again. "Lord Vallin was adamant that protective camouflage takes precedence over tradition in this campaign. The Commissariat's duties are too vital to waste lives needlessly."
Talzi looked ready to explode but managed to rein in his outrage. He knew Vallin was an eminently practical commander. And the casualties had been severe of late...
Reluctantly, he accepted the proffered gear, handling it as one might an unexploded munition.
"Very well, if our mission requires it, I shall adopt a more...low-profile appearance," he bit out.
The officer nodded diplomatically. "Wise choice sir. I'm sure the men will understand, and you'll blend right in."
Talzi glared balefully. "Do not patronize me lieutenant. I wear this under protest, not voluntarily."
He held up a finger. "But I will still carry my bolt pistol openly. I'll not have my authority questioned or have those fearful of retribution think me toothless."
The officer knew better than to argue. "Of course, sir. With your leave, I'll inform Lord Vallin his orders are being implemented."
Talzi grunted an affirmation and the officer beat a hasty retreat, relieved to escape the belligerent commissar.
Alone, Talzi inspected his new uniform distastefully. A boring, drab ensemble, utterly devoid of gravitas. But the Admiral was right...grudgingly, he donned the fatigues and armor. By necessity, fear would have to come from reputation alone rather than visible trappings.
Thus attired, he strode out to oversee the men, silently vowing that none would find him lax in his duties. The Commissariat's authority was resolute, regardless of what they wore.
Surface of Nova Arcadia.
Lord Admiral Cardin Vallin.
Vallin strode next to General Fulani as they walked down the Thunderhawk to the battlefield. "Lieutenant, have there been any chance at figuring out the local Lingua Franca?
"Seems to be some form of Gothic Sir." the Officer said. "There are tonnes of languages here. The local Lingua Franca seems to be called Edenite, named after a nation-state here called Eden.
Lord Admiral Vallin listened closely as the lieutenant briefed him on the linguistic situation on this planet.
"From what we can tell, this 'Edenite' is a variant of Low Gothic and serves as the global Lingua Franca," the officer explained. "It bears similarities to ancient dialects once spoken on Terra."
He activated a pict-display showing a map of the world's nation-states. "This 'United Kingdom of Eden' was evidently the dominant imperial power centuries ago. Their culture and language spread planet-wide during that period."
Vallin studied the map intently. "And have our lexicanum teams begun compiling translations, lexicons? We must start dismantling the language barrier."
The lieutenant nodded. "Yes sir, we've captured some intact libraries and data vaults. That's allowed initial glossaries to be assembled, though much work remains."
He handed Vallin a dataslate. "We've also had some cooperation from captive civilians. Provided food and shelter, most are willing to provide translations."
Vallin scrolled through the initial lexicon compilations. Primitive and angular script, but decipherable given time.
"Well done Lieutenant. Have this distributed to all commands and continue compiling as much linguistic data as possible."
He handed back the slate. "Our conquest will proceed all the smoother if we can communicate with these people. Knowledge is power."
The officer thumped a fist to his chest plate. "Aye sir, we'll have basic fluency throughout the fleet shortly."
Vallin gazed out across the scarred battlefield, smoldering wrecks and broken bodies testament to the struggle. In time, with understanding, perhaps less blood would be spilled. The Imperial Truth could still enlighten rather than obliterate.
He turned away, mind churning with possibilities. Much culture and lore here, simply needing illumination...
Adeptus Sororitas Schola
Brecay, Vasey
Frank-ovia?
Sister Adalja frowned yet again. The local young girls were a problem. They cried a lot and mostly preferred to jabber away in their own language. Plus they often used these strange rectangular devices.
"Rough day" another sister quipped in the lounge.
"Tell me about it" she replied. "First we had that killer in the Vasy chateau"
Sister Adalja sank wearily onto the couch in the lounge, rubbing her temples as her fellow Sister gave her a sympathetic look. Dealing with the local girls conscripted into their new Adeptus Sororitas schola was proving extremely trying.
"Emperor give me strength, these native juveniles are impossible," she complained. "No discipline, attachment to frivolous material goods, and not an ounce of proper devotion in their hearts!"
The other Sister nodded commiseratingly. "I know, Sister. My group did nothing but weep and wail for their mothers today. And don't get me started on those idiot picture-slates they're so obsessed with."
Adalja shook her head bitterly. "We have our work cut out for us purging the taint of this heathen world from their souls. But we will persevere, as is our sacred duty."
Her fellow Sister made the aquila sign. "The Emperor's light shall burn away the shadows of ignorance and set them on the path of righteousness. Faith and strength, Sister Adalja."
"Faith and strength," she echoed firmly. Their mission was clear, no matter how frustrating instilling proper holy values in these resistant novitiates might be.
She finished her recaff and rose with renewed determination. "Come, we must prepare for vespers. I aim to teach them sacred hymns until their little tongues are hoarse from singing the Emperor's praises."
The Sister smiled at that. "An excellent idea. Rigorous orthodoxy will forge them into true brides of the Emperor."
Together they strode from the lounge, spirits lifted. With tireless effort and devotion, they would shape these wayward girls into zealous warriors of faith. The local customs would be scourged away, replaced by reverence for Him on Earth.
Such was the Sacred Task of the Adepta Sororitas. And they would not fail in their holy mandate.
Tonkin
XXXIth Catachan Jungle Fighters
Colonel Stevins grumbled under his breath as he emerged from his tent into yet another torrential downpour. The muddy camp was already turning into a bog under the pounding monsoon rains. This damned climate was worse than the jungles of Catachan. And that was a death world!
"Emperor's ballsack, it never lets up on this Emperor-forsaken world," he growled, slogging through the muck. The Catachans detailed as sentries gave him surly nods, just as miserable in the wet.
His adjutant ran up, struggling to keep his dataslate dry. "Morning report sir! The northern garrison got hit again last night, supply convoy was ambushed. And we lost another patrol to booby traps east of here."
Stevins clenched his jaw. "Again? That's the third raid this week. Tell them to vary their goddamned routes and timings already!"
The adjutant nodded meekly. "Yes sir, I'll pass that along."
"These mud-grubbing farmers are making us look like amateurs," Stevins fumed. "It's these damned jungles - can't see two feet past our noses."
The Catachan spat in disgust. "Should just virus bomb this rotting green hell? The only way to be sure."
His adjutant looked shocked. "But sir, High Command said avoiding collateral damage is critical here! These are compliant Imperial citizens now."
"Compliant my ass," Stevins snarled back. "Everyone is a guerrilla waiting to stick a knife in our spines as soon as we turn around."
He stomped towards the command post. "Tell all units they have weapons-free clearance till further notice. If it looks at you funny, shoot it."
"Sir?" His adjutant hurried after him.
Stevins rounded on him. "You heard me! Get it done."
The man fled. Stevins fumed, rain dripping from his head. Rebellion would be crushed under an iron boot. The jungle could reclaim this damned land after.
"Sir...patrol 3 ain't responding"
Stevins groaned again before going to the Vox Casters dugout. At least it was dry there...
Confederation of Concordia
New York City.
524 West 57th Street.
CBS Broadcast Centre.
June 4th, Day-3 of WW3
1995
This is the CBS Evening News with Dan Rather.
We are sorry to interrupt your program. New news has just come in from Euronia. The Ulraznavian city of Cologne has fallen. In a recent statement from the Ulraznavian defense ministry, a speaker reported that at approximately 8 p.m., the Ulraznavian 5th Army had withdrawn from the city.
"That's right. Cologne has become the latest major city to fall under the control of the invading forces, who continue their relentless push into Ulraznavia. Refugees fleeing the combat zones describe scenes of utter chaos and devastation as strange war machines and soldiers sweep through urban areas."
"In other news, fierce fighting still rages across much of Eden as local defense forces struggle to halt the enemy advance. Reports are still sketchy, but we're receiving word that the cities of London and Manchester have endured catastrophic damage, while Birmingham and Glasgow remain contested battlegrounds."
"Moving further east, Vostokvakian officials have confirmed the loss of several cities, though precise details remain unclear due to the breakdown in communications. Their capital, Moskvingrad, remains firmly in government hands with defenses being bolstered by elite Guard divisions."
"Down in the Euronian Southern Republics, the Republics of Iberia and Catlon have reportedly reached a defense pact and have mustered joint armies to defend the Pyrenees passes. Whether they can withstand the onslaught long remains to be seen."
"In Francovia, pockets of stubborn resistance continue despite the invasion force's penetration deep into the countryside. But with Paris surrounded and key ports and airbases captured, it's only a matter of time before the entire nation capitulates."
"Finally, in the North Sea, the Atlantic Defense Fleet suffered a major blow when its flagship battlecruiser, the INS Resolution, was sunk in a surprise attack. The naval command is shifting to more dispersed flotillas to avoid further ambushes."
"We will continue to bring you the latest on this dire global crisis as it develops. Stay tuned as we return to your regularly scheduled programming already in progress."
