Victory needs no explanation; Defeat allows none.
Guardsmen collapsed on the ground with excruciated screams as shootas tore through them from all sides. Visibility in the ruins was terrible, the engagement reaching its climax, and collateral damage unavoidable as Guardsmen and Orks clashed throughout the ruins, collapsing walls and boring holes through structures. High calibre ammunition and lasfire were exchanged in screaming hails of death and destruction. Blood and viscera flew about in pseudo-artistic form, spraying the walls with crimson vitae. Bodies and parts of bodies lay sprawled about this way and that. There was an unmistakable stench of death in the air, sickly sweet and nauseating.
Commissar Gaius Deltarian was in a fight for his life against one of the biggest Ork Nobs he had witnessed during service to the Imperium of Man. It hefted an huge Big Choppa and slammed it down with enough force to split the earth. Gaius dodged to the right with with little room to spare as he slid away into a wall, overcoat flowing. He fired three Bolts into the ork’s helmet. One out of the three bolts penetrated, exceeding the speed of sound. It detonated an imperceptible time afterwards, perhaps a fraction of a second. The Ork staggered back, bloodied, as two Guardsmen vaulted into the building through a pair of broken windows, tackling the Ork to the ground. They readied their bayonets, stabbing it repeatedly in the torso, causing it to twitch spasmodically. Blearily, it blinked, it’s primitive xenos nervous system barely processing its own demise. It ceased to exist.
Gaius walked to the Guardsmen that had assisted him against the Nob. He gestured calmly to them, breathing steady, manner official. They stood at attention, staring into the hollow sockets of his rebreather mask, common to all members of the Death Korps of Krieg. The battle had moved away, leaving behind befouled, gory detritus and the screams of the dead and dying. Some distance away, a building collapsed from a barrage of distant explosive batteries.
“Guardsmen, give me your names, positions, and squad designations.”
“Sir!” The gas masked soldier saluted smartly, despite the blood and filth smearing his tan coloured uniform, “I am Guardsman Julius Kuperjanov of the Armaggeddon Steel Legion, a medic. My squad was killed in an Ork assault a few minutes ago. I met up with this guardswoman thereafter. We’ve been fighting ever since, sir.”
The Commissar turned to the woman who stood sharply at attention beside the man.
“Guardswoman Angelika Williams, sir,” she announced, “Eleventh Carilian, field medic. I came across Guardsman Kuperjanov and assisted him. Took down a large number of Orks, we did!”
“And your squad, Guardswoman?” The Commissar, towering over the medic leaned downward slightly.
She gulped, “Dead, sir.”
“Unfortunate.”
She nodded.
The Commissar turned around.
“So, I must express my gratitude to you for assisting me. My survival was not assured against that Ork Nob,” Gaius intoned.
Behind him, the two Guardsman straightened slightly. Gaius, a career morale officer sensed it immediately, as well as the pride that was practically radiating off of them. He almost smiled. Soldiers with potential were soldiers that he liked to see. Something that the Krieg would never understand, he supposed offhandedly.
“Yes sir!” Jaxx and Julius responded to the Commissar, who was already striding out of the building towards the Imperial Forward Operating Base. He marched past the burning and annihilated wreckage of his armored personnel carrier. He nearly shook his head at the charred bodies which lay strewn over it. The Guardsmen had tried to escape. Gaius had survived by virtue of being the first out. He was glad for the mask times like these.
Upon exiting the building, a Chimera rolled into the street, smashing through piles of rubble. Its multilaser spat death at the distant Ork targets. A Boy was veritably torn in half by the fusillade of fire. The boarding ramp dropped with an audible hiss. A black masked Krieger calmly marched out, lasrifle at the ready.
The Krieger saluted smartly, as all Kriegers did. He stared straight at the Commissar with silent deference like all Kriegers did. The Commissar, an offworlder, caught himself from sighing at the typical display of Krieger discipline and emotionlessness.
“Deliver your report Guardsman,” The Commissar said, “I assume that is your purpose here.”
“Commissar, Guardsman 37346438-4 reporting. Chimera delivered as instructed. Command F.O.B. Divine Fury requests your presence for the delivery of further instruction,” The Krieger intoned softly and emotionlessly.
The Commissar recognized this Krieger. He smiled.
“Thank you, Zephyr,” He replied, watching the Krieger stiffen at the nickname,
“Proceed.”
The newly assembled fire team boarded the transport. It spun on its tracks before charging down the ruined and bombed out streets with shocking rapidity. The drivers certainly didn’t wish to be trapped in that firefight after seeing their destroyed comrade.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Two orks standing lookout in a Imperial Cathedral Tower collapsed in silent sprays of blood as Alexander “Silent Eyes” and Morgan Webres slit their throats. Though they did not know it, and indeed, never stood to learn anything more, they were but numbers among a massive talley of kills. Like all Orks, it took several seconds for their bodies to acknowledge their demise. During this time, they choked on their blood and furiously attempted to scream in rage with voices deprived by sharpened steel and severed windpipes.
Silent nodded to Morgan, and sneaked off to scout the rest of the Cathedral. Morgan laid upon his stomach looking out of a collapsed part of the tower upon a scene of total desolation. Collapsed buildings were round about and impossible to not notice. Corpse lay strewn haphazardly about, and severed limbs decorated the streets, human and otherwise. Ignoring the horror before him, having seen such repeatedly, he pulled out his binoculars and peered through them, looking for the location of Ork Gun batteries that had been pounding the Imperial frontline for weeks. During the slow advance of attritionist warfare, these artillery pieces had greatly hampered Imperial efforts. But no more. He spotted them, barrels pointed upwards, spitting fire as greenskins scrambled about, loading the weapons with high explosives marked with crude bastardizations of Low Gothic and casual blasphemies.
He pulled out his vox, tuning it swiftly to the proper signal and whispered, “Command, command, this is Alpha-Tertius-Two-Niner. Respond.”
A blurt of static, and then a distorted voice, “This is Command, go ahead, Alpha-Tertius.”
“I found the gun batteries, Command. They’re nestled inside an what looks like a playing field.”
“Command copies, Guardsman. What are the coordinates for bombardment?”
“Compliance, Command, the coordinates ar--”
“Waaagh!” Came a sudden guttural cry, primal in its hatred.
Morgan sprang to his feet and spun rapidly. In the instant that he had to see his assailant, he noted that it was a Slugga Boy armed with a Choppa. He swiftly rolled away from the charging ork’s path. He drew his revolver. The ork altered its course, coming around to continue it’s rabid charge. Morgan fired once, the bullet striking the ork. Morgan felt brief exultation, which was swiftly crushed when the ork simply ignored the wound. The howling xenos barbarian connected with Morgan, slamming him across the tower into a wall, and sending blinding pain up his chest. The ork brought the choppa down, but managed to lodge in in a piece of stone. Morgan crawled away, feeling a need to scream at the pain, but in too much agony to put the need into actual actions.
It was at this time that Silent Eyes came barreling up the stairs, having heard the uproarious commotion. The ork, having regained his Choppa made his way over to the helpless Morgan and brought down his Choppa, seeking a killing blow. Silent Eyes swiftly leveled his lascarbine and shot the Choppa out of the burly ork’s hands. The ork, in a primal rage at having its prey denied, turned and charge Silent Eyes, who calmly pulled out his Catachan Fang and responded in kind.The ork’s charge carried the Catachan a fair distance, while the whole time, the Guardsman stabbed repeatedly at the ork, drawing forth spurts of bright Crimson. After several dozen stabs, the ork finally collapsed to the Earth, burying Silent Eyes under a mountain of greenish flesh. Morgan, seeing the threat was passed, crawled painfully back towards the vox receiver.
“Command,” he gasped, in agony, “The Coordinates are delta by five.”
“Command copies, Alpha-Tertius. We are zeroing in artillery at this time. You are ordered to return to base.”
“Understood, Command, orders in operation.”
Morgan terminated the signal, and stood up painfully. He stumbled his way over to Silent, who was furiously trying to dislodge himself from under the ork. He was covered in blood. None of it was his own.
“Need a hand?” Morgan smirked.
“Balls of the Emperor, just get this damnable thing off of me!” Silent snapped as he pushed the ork off, Morgan helping as best he could.
Once the deed was done, both men stood about, staring at their kills.
“Command has new orders for us,” Morgan winced when he spoke, “They desire us back at base.”
Silent’s scarred face contorted into a grimace, realizing that returning to base would deny him the ability to kill more orks.
“Let’s go,” he growled irritably.
In the distance, massive explosions annihilated the ork field guns. Several of the Greenskins were blown limb from limb by the massive ordnance being dropped upon them. Several meters away, a building collapsed from the sheer force of the shockwaves.The massive detonations caused the tower to creak menacingly. By the time the barrage was over, there was little left but charred metal and the blood stains and meat piles that were once orks.
Feeling the tremors beneath his feet, Morgan smiled at a job well done.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On the outskirts of the city Paradise Falls, Akbar al'Yashid of the Tallarn Desert Raiders was in a dire situation. The Leman Russ Vanquisher he piloted and his squadron had just been ambushed by a squad of twelve Ork Tankbustas. They had jumped screaming out of the ruins surrounding the Squadron and began firing their Rokkit Launchas at the Russes, high explosive rockets whizzing through the air to detonate violently against the durasteel armor. Two other squads of Tankbustas rushed the tanks from behind an outcropping to attach Tankbusta Bombs to various Russ tanks. Yashid, being the most experienced tank pilot there, immediately ordered his crew in full reverse while having his Vox Operator relay the order to the other Russes under his command.
The rookies were slow to comply, and Yashid watched helplessly as the Tankbusta Bombs detonated, sending roiling waves of heat and fire into several tanks. The hatches blew open from the force of the blast. Only one guardsman managed to crawl out, charred and blackened, screaming in agony. This unfortunate survived a further two minutes before succumbing to death’s gate. Yashid’s Russ fired its Vanquisher Cannon into the ork Tankbusta horde. The massive shell exploded with a cataclysmically loud boom. Several orks were peppered with shrapnel. One fell in twain, intestines hanging from a severed torso.
“Keep the pressure on them, and kill those damned bomb carriers if you want to live, lads!” Yashid called out to his crew.
The crew had began to slightly panic, seeing the fate that had befallen their comrades. Fingers trembled. Lips quivered. Prayers quickly uttered. But none, Yashid noted, pleased, had stopped their work. The vox caster broadcast a plea for support over the net, even as the horde drew near and the coaxial mounted guns began their work.
Emmanuel Nill and his crew of two were moving out towards the burning front lines when the plea for help came over the vox. In a plume of dust and a cacophony of roaring engine noises,they broke away from their squad and made their way as fast the hellhound could carry them to the combat zone. The orks had hit the flank, and even now, strategic disaster was impending. Nill scanned for any signs of the foe or friendlies. He found a tank surrounded by a horde of explosive wielding Greenskins. So there were still survivors. Nill smiled at the sight.
After several minutes of nonstop firing, the vanquisher cannon had begun to overheat. Yashid tore open his hatch, and manned the pintle mounted heavy stubber that lay atop. He fired, yelling. The automatic weapon bucked with all the speed and ferocity as could be expected of it. It tore the arm of of a greenskin and took down many others in sprays of vitae and ichor. Yet still they came, surrounding the tanks upon all sides.
All seemed hopeless when Emmanuel and his hellhound came speeding down the open suburban roads. The Inferno Cannon fired, sending a gout of superheated prometheum. The effect was immediately. Caught in the gelatinized flammable fluid, the orks caught alight, screaming in abject agony as green skin sloughed from bone. It was not a pretty sight. The smell was even worse. Yashid gagged instinctively, battening down the hatch against the wall of flame that now raged about the tank.
The orks, instinctively afraid of fire, fell back. Yashid and the hellhound gave chase. The orks were made short work of, annihilated by automatic weapons fire, the vanquisher cannon and a fire storm. They ended their lives crushed under the treads of the Imperial Guard. They died screaming and in agony.
Yashid vacated the tank to greet his savior. They shook hands.
“And who might you be?” Yashid asked queried politely.
“My name is Commander Emmanuel Nill of the First Vanguard of Nihilism. Yours?”
“I am Akbar al'Yashid of the Tallarn Desert Raiders. As you can clearly see,” he gestured to the bodies strewn about like the toys of a demented child, “We ran into quite the problem.”
“I see what you mean,” Emmanuel nodded, “The hellhound took a hit to the engine, and needs repair. We should return to the forward repair base.”
“Our engine’s shot, and the orks took out our sponson bolters. The mechanicus is certainly going to have its work cut out this time,” Yashid replied.
In the distance, the two tankers heard the distinct Waaagh! of an approaching Ork horde. In no condition to continue conflict, they mounted their vehicles and began the retreat.
