Chapter 14

Golden Dawn

Calumet, Colorado.

Confederation of Concordia

1995.

Day-2 of WW3

The town of Calumet was dedicated to mining. Before it had mined coal. Now it mined for Coaxium, the hyperfuel that was so much a part of the world's technologies. Unlike the rest of the world, it was currently untouched by war and even did not know the war had begun.

Matt Eckhart and Arturo Mondragon, two best friends arrived at high school at their usual routine. Matt's older brother Jed had given them a lift.

"You ready for history?' Matt asked his best friend.

"Yup amigo. Bet Robert is just as tired" Jed grunted as they trudged to the enterence. They'd been learning about the Khanate, a state that had ruled over Eastern Euronia and Even parts of Erusea.

Mr Teasdale their teacher was currently telling them about their tactics. "Now the great hunt would always begin when the army became a semi-circle and they would begin pushing inwards and everything would become trapped, Man, Beast, and even bugs.

A few students grinned, not focusing much on the lesson. Outside, the whirl of jet engines was heard, but not thought much of. After all Calumet was in the way of several trans-continental air routes. Airliner flights to the countries in Euronia flew on the famous Euronia-North Liberia Lane.

As Mister Teasdale continued his lecture, he noticed men descending from the sky. They looked like paratroopers of some sort though instead of parachutes, they had some strange jetpacks that glowed blue from the rockets, slowing them down. A wave of red smoke denoted the LZ, and an officer of some sort was already talking into a boxy comm set strapped onto the back of a female trooper.

"So, as I was saying…." Mr Teasdale continued before noticing the paratroopers. "Hold now…Hold on." He walked to the window as the rest of the class followed and watched.

"Looks kinda cool...," a student murmured.

Though "I'd say they are way of course" Mr Mason mused as he watched the number grow. Some were opening boxes and handing out firearms of a strange type, bullpups and smaller ones. "Excuse me class" Mr Teasdale walked out of the classroom, with the rest of the class watching out the window.

Mr Teasdale walked out of the school, and up to the strangely dressed paratroopers. Some of them were talking in a strange language while others were talking in some strange version of Edenite. All of them also had either a two-headed eagle or a winged skull on their weapons "What's going on here my friends?" the teacher asked while walking unthreateningly towards them. Two paratroopers were quickly opening a canister and one of them quickly whipped out a machine gun. Someone shouted and an order was seemingly given and the trooper fired at the unarmed man, who gave a cry before falling spread eagle-eyed. The trooper then emptied the gun into the windows where the class was watching horrified. While most of the class ran off, one unlucky student was caught by the bullets and now lay slumped by the window.

Meanwhile, an RPG team rushed behind the school. One of them aimed at its wooden doors and fired it at the things, which shattered and allowed a squad to enter and start indiscriminately firing. Arturo and Matt were running down the corridor. In front of them, a massive senior was running as well. Outside a trooper fired his strange firearm, which was shooting out lasers like a Star Wars blaster. The hostile also did not notice until too late, the senior tackling him. There was a smash before the unlucky soldier began to howl and claw at his face. Jed and Arturo watched as the senior grabbed the man's bullpup blaster or whatever it was and began firing, nailing 3 unlucky troops before running off to the parking lot. It was bedlam there as the hostiles were firing without care. Jed watched as one of them, a girl was rammed by multiple cars at once.

"Look, Matt! It's your brother!" Arturo shouted over the din. Sure, enough there was Jed in his blue Silverado truck.

"Get in!" he ordered as red beams flew around them. Both boys quickly jumped in. Jed revved the engine before speeding off. Behind them, another RPG team prepared to fire. The rocket however missed the truck, hitting a school bus instead. Danny and another student, Darryl quickly ran up screaming as they also were pulled in.

Downtown Calumet was an absolute warzone with smoke rising from various store fronts as the Silverado sped across the street. They watched as a soldier who had just casually tucked in an M911 in his belt screamed at them, in response matt gave him the bird, which confused the bewildered soldier before they sped off.

At the school, Colonel Johanna van Meer, Elysian 13th "Helldivers" Drop Troops casually walked smoking an ihlo stick. Behind her more men and woman from her unit dropped with their grav-chutes. With them, was also the 73rd Harakoni Warhawks. Currently she was inspecting the myriad of vehicles. Complete surprise had been achieved, and the rebels had been caught completely off guard. A large howl caught her attention. Walking over to investigate, she found too droptroopers crouched around a comrade who was covering his face.

"What in the Emperor's name happened here?" she asked and took another drag on her lho stick as she surveyed the wounded trooper writhing in pain, his face obscured by blood-soaked hands. His squadmates looked up nervously.

"Apologies ma'am, but one of the rebel civilians attacked him barehanded," one explained hesitantly. "Some large juveniles came out of their schola and just tackled Gunther here right as we landed."

She arched an eyebrow. Audacious indeed for an unarmed rebel to directly attack an armed Imperial soldier. She'd have to watch out for more brazen acts as they pacified this settlement.

"At ease, you're not at fault," she assured them. "Did you put down the attacker?"

"Yes ma'am, Shotok bagged him with his hellgun as he tried to flee."

She nodded approvingly. "Very good. Get this man to the medicae, we'll continue securing the city."

As the wounded trooper was escorted off, she surveyed the column of Chimeras and Sentinels rolling up the street, troopers fanning out to raid buildings. A productive landing by all accounts.

Her comm-bead crackled to life. "Colonel, this is Vox Officer Dalca. Several civilian vehicles just broke through our cordon heading north, multiple hostiles aboard."

Van Meer almost smiled. Bold, but foolish. "They won't get far. Order the Stalker teams to run them down."

"At once ma'am!" Dalca replied. Van Meer took a final drag on her lho before crushing the stub under her boot heel. Time to stamp out this spark of defiance before it could spread.

Meanwhile, a Harakoni Warhawks Mark II Accatran Pattern Missile Launcher Team was arguing among themselves.

"How the FRAK! does someone miss from that range, seriously Antinous."

Before the other could say a retort, another voice joined in. "Hey guys look it's the 73rd Harakoni Warchicks." An Elysian jeered, "Caw CAW! I can't hit a fucking truck at point blank range while standing behind it." He began making a caricature of a bird, miming it, flapping his hands around while Antinous blushed crimson.

"What the hell do you want Kevyn." his loader asked.

"Nothing Theodora, except you two missed that blue vehicle and hit the yellow big one instead." the Elysian drawled.

Theodora bristled as the cocky Elysian trooper mocked their missed shot.

"Hey, blow it out your ass Kevyn," she shot back. "That truck was speeding and weaving, not an easy mark."

She jabbed a finger at him. "Meanwhile, I don't see you lot securing jack. Too busy strutting around while we do the real work."

Kevyn rolled his eyes dramatically. "Please, you Winged Hussars just play with your little krak missiles while we take all the risks down in the dirt."

He leaned in with a smirk. "But hey, next time you miss, just call us. We'll happily show you how it's done."

Antinous shoved him back roughly before Theodora could retort. "That's enough," he growled. "Don't you have civilians to intimidate or something?"

Kevyn laughed derisively even as he stumbled back. "Whatever man. Good luck hitting anything that doesn't sit still." He sauntered off, still chuckling.

Theodora shook her head angrily. "Asshole. C'mon, let's find some better firing positions, show them we're not useless."

Antinous hefted the launcher grimly. "Too right. We'll bag the next vehicle that tries to run the blockade, just watch."

As they stalked off, Theodora silently vowed to herself that the next missile would find its mark. No way was she letting those arrogant Helldivers show them up again.

In a house that was bigger than others in the town, probably belonging to the mayor or someone. Johanna van Meer and the CO of the 73rd Harkoni were communicating with Lord Admiral Vallin.

"Lord Admiral, with all do respect, we aren't suited for occupation, we have no heavy equipment due to being airborne, can't you possibly spare a Guard regiment, and why is the Inquisition muddling with our Ops." Van Meer asked as she stood at attention, resisting the urge to fidget as Lord Admiral Vallin's imposing image glared down from the vid-screen. She had to tread carefully here, despite her misgivings.

"I understand your concerns, Colonel, but resources are stretched thin currently," Vallin rumbled in that characteristically gravelly voice. "Securing this settlement and its mines must be priority."

She chose her next words diplomatically. "Respectfully sir, my regiments are elite shock troops, paratroopers, not peacekeepers. We lack the equipment and manpower to enforce compliance long term."

Vallin's eyes narrowed, but he gave a curt nod. "Unfortunately, you must make do for now. But I will see about freeing up some Guard regiments to relieve you soon."

That was something at least. Van Meer dutifully kept any hint of relief off her face.

"Of course Admiral, we shall carry out our duty however required." She paused, then added cautiously, "And what of the Inquisitor? His methods seem...aggressive, for securing willing Imperial citizens."

A fleeting look of distaste crossed Vallin's scarred visage before he smoothed it over. "The Inquisition's business is not ours to question. But I will...discuss matters with him."

It was the best she could hope for. Van Meer thumped a fist against her chest plate. "Understood sir. We will pacify this settlement quickly and efficiently."

Vallin gave a grim smile. "See that you do, Colonel. For the Imperium. Vallin out."

The screen went blank. Van Meer mentally braced herself. This occupation would be a long, grueling test of her command. But they would endure, as the Imperium demanded.

The invasion had gone well. The Imperium had full control of this small town, and they also received word that the invasions of several other settlements were successful. However, Key leadership managed to escape before the taking of the regional capital. Rebel Army groups also were holding their own at their numerous border forts, and the invasion of the Callista Airfield (They did not know its actual name) had failed when rebel air forces managed to hold off the bombers.

For Major Zarkan, the success was good enough. A Harakoni Veteran he'd led his detachment and helped seize and keep control of the city throughout the day. His loyalty to the Imperium was absolute. Being a good soldier, He rose the ranks quickly in his detachment. Now a major, he had the chance to take part in the most ambitious move he'd ever known.

Zarkan walked the streets, as the Guardsmen made their way around the town, mopping up what was left. Imperial Guardsmen had rounded up most of the town, and sorted through who they should send to the POW camps, and who could stay. They had tried to assure the citizens that once total control was seized, daily life would resume as normal, just under a new set of rules. Of course, the language barrier made that difficult.

The truth was different, and he knew it. Anyone who spoke out against the Imperium or occupation was sent to a POW camp. And there, continuing misbehavior resulted in execution. Even today, they had executed random youngsters to show that they meant business. Terror was their weapon now. According to the commander, terror was necessary to show that insurrection was not an option for them, and that if they wanted to live, they needed to accept the Imperium's reign and be brought back into the fold.

Zarkan wasn't too happy with the way that the citizens were treated, but he followed orders. Right now, they needed to prepare for any rebel counterstrike, and they needed to set up the POW camps outside of the city. His mind needed to be on task. Before, small teams had arrested any residents living outside the city limits and burned their homes.

A young man ran up alongside him. In full combat uniform, he remembered how young he was when he first joined his regiment. He saluted him and asked for permission to speak. He granted it.

"Sir", the man started, "the situation is stable now. We have rounded up most of the young men, and girls. older women and children are being held until further orders, Ma'am."

"Very good", Zarkan replied. "I want every house searched. Any knowledge or tool that can be used against us, I want it destroyed. Identify the prisoners and citizens, so we can keep track on who is who and make sure they stay in the town. "

"Yes sir", the soldier said, saluted, and proceeded to carry out his orders. He watched as he scurried away. This was the beginning of a new future. Unfortunately, it has to come at the price of the invaded, but this was war...

War hasn't been known for being too kind to its combatants.

Somewhere above Nikolay Tarasov, a Mi-24 Hind Gunship rained down a hell of a lead on the Invaders. He poked his head slowly above his ad-hoc foxhole. A goddamn alien laser bolt whizzed passed him, fizzing out of existence as it hit a section of broken masonry.

"Yob Tvoyu Mat!" he cursed, knowing the aliens were unlikely to even understand him or the obscenity anyway. More lasers whizzed and sizzled past him. Cursing even more, he slid down into the relative safety of his foxhole and grabbed his entrenching tool. He also clutched his AK-85 close, surreptitiously making sure the safety was off.

Presently, a Shilka SPAAG trundled along. Its quad-mounted 2A7 autocannon AA guns elevated low to aim at the infantry, a role Tarasov found, it was increasingly good at. With a roar, the autocannons began to belch 23mm rounds down the street. Any of the unlucky alien bastards caught in the open were ground into sausages as bits of them flew into the air. Those that were in cover didn't fare much better. Most of them, officers included had been standing when the ZSU had started speaking. Now, there wasn't even much left of them for an open coffin service, if that's what the aliens did.

The sound of aircraft engines caused him to look up, to see an SU-25 barreling down on the unlucky enemy column. Its rocket pods opened fire as dozens of them found their mark. The screams and smoke caused by the explosion made the aliens realize the seriousness of the predicament they were in. Nikolay heard a guttural shout echo a few yards away, an order. Peering above from the edge of the foxhole, he found what looked like either one of the remaining officers, either an NCO, or an underofficer, or perhaps he may have been someone high-ranked, judging by how the other soldiers were responding to his order. He grabbed his AK-85 and peered down at the iron sights. He slid the selector to semi-auto, thus allowing him more accurate fire. And then he aimed. There wasn't much wind, yet he still had to consider, the bullet drop. His weapon certainly wasn't an SVD or even a Mosin Nagant, but it would have to do.

Nikolay took a deep breath, steadying his heartbeat. The officer still didn't know of the danger he was in, gesturing wildly at the remaining survivors to fall back. Nikolay counted his heartbeat, steadying the shot till he pulled the trigger. The guy's head blew open, deflating like a balloon. Nikolay saw the man stagger backward from the force of the bullet's blow. Before falling backward headfirst. Sargent Melkhin, the NCO then took control of the moment by shouting an order to advance.

"Forwards boys! For the Union!"

The Red Army had learned a lot, especially after its hard experience in winning Afghanistan. Human wave assaults, charges, and the works, while already old during the 70s had still been in use. Now the soldiers advanced behind the ZSU. Nikolay reloaded quickly, his VSR 93 camouflaged Afganka BDU was yet another lesson learned from that war. Tarasov slammed a fresh magazine into his AK and set off at a crouching run to catch up with the advancing troops, a bit difficult due to the bulletproof body armor he was wearing, but not impossible.

No foolish mass charges into enemy fire now. Methodical fire and movement under armored support - just like the mujahideen had taught their Vostokvakian "teachers" all those years ago in Afghanistan's merciless school. Before they got defeated.

"This way! Into the metro!" Melkhin was gesturing wildly toward a station, the big M still glowing. "The enemy's down there!" the sergeant was shouting. Presently, two BMP-2s arrived, their rear doors opening to reveal more Motor Rifle troops. A Leytenant was also there, carrying a two-way radio in his hands, into which he was shouting. Tarasov rejoined his squad before they ran inside and down the stairs, terrified civilians giving them a wide berth. Since the lights were dimmer than usual, the soldiers had to resort to flashlights strapped onto their webbing straps to see. The young officer and his men arrived as well, turning on flashlights as the terror-stricken civies emptied the station as fast as they could. Nikolay had to marvel how within minutes, this station was emptied, leaving only the soldiers as the sole inhabitants now.

The Leytenant came forward through the throng, still talking into the two-way radio. He continued doing this for another minute before switching the thing off and placing it carefully inside its holster. He then turned to the now platoon-sized group of troops and began talking rapid fire. His accent was different than the usual Vostokvakian, so he must have come from somewhere in the Western Republics.

"My name, is Lt Eger Efrimich Tratua, comrades." The young man began. "Our orders come from the highest authority, the Kremlin itself. The trains have been shut down, so it is safe for us to head through the metro lines and towards the stations where enemy incursions have begun. STAVKA has thought it beneficial to tell me, us, that squads of GRU and KGB Alfa group Spetsnaz are already fighting elsewhere in other stations, and we may have to support them. This is all so that the Taman Guards and the MVD Internal troops can start a counterattack."

"What happened to the KGB Border Guards?" an NCO asked.

"We've lost contact with the Lubyanka building, but we do know that there is a fight going on for the building. As much I'd hate to admit, seems like the Chekists are putting up a good defense, comrades."

The NCO nodded, satisfied with the answer, but asked another question.

"What will we do once we've pushed the aliens out of the Metro lines? Assuming we've pushed them back that far, to which Station are we to go?

The lieutenant considered briefly before answering.

"Once our objectives in the metro are secure, higher command will reevaluate the situation at that time." He tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"But I would guess we push to retake key above-ground positions - Oktyabrskaya Square, maybe linking up with KGB forces fighting for the Lubyanka. Cutting the invaders' supply lines under the streets first makes our counterattack stronger up top."

Sounds of distant gunfire echoed eerily through the tunnels, spurring a pang of fear and determination in Tarasov's gut.

The lt. nodded sharply. "For now, we focus on the here and now - clearing this line, station by station, in coordination with Spetsnaz ahead. Questions?"

When none replied, slid the safety of his Kalash and loaded a fresh mag into the assault rifle.

"Alright, then comrades." He whispered. "Let's go! Through here!"

And with that, the platoon slid off the platform and onto the tracks itself. They began to walk slowly into the tunnels, their flashlights the only thing piercing the murky gloom. Tarasov gulped one last time before stowing his fear in. And then joined the platoon as they headed to the next station by foot.

Baneblade Command Tank of the 2211th Cadian Armored Regiment.

General Alexis Jaeger.

"General Sir! Lord Admiral Vallin is contacting you, sir!"

Jaeger turned his head to look at the communications officer sitting at her workstation. Walking over to her quickly from the maps he neatened himself up quickly. "Well, put him through. It would be bad form to keep the Lord Admiral waiting." He said. The brunette nodded her head, ponytail swishing before tapping her workstation's buttons. Within seconds, the connection was made, and Jaeger heard the soft-spoken, but resolute voice of Cardin Wriothesly Vallin.

"jaeger."

"Lord Admiral,"

"Jaeger. Why have you halted the advance?" Vallin's voice was a bit staticky, and tinny through the vox, a sign that the connection wasn't that strong. Nevertheless, Jaeger quickly gave his answer, hoping it would convince him.

"Milord. We've had a lack of enemy contacts. And while some officers would rejoice at the thought of such a situation. It is worrisome to me. I do not want my unit to fall into some trap laid by the rebels. That's why I issued a general halt order. My scouting units are currently scouring the area up ahead."

Vallin's brow furrowed in deep thought. "Well." He finally spoke after some time. "You'd best get cracking. The 97th Elysian Drop Troops are already on the move taking the big bridges in the path of your armoured thrust. If you do not move quickly enough, there may be a threat of an enemy counterattack."

Jaeger cursed internally but nevertheless sighed. It was inevitable that he would be ordered to advance. He quickly assured the admiral that he would get the regiment moving immediately. The Admiral took this all in with a nod before cutting the connection, leaving Jaeger alone to ponder his thoughts. He sighed blearily before switching the intercom onto the regimental circuit. Better get this over with, he didn't want to have the Inquisition breathing down on him, or be turned into a servitor. He shuddered at the thought before he finally spoke.

"All units, this is Jaeger. New orders, we're to continue the advance. That is all." He sat down into his seat and nursed a warm cup of tanna. He drank it slowly, wondering how in Terra's name he was going to advance forward without any clue of enemy forces. Rumbling angrily, he proceeded to head up to the cupola. He needed some fresh air. He got out of his seat and trudged up to the cupola. It creaked open before he dragged himself out, balancing the cup precariously. Outside, the sky was slowly turning orange, he could see contrails high up in the air, but he couldn't tell if they were Imperial or Rebel.

The Baneblade's engine growled alive, causing the cupola to shake slightly. Behind him, the road came alive with the sounds of Leman Russ's starting up, along with the Chimera's and Taurox APCs. Jaeger felt the cupola shake as the gargantuan vehicle began to move, his armor spearhead following him faithfully like sheep to a shepherd. He just hoped the bridges were taken by the time he arrived.

Hauptmann Anna Meyer.

9. Panzerdivision.

Ulraznavia.

They had finally escaped from Bad Orb. The remaining Leopard 2A4s, only 3 left, had moved off with the remaining infantry mounted up in the 4 remaining Marder 1A3 AFVs. Since Meyer's tank had been so brutally damaged, Marai and Sabine had to cannibalize the wrecked tanks for spare parts and ammunition. Nearing evening, they'd been able to fall back after making the necessary repairs. The Concordians were down to just two Abrams, most of the exhausted infantrymen were riding on the tanks. They'd arrived at the recently evacuated town of Afenau. The Marders and Leopards were standing guard, covering the two Abrams that were rumbling across the bridge. Just as the last Abrams trundled off and to hopeful safety, her radio squawked to life.

"Contact coming towards the bridge. I'm looking at civilian vehicles requisitioned by the aliens!"

Anna acknowledged the warning before going off the circuit and cursed. The turret turned, IR sights being switched on. She quickly looked through the tank's sights.

Out there in the darkness, a large motley collection of civilian pickup trucks, cars, and lorries was revealed to be driving fast toward them, the lorries serving as ad-hoc troop transport trucks. They were rapidly closing in, and she could see some of them were even fitted with HMGs.

"Shit! Julia! Load Sabot. Sabine target that lead sedan!" Meyer barked out orders rapidly, the crew springing to action. Anna quickly contacted the remaining tanks. It seemed they weren't out of the woods just yet. The radiowaves soon became filled with panicked voices as everyone talked over the other.

"What the hell's going on?"

"Did those guys advance from Bad Orb?

"Fuck! Contacts incoming, multiple civilian vehicles compromised by the enemy!" Anna bellowed into the radio as the ragged convoy bore down the road toward the bridgehead.

"Sabine, blow that lead fucker!" She spun the turret, acquiring her target - a pickup truck with a crude armor plate crudely welded onto its bed, holding half a dozen alien troops bristling with laser guns. Flames streaked from the coax as Anna hammered the trigger.

"On the way!" Sabine called from the gunner's seat. Anna shifted targets, hosing the next vehicle with 7.62x51mm while Sabine sent another shell flying into a lorry. A flash erupted as one of the Marders launched ATGM, its missile streaking straight into the flaming wreck of the truck.

"Good kill! Change target, next vehicle," Anna ordered through the raging din. But the rest of the platoon was already engaging, a symphony of cannon fire and missile launches tearing into the rushing enemy. A car swerved and smashed onto the road, buckling under armor-piercing shells.

A transmission cut through the mayhem. " Contact South! Got infantry flanking us, taking fire!"

Anna swore viciously. They were being surrounded. "Pull back across the bridge, form a defensive line! Engage any targets, don't let them close to melee!"

The remaining vehicles scrambled into reverse, laying down and suppressing fire as they withdrew. Dark figures rushed from the trees, laser beams lancing towards the withdrawing forces. It would be a bloody fight holding this position...

A few moments prior.

97th Elysian Drop Troops Reg.

Pvt Wilk Dremart felt the wind rush through his hair as the requisitioned vehicle he and a few squadmates were using. He was manning the Heavy Stubber welded onto a mount on the cargo bed as the motley procession raced to the target. With any luck, the two Cadian Regiments would arrive at the perimeter the 97th had set up on their pre-planned target and would guide them to the big bridges. Bridges which the regiment would now be taking.

They could see the bridges themselves now. Above, the sky turned a brilliant shade of orange and purple, signaling that evening had come. They'd made good use of the excellent roads here, perhaps even the wider Imperium could use these techniques once the rebels had been dealt with. They were arriving a few minutes early, but if their intelligence was correct, the town and the bridges would be captured without a shot fired due to reconnaissance flights showing it had been abandoned hastily yesterday.

Further reconnaissance done by the Cadian 5th Armored Regiment had revealed the presence of an enemy battlegroup stationed in one of the little towns a few clicks away. They'd been completely wiped out, but not before putting at least three Guard and two Tank Battalions out of commission. It revealed a lot about the rebels, who it seemed were, while not as well equipped as the regiment facing them, did seem to be certainly more skilled than the usual Secessionist, Rebel, traitor, or cultist the Imperium would usually associate with single-planet rebellions.

Wilk Dremart was thrown out of his thoughts quite literally as the vehicle drove off-road. Causing the stubber to swing around widely on its mount, while Wilk was thrown face-first onto the cargo top's floor. He cursed loudly while nursing his nose, while Rene managed to stop the wayward stubber.

"Hey idiot!" he rapped on the glass looking into the driver's compartment where Pvt Annamarie Colditz sat gunning the vehicle to its maximum limit to keep up with the rest of the force. "You tryin' to kill us you fething underworld drag racer?" he screamed.

Colditz gave an apologetic shrug before returning her focus to the wheel. Wilk groaned before he forced himself up on his feet, Andras helping him balance and leading him back to the stubber, which Rene had steadied now.

"Sorry Wilk! But Captain Rietveld said we need to be on fucking schedule!" Annamarie apologized.

The foliage here was dense. Which was why Rietveld, had split up the force. While they rushed head-on, a second group was dismounting from their makeshift personnel carriers on the Southern side.

The second group was primarily made up of inexperienced new recruits who'd finished their tour of guarding Elysia, and conscripts. This had been their first combat drop and while not exactly well trained, their more experienced NCOs, officers, and Commissar. Right now, they were being herded into position. Bayonets were fixed before the officers sent confirmations to Rietveld. The NCOs, great, scarred bullies of guardsmen gave the men a final torrent of verbal abuse to both the eager and uneager young boys and girls.

"You will advance and take the bridges!"

The NCOs followed the commissar, passing each assembled guardsman in the line, bellowing loudly to each and every one of them.

"Retreat means you are a traitor! And traitors will be shot!"

"Anyone trying to fall back in the face of enemy fire will be branded a heretic!"

"You will show no fear!"

"You will soon call yourself veterans! Heroes who liberated this beautiful world in His Name!"

Meanwhile, as the first group came closer to the bridges, Wilk was certain he could see boxy silhouettes near the bridge. He wasn't sure if they were simply buildings or something else. There was a boom, the sound of a cannon firing. Before one of the lorries exploded, careering off course and causing two others to crash. The group began to zig-zag and scatter to dodge enemy fire. Wilk watched with morbid curiosity as a huge red truck probably formerly used for civil defense purposes was reduced to scrap by an anti-tank missile, the contrail flashing past before it slammed into the massive thing.

The blossoming explosion caused debris to fly in all directions, some striking other cars and trucks, others dissecting unlucky guardsmen who had dismounted. Annamarie put her foot on the pedal and accelerated, as stubber fire from the enemy side raked the area, turning it into a slaughterhouse. Guardsmen who were unlucky to have not been killed instantly were now moaning or crying on the grass, slowly blooming with red blood. Some had entrails streaming out and were dragging themselves to find cover.

In a dark navy blue armored truck, Captain Jorhan Rietveld ordered everyone, driver included, to dismount. They'd burst out of the foliage just in time to see a rebel tank painted in the green, brown, and black tri-color camouflage pattern leveling its gun at them. They'd escaped just in time, everyone tumbling out of the grass as their transport exploded. Coax fire soon followed the green tracers slicing through the grass neatly like a harvester. Rietveld and his command squad ran fast, barely dodging the bullets before they realized that they would have to either swim through the shallow water or charge through the hail of bullets.

Wilk meanwhile had jumped with his squad and advanced, firing their Accatran pattern lasguns into the houses where enemy infantry were stationed. A rebel-operated heavy stubber opened up in response, with a whining high-pitched Brrrrrrrrrt, that reminded him of a buzzsaw. Several members of the squad were cut into pieces, blood turning the ground red. He cursed as a Guardsman next to him was reduced to cheese, his body smoking. He quickly advanced, jumping behind a disabled wreck. All while bullets whizzed and smacked the ground around him.

More guardsmen ran up behind him, lasguns blazing. Cries for help soon joined into the orchestra of small-arms fire and tank guns.

"Medic!" a guardsman screamed; his leg having been blown. His cries went unanswered in the general chaos and maelstrom the battle was descending into. More guardsmen were cut down and their screams soon joined this choir of misery. Some clawed at the sky, begging for their God-Emperor to give them strength, to save them from the faithless. Only, their god never answered, or if he could, he could not see them. The green grass soon turned red as blood began to leak out, growing into separate branches that from the top, looked like veins.

An Elysian missile launcher team soon took up a position near one of the tanks (Which had thankfully not noticed them.) and set up the launcher. One of the guardsmen placed it onto his shoulder while his comrade loaded the rocket. With a clank! He slammed it into place, before tapping the one firing on the shoulder lightly.

The tank they'd targeted had a tallish, slightly flat turret. It was larger and a bit more spacious looking compared to the cramped Russ Tanks seen in the Guard. It was painted in a Dark greenish-brownish camouflage with black and white patches. The AT gunner collected his thoughts, saying a quick prayer to the Emperor to guide his shot true before pulling the trigger.

There was a whoosh! The projectile leapt from the stamped metal tube holding it in a blaze of white smoke and orange sparks. It flew through the air, gaining momentum and increasing in speed and velocity. The two Guardsmen watched with bated breath as they tracked the rocket's progress. In the span of a second, the world and time seemed to slow down to a halt. The rocket had become the crux, the savior on whose shoulders, the victory of the Imperial Guard seemed to have been placed. The tank remained unaware of its impending doom, firing away at their comrades. Nothing mattered anymore. The only thing that did, was the tank's destruction.

The guardsmen watched, bodies rigid with tension as the missile slammed into the tank's side armor with a spectacular explosion that kicked up a huge dust cloud that obscured their view of the vehicle, but the black smoke told it all. They'd felled the beast.

The two-man team gave a ragged cheer, pumping their fists up in the air, the loader thumping the gunner on the back. Neither noticed the dust cloud dissipating and the tank reappearing. The gunner turned his head to inspect his kill and blanched as he heard the whine of a turret moving. The tank wasn't destroyed.

It must have been sabotage, the gunner thought frantically. No armored vehicle could withstand an Accatran Mark II Missile Launcher. That thing should have been blown to pieces, its chassis erupting in gouts of flame like a Terran Candle! Instead, all the things had done was scorch a section of the side-skirt paint job. No other damage could have been observed! Instantly, the gunner squawked an order for the loader to reload, which the other Guardsman rapidly began to do, whipping out another rocket and starting to reload it. However, fear and adrenaline were disrupting the poor man's focus. His hands were shaking, and he could feel the beads of sweat trickle down his neck and forehead, forcing him to wipe his visor.

The tank's turret, however, finally set its sights on them. Like a hammer, its gun was pointed at the two men. The gunner gulped, shouting at his comrade to finish reloading. He could feel the tank watching their sad attempt with almost smug superiority. The rebel tank commander was probably laughing with his crew. Pointing at them through the sights. The air grew thick with a scent, and the gunner realized with horror that he was pissing himself due to fear!

"Let's get out of here!" he shouted to his comrade, dropping the now-useless RPG and the knapsack filled with rockets. The loader agreed with his sentiments and also, began to push himself to his feet, the gunner copying him. Sweaty fingers grabbed grass, as their ragged breaths game out like the gasps of Imperial Navy voidsmen in the vacuum of space, dimly he became aware that whimpers had started to erupt from his throat. He was only a thin stretch away from breaking down completely and just giving up and crying while sitting on his ass. While a frakking tank fired its cannon and reduced him to charred, roasted meat.

Finally getting up and standing straight, they quickly turned their back to the tank, leaving the RPG and bag abandoned there.

"C'mon!" his comrade urged "We can make i-"

He'd forgotten how close to the tank they were.

The sound of the tank gun's discharge and the following explosion deafened him, the fiery scorching heat forcing him to shut his eyes. The scream that he had released died out into a hoarse rasp, pain, unbearable and horrifically unimaginable pain shot up his neck and he clamped his hand down on it. It felt soggy, and wet, like a cut of meat at a butcher's shop.

He peeled his eyes open to find, by some extraordinary miracle that he was still standing. Perhaps the Emperor had shown his mercy after all. He tried to laugh. But the pain was so much, he shut his mouth. He couldn't see where his comrade was, he did find his boot though. He tried to groan, but instead, the sound that came out was more like a painful pitiful half-gasp-choke that hurt his throat, the exertion causing blood to dribble down his jaw and chin, in crimson red ribbons.

He took a step forward, the small motor function draining him of any strength left. His leg then buckled and bent, before he crumpled altogether face first, the force from his fall causing his throat to gush out blood in a fountain of rouge. He tried to call for help as his eyes dimmed and his head began going limp.

Corporal Kelsi Brynn's last coherent thought went out to the God-Emperor and hoped he would join him soon. Then, all went dark, and the pain, mercifully went away.

The Abrams Tank Commander had taken the attack on his vehicle as a personal affront. Sgt Zachary Flores cursed loudly as the impact caused him to smash his head along his periscope's surface, blood gliding down his forehead.

"Fuck! Gunney! Impact came from our right! Traverse and find that fucker! Blow him to fucking pieces!"

Corporal Chris Wilson didn't smirk like he usually did, merely he followed the order to the letter, traversing to the direction and looking through the gunner's sight. He switched on the thermals and found the RPG team. Bastards had somehow snuck up and hid themselves in a couple of bushes to their right.

"Target Identified! Found the bogies sir!" he reported.

"Loader! Load High Explosive!"

"Up!" the loader, a Minnesota native called Denis said as he rammed the shell into the gun and slammed the breach shut.

Ibanez stared through his sights. The RPG team had abandoned their equipment and decided to hightail it. But Ibanez was quicker, and just as the two unlucky idiot's stood up. He gave the order: "Fire!"

"On the way!" Wilson shouted, pulling the trigger.

The tank bucked backward a little on its treads due to the recoil of the blast. He looked through his sights. One of the bastard's had been reduced to shreds of cloth and paper, the other guy was still alive. Ibanez ordered the tank to traverse its turret back to the general direction of the deteriorating battle. But Wilson stole one last glance through the sights at the silhouette.

The situation was slowly stabilizing. Although they'd been taken by surprise by the aliens in their impromptu "mobile cavalry", they'd slowly stopped the advance to a grinding halt. Already, they could see the bodies of men, smoking as they lay dead.

"Shit's getting hectic out here." Pvt Leslie Harrison, the driver commented from his seat.

"Can it Les! Get up and take man the M240! I'll take the 50. Cal!"

Leslie carefully stood up, bending his head to avoid any collision and clambering out of the fighting compartment and onto the cupola. Ibanez joined him and both of them took their places at the machine guns, opening fire.

The infantry had long since dismounted from the tanks. The remaining US infantry had been "tank-riding" on the back of the Abrams because most of the Bradley's and M113s had been knocked out. They now joined the Ulraznavian Panzergrenadiers in giving the aliens one hell of a bad day.

"How are you dealing with your first time in Combat?" Ibanez shouted over to Leslie, the roar of machine guns forcing him to shout to be heard.

"This shit's fucking insane sarge!" Harrison hollered back as he sprayed hot lead downrange. The spent casings jingled like bells as they fell inside. He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead before returning his finger to the trigger. He continued firing on and on till the gun clicked empty and the barrel glowed red hot.

"Fuck!" he swore loudly before dropping back inside to grab a box of ammo. Je then popped back out, quickly reloading the gun before Ibanez tapped his shoulder.

"Get back in and back to your station." the sergeant ordered, pushing Harrison back inside, to which the driver complied.

"This is Lieutenant Greene. We're gonna fall back in a few minutes. Get ready!"

Ibanez fired the last few rounds of the M2 before it too went silent. He then rejoined the rest of the guys, who were scrambling into their positions. He cracked a grim smile.

"Gentlemen. Welcome to combat I guess."

The 3 others didn't look up from their stations, already veterans from the previous day's fighting and the evening of today. With a groan, Ibanez slid into his seat and waited for the LT and the Ulraznavians to give orders to withdraw.

He hoped they'd get out of this one alive. Ibanez had first seen service in 1991, against the Assyrians and their invasion of the Sheikhdom of Ghaur. He didn't want to die just after becoming a dad. They'd survive.

They'd live and return home, and his son would see him again. He swore on it.

The second wing of Elysian guardsmen had been watching the gory decimation of their counterparts with morbid eyes. They could hear the screams and groans emanating from dying and wounded men. While the experienced guardsmen kept their emotions in check, those conscripts for whom it was the first time, openly vomited and hurled the contents of their stomachs onto the ground and their boots. Some began to weep, others prayed to the God-Emperor, or to the Imperial saints. Other conscripts whimpered, rocking or shaking themselves, trails of vomit running down from their mouths and onto their collars.

The commissar attached to this group, a scarred, ravaged husk of a man promptly executed one unlucky conscript who was attempting to slip away, the girl's helmeted head disappearing in a spectacular fountain of blood and gore, body falling down with limbs askew. Some of the blood fell onto the man's black uniform, he sniffed contemptuously before turning to address the quivering conscript column.

"The next one of you to attempt desertion will be shot! Your families will be dishonored. Your names will be erased and your very existence rendered a work of fiction! All of you will march forward and take this bridge! For the Emperor! You will learn from this experience! You will become true men! Am I clear?"

"Yes sir." The column affirmed. The commissar nodded before continuing to shout orders.

"Fix Bayonets! Load your lasguns! Captain Rietveld orders us to advance!"

All members, veteran or conscript scrambled as they got ready. Bayonets were snapped on, Charge Cells were checked to see if they were loaded. NCOs shuffled their squads into position. The commissar took out a silver whistle from his pocket and placed it close to his mouth. Now even the guardsmen didn't make a sound. Or the birds, or any fauna. Even the battle they were going to enter seemed to have gone silent.

'Wheeeeeet!'

With a great roar, the Elysian Drop troops surged forward, taking great strides as fast as they could to close up the distance quickly. The commissar charged ahead, bellowing chants and slogans as he got the troops into a frenzy. Some rebel infantrymen looked up with pure horror in their faces. A scarred Elysian veteran smiled savagely. They would win this day, after all, it seemed.

And then somewhere, a heavy stubber opened up. The houses along the southern side of the town they were assaulting lit up as stubber and autogun fire ripped into the guardsmen with brutal ferocity. The commissar was the first to die, a stubber bullet slamming into the old ideologue's skull, jerking the man's body back a few feet to where it lay now, blood gushing from the cavity like water would from a broken pitcher.

The death of the commissar led to the dam bursting. The conscripts now had trouble going not only forward, or backward, because the enemy stubbers caught them anyway. The discipline of the platoon broke down immediately among the 1st year conscripts and recruits, and everyone began to shove and push each other frantically. The screams rose in tremor, men began to clutch at their wounds and many lay dead, their brains splattered on the dew-dropped grass.

A private clutched his wound, gasping. Around him, veterans tried to corral their conscripted counterparts back into formation to no avail. They were killed by autogun fire too, the rebels firing at the unarmored areas such as the lower jaw and legs. Those shots that did hit the Mark XII Carapace Armor sent their wearers howling down to the ground, sending shards of ceramite and armaplas to painfully embed themselves into their bodies. These poor souls would then simply lie down and die slowly.

A clumsy disorganized mess of a rout soon began as guardsmen began to push and tackle each other out of the way to escape. While most of the veterans attempted to hold strong, they were soon overwhelmed by both enemy fire and the sheer weight panic-stricken mass of humanity that surged backward.

A young private screamed as she twisted her leg, white-hot pain shooting up. With tear-stained eyes, she dragged herself forward, the pain feeling as if her leg was on fire.

Crunch! A booted foot crushed her hand. She screamed as more and more of her comrades ran over her, the helmet offering scant protection as the entire platoon surged over her. When the tidal wave finally passed, the young woman lay ironed out on the grass, as lifeless and flat as a paper doll.

A burly scarred sergeant forced his way to the front of the mess, a mixture of veterans and a conscript squad following, heads down low to avoid being reduced to a gory jam. He press-ganged any retreating trooper unlucky enough into his growing formation. Once they had cleared themselves of the storm, the sergeant and his squad charged forward, their charge cells being used up in single fire shots.

"To me!" the scarred man bellowed, raising his weapon. "For the Emperor! To me!"

Turning his head back, he was shocked to find that aside from the two surviving veterans who had survived the charge through stubber fire, most of the conscripts had instead slipped away. Or they were firing their weapons by lying prone. They weren't moving an inch. And they never would.

The Sergeant, so overcome with emotion, and with tears of rage, and shame rolling down his cheeks, shouted "Cowards! Fraking Traitors! Heretics!"

A rebel autogun bullet silenced him, his unexposed face reduced to a bloody soup. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The storm of fire sliced through the disorganized group with unflinching accuracy. Some of them were so close, that it became hard for the men to maneuver through the bloodstained grass. The stubber gave a sound like a buzzsaw.

Some of the squads that had been held back soon materialized onto the field, lasguns firing. Almost immediately The rout lurched into a lethal stampede as men turned as one, a mindless herd driven by terror alone.

Ahead, men were hurling themselves into vehicles, doors slamming amidst popping shots.

Engines roared to life as drivers threw them into gear, wheels spinning freely over fallen comrades.

"Wait!" a subaltern cried, waving his hands before one of the cars crashed into him, flinging him a few meters away.

"Stop!"

"Don't leave us!"

"Frak, I don't wanna die!"

Some of the surviving Guardsmen who'd barely avoided the Grim Reaper decided to bolt into the surrounding forest altogether. They dropped their weapons and most of their equipment for speed.

"What the fuck happened?" Captain Rietveld murmured as he saw the south side fall silent. Then, as if realizing, he shouted: "Fall back!"

A member of his command squad quickly fired a flare.

"What about the wounded?" another man asked.

"Leave them, nothing we can do at this point." he sighed. "Come on you jackasses! Get moving! You're slower than Elysian Sky Tortoises" he placed a pair of aviators on.

With a slow, funeral march pace, the remains of the 1st platoon trudged or limped back, some using their lasguns as crutches. They began to walk back, in hopes of finding some new vehicles in some of the abandoned towns before driving back to their original LZ and regrouping with the rest of the regiment.

The Inquisition was going to have a field day with all of this.

Rietveld grumbled irritably. He now had to deal with the Inquisition breathing down on his neck. If General Dietrick didn't convince them, he'd probably turn into a servitor, or worse an arco-flagellant.

He shivered slightly, and it had nothing to do with the cold. He'd deal with whatever was coming back at the LZ. Now he had to get his men to safety and ensure their survival.

A good chunk of the 2nd Platoon was now AWOL, the conscripts having fled into the forest, leaving behind weapons and equipment. And the other survivors were nowhere to be found at the moment.

The rebels, meanwhile, were firing smoke grenades, no doubt so they could shore up defenses. They were smart, Rietveld had to admit. Tenacious too. Surprisingly, no signs of Chaos or Xenos taint could be seen on them or their vehicles, so they were either on a DAOT world or a secessionist one.

General Jaeger, Rietveld mused, would have to take the bridges on his own. There was nothing he could do about the fact that a fully armed rebel force had taken up defensive positions in the town and had created a literal fortress. He hoped the General would give them hell for the losses the two platoons had sustained.

He simply lit a Lho stick and trudged forward with the rest of them, the sky turning orange, illuminating it beautifully.

After the aliens had withdrawn, Meyer and the remaining tanks released smoke grenades to cover the fact they were retreating.

The Panzergrenadiers remounted the Marders while the Concordians got onto the back of the Abrams tanks. Then, in a single-file column, they began trundling backward and over the large bridge on the River Skald.

Anna consulted her PDAs map. According to it, they were near one of the staging points, for the 25th Motorized Infantry Division and the 5th Panzer Division. She sighed in relief. They were finally entering friendly territory.

"Ladies, we're in luck! The 25th Motorized are mustering near from here. I'm guessing to fight these alien bastards."

"Thank God it's over." Marai wiped her forehead, relief evident on her features as she drove.

"Don't think it's over yet. This is a World War." Sabine snarked from where she was sitting at the gunner's station.

"Jeez Sab lighten up, we just survived again. Try to be celebratory." Julia said while smiling. Sweat covered her face. It covered all of them.

Now that danger was away, the 4 began to unscrew the hatches, allowing for some much-needed fresh air, the tank's AC unit having been shot up by an alien tank during their defense of Bad Orb.

Anna swung open the commander's hatch, gasping and sighing as the cool afternoon air bit her skin.

"This feels... fucking nice." Sabine, the prickly girl that she was, grudgingly admitted as she joined her up on the Leopard 2A4s turret.

"Sabine, about your older brother. Where was he in. the Ulraznavian Civil War? You mentioned wanting to find him. But knowing that the war took place in 1990, you must have been in high school.

Sabine was silent for a minute before she turned to stare at Anna. "I was only a sophomore when the war started and ended, it was short. But it was brutal."

Anna nodded, motioning for her to continue. "As a result, when the war ended as spectacularly as it began, it became known that my brother was MIA. Mom was devastated. Dad was too. So when I joined the Army, I did so to find that Sonovabitch and bring him home!"

Anna leaned in to give a small supportive embrace. "Hey, we'll find him, after this alien invasion thing blows over, you'll get him."

"Get off!" Sabine squirmed, pushing her away. Anna laughed. "What's the matter Sabine? Afraid everyone will see your 'soft side'?"

"Fuck off!" Sabine scowled, though there was no heat in her words. She flipped Anna off for good measure before returning back down. Leaving Anna alone on the turret. She sighed.

"I wish this were a fucking nightmare, and I'll wake up in my bed and there will be no alien invasion." She sighed wistfully before she too ducked and headed back inside.

The Exodite crouched down low and studied the tracks. They were fresh, meaning that his prey had passed through here recently. Very recently too.

Getting up, the Aeldari male began to move swiftly through the oak and pine trees, his Eldar Physiology allowing him to run faster than any Mon'keigh possibly could. He leaped over a fallen trunk before stopping and bending down again.

"You're close." The Exodite murmured before getting back up and continuing to run. The hunt was on. Looking up in the general direction, he found a tall pine tree. 'Perfect'

With a grunt, the Exodite vaunted himself up onto the trunk itself, before he began to scale it quickly like the apes of this planet he'd seen once in a zoo. He barely felt any fatigue as he then sat astride on the tallest branch and aimed down with his Ranger rifle's pan-spectral sights.

Using his psychic talents, he soon enough found the signature of his prey. His finger tightened around the trigger and time seemed to slow down…

"Kurnous, God of Hunting. Guide my aim true and strike down my prey." The Exodite chanted.

The trigger was pulled, and a shard of shuriken lanced forth from the rifle. The beam flew through the trees and the foliage, flying at speeds that lesser races' weapons could only dream of attaining. It disappeared into the foliage, the resounding flash being the sole indicator that the weapon had been fired at all.

The Exodite jumped and leaped from the branch, literally propelling himself forward to reveal a makeshift glider that allowed him to easily traverse and close the distance between him and his prey.

Falling into a crouch with a thump. He withdrew a Wraithbone knife from a sheath strapped to his armored waist around a belt. His prey was a 4-legged mammal known as a deer (an exact copy of an ancient Terran Animal.)

He quickly skinned the animal, taking its pelt and removing its head. All that was left was its headless, skinless body which he hefted onto his shoulders and began his long walk back to his dwelling. Then, he'd turn part of the meat into dinner and the rest, he'd preserve for later use.

The Exodite then hefted the carcass onto his shoulders, his rifle slung onto his back before he began the journey home to his secluded home in the fringes of the forest. He wasn't tired or hungry, but he needed to store the food for the winter, and he could trade food with the small town for parts and Axiom for the generator.

Striding at a leisurely pace with his cargo, his ears prickled as they felt the tremor of adrenaline-filled footfalls heading in his direction. They weren't the terrified steps of a group of playing Mon'Keigh children, but those of terror-stricken young adults, which confused him. Very few people would ever venture this deep into the forest, and it wasn't a car transporting them.

"What have we here?" the Exodite carefully placed the valuable meat, propping it against a tree before leaping up its trunk and camouflaging himself from view. 4 Mon'keigh blundered into the path, stopping to catch a breath, terror written on their faces.

"Feth that was close!" the Exodite heard one of them say. His eyes narrowed deeply. They weren't speaking the languages native to this planet; they were speaking Low Gothic! But that couldn't have been possible!

"Thank the Emperor we escaped!"

"Thank the Emperor? We just fething ran from battle! The Emperor's probably furious up there in his Golden Throne!"

Battle? Escape? The Exodite wondered, had something happened while he was busy? Was the Imperium here? In a different reality?

"Hate to break it to you Groxheads." One of them coughed. "We don't have any of our las weapons. The others stared at their comrade in shock before speaking in unison: "What!"

"What's to worry about?" one of them waved her hand dismissively. "This place is a civilized world; I doubt any of the things here will kill us."

By now, the Exodite could see the emblem on their uniforms clearly enough to identify them. And his worst fears were confirmed. The Imperial Aquila. Those theocratic Mon'keigh fools had somehow found a way to traverse to another reality. And they were going to conquer and burn this world like they always did.

He knew enough now. If there were 4 here, then that meant a compliance fleet was already above the atmosphere, pounding away. They were probably doing battle with the local Mon'keigh, the theocratic fools probably wanting to add yet another world to their "Glorious" Imperium. He readied his Ranger Long Rifle…

"What's that!" one of the Mon'keigh cried in alarm as he saw the light flash. Damn it! They'd seen the sunlight flash off of his Pan-Spectral sights. He pulled the trigger, downing one of them who went down with a cry before jumping downwards like a thunderbolt.

He slammed down on one knee, the impact made him wince a little bit, but not before he trapped one of the Mon'keigh by throwing the knife to her raised arm. Trapping her when it hit the tree trunk it caught her sleeve. Just before the last one wrapped his arms around him in a chokehold.

"Nia! Get the frak over here and help me with this xeno!" the Mon'keigh ordered.

"I'm trying dammit!" the other one growled in frustration as she vainly tried to free her sleeve from the curved wraithbone knife, only to get more and more tangled within the seams.

The Exodite groaned as the pressure on his neck increased. His eyes began to dim, and he was beginning to lose consciousness. With a snarl, he elbowed the man, no, the boy, in the gut. He whipped his head back and slammed his head as well, feeling his attacker's nose break with a satisfying crunch.

He spun, hurling the boy bodily into a tree. He whirled as he barely dodged a bullet fired by the woman, twisting her wrist till the auto pistol fell down with a clank. He grabbed her neck roughly afterward, leaning in closely.

"Talk Mon'keigh. Tell me, is there a fleet in orbit?"

"Frak you xeno!" the woman choked out. "Mon'keigh, you are in no position to throw curses." The Exodite tightened the hold on the woman's neck.

"You're days are…numbered, Eldar Scum." The woman breathed out. "The Imperium will burn this world, and you, before we bring it back into the fold."

"I doubt the locals will allow it." The Exodite said as the woman's neck cracked under his fingers. He wiped his gloved hand as the woman's body slid down to the ground. "What a mess."

4 bodies lay around him now. In various poses of death. Replacing his knife back in its sheath, he dragged them off one by one, throwing each corpse down a steep ravine. Clapping his hands, he slid the rifle around his back before picking up his precious deer meet and continuing his journey back home, but first, he had to check something.

Walking out to the boundary between the national park and the town, the Exodite was greeted by a scene of carnage. Smoke wafted from the charred skeletons of wrecked vehicles. And the moans of the wounded and the dying rose up sporadically from time to time. The town itself, and the big bridge were surprisingly untouched and spotless than the blackened, bloodstained grass.

He whipped out his knife and shuriken pistol and swiftly set to work. Dispatching any of the remaining Imperial wounded or dying. He gave them a swift coup-de-grace depending on the level of damage. Inspecting his handiwork and finding it satisfactory, he wiped the knife on his sleeve before replacing it and the pistol back in their sheath and holster respectively. He then turned and swiftly disappeared into the national park with the meat.

It seemed like he would be making some calls, the Exodite hurried back to his dwelling, he needed to get dressed. It was time to get some answers from a few old friends.