The Trondforge Assault: Fortis Imperator Oris: Chpt. 16
Here is a story with futurist genre... I'd really need comments, as much constructive as they may or may not be... Watch out it's about 55 pages by now...
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The Trondforge Assault: Operation « Red Hawk »
Chapter I
A thick cloud of smog was covering the city of Trondforge since several weeks. Some distant muffled explosions broke the silence of the discreet morning, usually being cut by some machine gun salvos. Even though, winter was still far behind. Dust and fog were pretty much the only attractions for a soldier in the city-fortress of Trondforge.
Far in the chaotic ruins, 3 tall men were patrolling. Their grey coats hid a thin but hard armour. A man was slowly checking the nearby buildings, drinking some water in a can. The 2 others were chatting.
-“Ah, Tielman! I wish you had seen them yesterday… charging like mad guys!
-Yeah, indeed! Our machine guns made the trick… I wish there was more challenge in this war…
-You forgot this week where you nearly shot in your foot!
-Still, these Imperials have probably more than a billion tricks to win this war… but we are more prepared, no?
-You 2 will never learn…”, added the third soldier. “Never underestimate your enemy… I have friends that preferred to join the Imperials rather than joining the Confederation before this damn civil war… and any of them could easily blow your head in no time.”
The discussion was cut by a radio signal in Tielman’s helmet. “XBS 487, XBS 487! Be careful, air transport just above your head.”
The men ran as fast as they could to take cover in a nearby house. Tielman ran upstairs to reach a broken window. He adjusted his gun sight, and prepared himself for sniping. The 2 other men placed themselves just near the small door. Lepcis took his binoculars and observed the dense layer of smog in the sky. He saw a distinct light from above the clouds, and perfectly saw the Valkyrie. Apparently, the pilot hadn’t noticed them. “Tielman, send a radio transmission to Gamma 5609. These boys will take this ship down in no time”, said Lepcis.
***
While, on the Imperial Valkyrie, a Sergeant was having a rude discussion with the pilot.
-“Halus, for the Emperor’s sake! Stay in the clouds! Do you want us to get spotted? UP! UP, I SAID!
-We need to go down, Sarge! I can’t fly through this smog! There are so much toxic things in this smog that it spoils my radar, so I can’t manoeuver!
-Go down, then! Stay low as this region has several anti-air cannons… I wouldn’t want to lose one of these so expensive Valkyries for nothing!
-All right, Sarge!”
The pilot pressed a few buttons, typed a few complicated symbols on his flashing keyboard, pulled a crank and the vessel made some strange sounds, as the whole complex mechanism of this masterpiece of technology was moving. The vessel’s jet engine brightened and the Valkirie finally flew down. It flew over the ruined buildings, and nothing seemed to happen. No alerts, no rockets, no fire… The sergeant left the pilot to do his job, opened a little steel door and met up with his 2 squads of about 8 men each. With a grim smile, he said:
“-We’re gonna drop off in a minute, men. Prepare yourselves. Check your guns, check your laser batteries, and check your parachute. I’ll contact each of you by radio once we’ve dropped off. Don’t play heroes, boys. Most of you are conscripts, so you lack of experience. We fight together, or we die alone!
-We fight together, or we die alone!” cheered the men.
Suddenly, a violent explosion made the vessel tremble. The sergeant opened the mobile door of the vessel, and a big bullet almost hit him.
“-Anti-Air, damn it! I told you, Halus! Get us out of here!” yelled the sergeant.
“-OH-NO-OH-NO-OH-NO! WHAT THE HELL? COME ON! COME ON! GO FASTER, YOU RUSTED PIECE OF MECHANIZED SCRAP!
-SWEARING WON’T HELP, HAL’!
-DROP YOUR MEN OFF, DAMN RETARDED SARGE!
-LAND ON ANYTHING, DAMN IT!
-DO YOU WANT MY PLACE? GET OUT!”
The sergeant gave a last look at his old pilot friend and yelled to his men, trying to speak over the noise of the shooting below:
-“GO! GO! GO! JUMP! NOW! COME ON!”
His men obeyed and threw themselves in the chaos of battle. The sergeant jumped and didn’t dare to give a last look at the vessel. The last soldier in the vessel was about to jump, but he hesitated. He didn’t know whether he wanted to die like one of these thousands of conscripts who die each day in the universe. Tybalt ran to the pilot’s cockpit and saw flames all around the vessel. The pilot and Tybalt yelled at each other, as the huge amount of noise made any conversation almost impossible.
-“The reactors are overheating! Jump and let me take care of this, conscript!
-No way! I’m staying with you!
-If you really want to, take a seat and attach your security belt! That’s gonna shake!
-You mean that we’re gonna crash?
-SHUT UP AND DO WHAT I TELL YOU!”
***
The Valkyrie flew during some other seconds, being heavily fired on by the Anti-Air cannons, and crashed hard on the ground, creating a huge cloud of dust and smoke in the war-torn city of Trondforge. Confederation soldiers cheered when they saw the Valkyrie going down, and they were singing war chants with a great enthusiasm. The Artillery Commander saw the ship crashing down.
“Fetch some men to check up this ship. Take any radio recordings and anything you find. Blow it up after”, he said.
***
While, a few yards away, the 2 squads were regrouping. The sergeant had a dead look in his eyes, and any sign of life had almost vanished from his face. Though, he was still alive and in good health for a soldier. He fixed a bayonet on his laser weapon, like his men did after him.
“There’s work to be done, men”, he said with a bitter tone.
- - -
Chapter II
The Confederate Colonel advanced slowly to the crashed Valkyrie. Accompanied by several of his personal bodyguards, he was ready for any eventuality. He loaded his pistol, gazed at the cloud of dust (The Valkyrie was still all covered with smoke and dust, rendering him almost invisible to the eyes of a soldier.) and waited until it went down. One of his lieutenants made a quick sign with two of his fingers, telling him that he and 2 men were going first. Though, the Colonel wanted to go too. He stepped on a pile of broken bricks and advanced, giving nervous looks all around the nearby buildings.
While, Tybalt was still fighting with his security belt to make it allow him to leave his seat. He saw that there was blood on the cockpit window, and he saw Halus, the pilot, still unconscious, his face covered with blood. Evidently, a piece of the window had flown really near his face, almost going deep into his skull. Tybalt heard some noise outside the vessel, and realized that he was deep into enemy territory. He silently crouched and loaded his lasgun (his laser gun). Even if it wasn’t like one of these Karskin weapons, shot only one laser at a time, needed precision and rapidity, it was still better than fighting with a bayonet. Just to make sure he could use it, Tybalt fixed his bayonet on his lasgun. He dared to give a quick look through the destroyed external door, and saw about 15 soldiers just a few meters away from the vessel. Even with all the skills a veteran would have, a lasgun would definitely not do the trick for 15 soldiers! The Confederates had resistant armours, indeed, and by a fraction of second, they could take him down in no time if he dared to shoot. He had a grenade on him, but he could barely throw any without blowing himself up during his training at Nel Parmeo’s base! Suddenly, he saw a machine gun mounted on a little metal ramp, and he saw his only way to survive. He pulled the machine gun switch, prayed for the machinegun to be loaded. He aimed, closing and eye and fired.
***
Sergeant Mercutio and his men were rapidly running through the ruined buildings and were heading to the crash of the Valkyrie. He tried to join the dropship radio, but it seemed that the transmission was dead. The squad of 16 men arrived to a high building, and Mercutio sent one of his best men, Corporal Hoemir. Hoemir was a man of experience that used to fight as a sniper in the best squad that survived the Jokrillan Nuclear Winter. He was used to spy behind enemy lines, a stealthy fighter, and one of the few experienced men of this squad. He kicked the rusted door and ran through the stairs. After a minute of running, he met up with a looooong ladder. He climbed it the best he could, carrying his beloved sniper rifle on his back. He almost dropped his night vision helmet, but he caught it back just in time. He shook his head and finally reached the top of the building. Indeed, it was high. He took a pair of binoculars from his backpack and observed the nearby landscape (if we can call this a landscape). He heard a machine gun noise, and saw the Valkyrie. A man seemed to fight to death with the mounted turret of the craft, and several grey-coated men were surrounding the vessel. He saw that this man was a pretty brave one, and he doubted that the squad could reach him in time. He looked around, and saw a damaged armoured vehicle a few streets away. Hoemir turned on his radio in his helmet.
-* Krrrsh * Sarge, take the street to your left, and then the other one on your right. Go forward and prepare yourself to help this guy in the Valkyrie. We can save him if you act quickly. Go, sarge!
-* Krrrsh * Understood, Corporal. We’re heading there.
-* Krrrsh * There’s a damaged vehicle on a street to your right. Send a squad to fetch it. We’ll surely need this after.
-* Krrrsh * Who gives the orders, here? Shut your trap and meet us there!
-* Krrrsh * I’ll provide sniper cover, instead. We want this guy in one piece, no? Ha! Ha!”
With Hoemir’s laugh in mind, Mercutio ordered his men to keep radio contact. He ordered four men to go find the armoured vehicle and told them the directives to go to the Valkyrie.
“Hurry up, guys! Move out!”
***
With the will of the despaired, Tybalt had already seriously wounded 2 Confederates. The Confederate Colonel hid in one of the so numerous holes that created the relief of Trondforge. Most of his lieutenants did too. He was surprised that a single man accepted to die for no purpose instead of surrending. Most of his men took cover and laid a weak covering fire on what seemed to be the craft’s turret. Tybalt hadn’t killed one man yet, as the armour under the grey coats of the Confederates was giving them a good protection. The brave conscript fired over the holes. A lieutenant stood up, and shot four times with his pistol. Two bullets missed Tybalt, another one ricocheted on the steel ramp, but the fourth one hit him on the chest. Though, the bullet didn’t go through the flak jacket. He was stunned, but alive. Suddenly, other fires were heard. The pilot Halus had taken two pistols from the weapon rack and emptied his magazines on the charging Confederate officer. The man screamed and fell down, his body crashing hard on the cold and deadly mud. Tybalt reloaded his machine gun and continued to fire. While, Halus went into the cockpit room, typed some complicated commands on the half-destroyed keyboard and came back to help his saviour. The pilot’s face was bloodied, but at least he was alive. He reloaded his pistols as fast as he could and kept firing. Another lieutenant fell down, and then several bullets ricocheted on the Valkyrie. Several machine gunners had begun to either kill the defenders or destroy this damn dropship!
“Come on, Tyb’! Let’s get the hell out of here! Help me to open this damn trap!”
The Colonel reloaded his pistol, took a shotgun from his coat, used the old but effective pump system of the gun. The other officers did the same, and they charged, being led by their beloved leader.
What they didn’t know? Halus had activated the auto-defence system of the Valkyrie, programming a dozen of automatic machine guns to kill any enemy in sight. Several officers were tore apart by the deadly weapons, and the Confederates fell back to the holes, having lost about 10 men since the ship assault. Though, some men had brought rocket launchers.
Tielman adjusted his launcher sight, knelt, put a rocket in the tube, closed a little trap, pulled the trigger, and launched the rocket. The rocket spinned faster and faster, going straight to its target. A gigantic explosion broke the noise of battle, and the men ceased fire.
”Run faster, Tyb’! Run, before they notice we’re gone! MOVE YOUR BUTT, DAMNIT!” yelled Halus.
***
While Mercutio and his men were about to have a violent battle with the Confederates near the ruins of the destroyed craft. A vengeance had to be accomplished.
- - -
Smoke arose from what had once been the result of months of hard labour from Imperial engineers. The V-K903 Dropship was no more.
Chapter III
-Felski, Mickaelus… get to the second floor. Tchakels, Uxwal, to the third floor. Vassili, get to the roof with Troan to snipe from above. Where has gone Hoemir? whispered Mercutio.
-He’s not there, sarge. What do we do? asked the stocky soldier called Tchakels.
-He’s probably hidden somewhere, trying to find the best target. Troan, bring Yurgen with you to provide us machine gun cover instead of sniping. You hold the ammunition belt and Yurgen shoots, a’ight?
-Yes, sir.
-Okay. Samus! Bring the rest of your men to the first floor. Take cover in the building and shoot from the windows. I need one man with me to guard the holes in the wall.
-Uxwal will help you, sarge.
-Wait for my shot before shooting, a’ight?
-A’ight sir.
While, Hoemir had already begun his job. With his silenced sniper, he had already killed two officers and five soldiers in the city. He looked around with his binoculars and saw shadows moving through the ruins of what was once an horrible hotel. He knew that it was the rest of the crew. He turned on his radio and heard the distinct “krrrsh” he was so used to hear.
-Hey, Merc’. Be careful, there’s a tank right behind the anti-air cannon.
-Damn it! Destroy it yourself, idiot! Can’t you see we’re busy?
-Busy?
The red lasers tore the wind apart. The Confederates rapidly found cover in holes. Some of them unpacked their machine guns, others simply shot blindly on the windows. The firefight savagely continued. Yurgen kept firing with his weapon from the roof, and even with the lack of precision of the gun, he was able to provide an effective covering fire. A Confederate’s grey coat was reddened, a laser pierced another soldier, and another one crept under nearby debris, holding his leg with his bloodied hands. An Imperial conscript was hit by three times by a submachine gun, and he could barely breath with all the blood that went from his throat. Uxwal had been hit to the leg by a bullet fragment and was limping to Mercutio, saying:
-We won’t survive this war, sarge! Let’s run!
-If we can drive them back, we’ll live! If we don’t we’re dead! STOP WHINING AND FIGHT, COWARD!
-FU-K YOU, SIR! DAMN THIS WAR! he screamed before shooting another volley of sublaser gun (the ordinary machine gun which sent lasers instead of bullets of the Imperial soldiers) by a window.
Hoemir kept shooting, trying to provide as much help as he could to his friends. The defenders immediately shot down the Confederates who dared to charge to the building, using at their own advantage this strategic point in the city. The corporal aimed with the scope, and heard an engine noise. He aimed left, sent a bullet in a soldier’s arm, aimed left another time, and saw the tank heading to the building.
-* Krrsh * Sir! Save your crew, FAST! “Shnaps Tank” heading to you!
There was no answer.
Mercutio had indeed noticed the tank advancing with its threatening cannon turret. The tank machine guns shot through the windows, killing Uxwal who took three bullets in the head. The Confederates advanced, being covered by their beloved Schnaps tank. Though, the defenders hadn’t abandoned the fighting yet. Yurgen sent several bursts of gunfire, which killed about four men. An annoying * krrssh* in his earphones preceded the “GET TO THE FIRST FLOOR! WE’RE LEAVING!” yelled by Mercutio to his crews. Vassili helped Troan and Yurgen to pack the machine gun, but a bullet hit Troan’s shoulder. Blood flew on his friends’ flak armours, but Vassili simply dragged the machine gun ammunitions with his left hand and helped Troan to run down the stairs with his right arm. Yurgen brought the guns with him. They reached Mercutio, and a huge explosion buried the men under a lot of dust. Tchackels was projected meters away, and his body crashed and rolled through the dust and debris. He found one Samus, a conscript who was one of his close friends. His throat was bleeding, and the poor man was groaning with pitiful gasps trying to come out of his mouth. Even if he was in bad condition, Tchackels preferred to die rather than leave his best friend agonizing in the chaos of the battlefield. He took his friend on his back, tried to do one step forward, stumbled, stepped another time forward, an explosion from outside sent lots of metal scrap through a nearby window. A thing made of metal stuck in his visor, almost going through his eye. He was lucky. He roared as he ran to the rest of the squad.
When he arrived, he noticed a huge hole in the front and back walls. The tank shell had made a way to escape! The men ran out as fast as they could, hearing the war chants sang by the Confederates, already assaulting the main door of the hotel. Vassili threw a grenade in the main room before running back to meet the rest of his friends. An explosion and screams made the chants stop, and a terrible roar of vengeance replaced the patriotic songs. A huge truck which transported the four men Mercutio had sent turned the left corner of the street, and the Conscripts immediately made large signs with their arms and cheered. The truck was high and had two levels. The first level was entirely protected with metal and the second level was simply a place to allow more soldiers to be transported at once. The truck was about four or five meters high, and could certainly transport more than twenty soldiers. The crew jumped in, some men climbed the ladder at the back to get on the second level. Vassili and Tchackels helped Troan to get in the truck, and they carried with a lot of difficulty Samus, which was now losing a lot of blood.
Though, the conscript called Felski was a doctor before the war obliged him to take a gun instead of a scalpel. He was given a medic kit before his mission, even if his superiors doubted that he would have time to use it (as they thought he would die in the first hours after the landing). Samus was beginning to ramble on, and he rapidly applied a cloth on the artery. He asked Mickaelus to inject him blood while he was trying to save Samus. The driver, called Aemilian, put the pedal to the floor, the rear wheels spinned faster and faster, projecting waves of mud everywhere, and the truck rapidly reached a nearby street corner.
***
While, Tybalt and Halus were desperatly running through the abandoned buildings to find any allied soldier… but they were far from thinking that they would meet someone that wouldn’t directly shoot at them.
Chapter IV
Aemilian was driving since a whole hour. The engine was already warming up at an alarming rate, but the gas meter’s needle was around the “half-full” icon. The armoured vehicle was shaking, as the road was composed of holes and cracked patches of asphalt. Samus had stopped chocking and the bleeding had ceased. He was still unconscious, but at least he was alive. Mercutio, on his side, was sad that he had lost one of his soldiers. It is always sad, but Uxwal had lasted four years in the Conscript Division. A few more weeks and he could have been able to go home. Hoemir was a professional sniper, he could certainly survive, even deep behind enemy lines. Halus and Tybalt had been found and were now resting in the small rest cabin of the first level of the truck. The first level had simply a row of benches on each side, and a low trap at the back (on which the soldiers could walk to get in the truck) was providing some protection of an eventual attack by behind.
Mercutio tried to regroup his thoughts. He was stuck deep behind enemy lines, far from any allied forces. The truck had enough gas to last at least four more hours, about all of his crew was with him, and a message he had received thirty minutes ago from the High Command had told him that he would have help in the next days. The lasgun’s batteries weren’t far from being empty, but it was still enough to defend the truck. So…
“Sarge… I don’t know if you have noticed, but some trucks are following us since five minutes by nearby streets. I hear their noise… said Felski.
-Damn… order some men to get to the defence post. Tell Vassili to get the machine gun turret on the top.
-Aye, sir.”
While, a hundred of meters away, a Confederate captain was observing the truck with his binoculars. He gave some orders to his men, and they placed themselves on the massive cannon post. They aimed at a reasonable height, and waited. The captain grimly smiled. The truck appeared, and they fired. The shell was about to burst instead of going out of the tube, but the piece of explosive decided to go out. The shell was propelled to a huge speed, usually the speed to take down a craft, like a Valkyrie. Instead of exploding on the truck, the heavy mass of metal pierced laterally the two “walls” of the vehicle. If Felski’s head had been an inch higher, he would certainly be headless now. The men angrily reloaded, but the truck was almost out of sight. They fired another time, but the projectile missed and a nearby bar literally exploded. Aemilian nervously stared at his sergeant, and swore with anger. He put the pedal to the floor, and the lasguns fired.
Several trucks were chasing the fugitives, and the Confederate shot the best they could to take down the Imperials. The pursuit continued, both sides exchanging an incredible amount of lasers and bullets. Vassili savagely sent a burst of fire at the enemy driver’s window, but he aimed too low. The bullets pierced the engine, and the rest of the soldiers jumped out of the vehicle before it exploded.
“Turn right, Aemilian! Turn right!”
Still, there were still three more trucks to escape from.
***
Three hours later, the truck was around the third line of Confederate bunkers. Every soldier was shooting at them, and hundreds of bullets whistled in the air around the truck. Several hit the hard armour plating, but the truck kept rushing to the east, the direction of the friendly lines. It was suicidal, but the crew could make it. Already Mickaelus was dead, having been hit by seven bullets in the chest. Already, two of the four men sent by Mercutio to take the vehicle were dead. Troan shot his last laser before being hit by a sniper bullet. His dead body fell down the second level of the truck and crashed on the ground. His body rolled again and again, and no one ever saw him again. Samus was in a critical state, but Felski had stopped using medicine tools and had decided to use a lasgun instead. Aemilian had taken a bullet in the left leg (as his seat was located on the left), but he kept holding firmly the steering wheel with his hands. Mercutio had a Karskin lasergun, and kept firing at enemies located at the front. If the driver was down, the squad was down too. Already, the men were running out of laser batteries and the machinegun turret at the top was firing its last ammunition belt. Aemilian passed the second line of bunkers. One more, and he would be able to reach the other side of the battlefield! Despite what Mercutio had said, they had landed some hours ago too far from their initial destination, so they were nearer of the allied lines than they had expected. Several tank shells crashed near the truck, but with a luck that could only be granted by the God of Light himself, the vehicle was still able to give one last effort.
The truck made one last curve before falling down of an incredibly high hill. They had passed the enemy lines! The slope was too inclined, a slope an agle of around fifty degrees. The truck shook as if it was caught in a firestorm, and the wheels screeched on the hard soil. The door near Aemilian tore and flew in the wind. The right front wheel loosened, but held. Vassili couldn’t handle the powerful shaking and was projected ten meters away from the truck. He felt the wind going through his body, but the force of gravity reminded him that men don’t have wings. He fell in a puddle of stinking material, and realized that he had fallen into a pile of corpses bathing in a pool of blood and other organs in decomposition. Vassili furiously shook his head, and tried to run to the truck. Though, the vehicle had stopped moving. The engine was dead.
The rest of the Imperials crawled out of the smoke, and Felski was crying: Samus was dead. Vassili had also lost Troan, after all… He stumbled, tried to get on his legs and limped to the truck. The other men didn’t bother to rescue the ones trapped in the first level, they simply crawled to the nearby trenches, filled up with thousands of Conscripts, like them. Vassili didn’t care about the artillery shells falling twenty meters away from him, he was only hearing Felski’s cries and gasps. He put his left hand (a nail was split, blood spilling on his whole hand and arm) on the conscript’s shoulder, and they both walked back to the trenches. Vassili and Felski hid in an abandoned and lone trench. They both cried, sheding tears on their slashed and crumpled uniforms. Valkyries flew over them, sending terrible lasers on the hill, which was the first Confederate Defence line. Mercutio ordered the rest of his squad to follow him. They ran to the trench in which Felski and Vassili had hid in, and they crouched. They went into a little underground hiding-place, probably an ancient basement of a house that was built there. Though, the house was no more. Halus, Tybalt, Mercutio, Felski, Vassili, Tchakels, Aemilian, Yurgen, and Lawrence (the last man who found the vehicle) were silent.
They stared at each other, having nothing to say. The only sight was Vassili and Felski, but it was too sad to look at if you wanted to stay alive.
The crew stood there, listening at the duel between the Imperial and Confederate artilleries. In a bunker 891 meters from the first Confederate bunkers, Mercutio was thinking… about the upcoming battle… the dead people… and his failure:
He had lost his squad’s will of fighting, which they would need if they wanted to survive this war.
***
“WELCOME TO TRONDFORGE, CONSCRIPTS!” roared a Commissar, yelling at the thousands of conscripts, marching in the Main Trench, which led to the other trench network long of several kilometres. A few hours later, they would have to give their life… “FOR THE EMPEROR!”
Chapter V
Rain. Lightly acid rain. Slowly dripping on the abandoned bunker’s rusted door… Noise… Noise inside… words… sighs… grief… and distress. Nine men were lying down… sleeping. They were sleeping, but two men were still guarding, sitting on they backpacks. Their eyes were red with tiredness, and the beginning of a beard was slowly appearing on their face. Aemilian was heavily breathing, like he always did. Felski, on his side, was chewing some unknown kind of cold stew. His twisted spoon was slowly going up and down, clumsily bringing food to his lips. His left hand was holding the wooden bowl (as it was the only thing he could find on the battlefield to make a bowl with it) and was always shaking, sending some precious stew drops on the unfortunately inedible cement floor. Felski timidly slurped some remaining liquid in his spoon, and looked at Aemilian.
“-‘Want some?
-What is it made from?
-You better not know…
-Pass…
-Eatin’ this is still better than dying of hunger, no?
-Yes, I admit… We haven’t…” Aemilian chewed some of the mixture, the taste of a sour and dry paste brutally awakening his taste buds. “Received anything yet… supplies, you know?
-Yeah… Do you think we should wake the others up?
-Let ‘em sleep an hour more… For once that this damn artillery doesn’t decide to fire while we try to sleep!
-I guess they’re gonna send the meat walls… err… the Conscript brigades in the next days…
-If they haven’t received the tanks yet, they will wait. The High Command is maybe dumb, but at least it knows that tanks are better than infantry…
-Just by curiosity… What were you doing before they sent you there? asked Felski.
-I was a lawyer…
-Were you rich?
-Why do you think I came here? I was so poor I couldn’t feed my family… but now they have enough money to eat…
-At least, it gives you a reason to survive this…
-And you?
-I was a doctor…
-Did you have a wife?
-I have never been lucky with girls… They simply forced me into this… because they needed medics.
-Do you know how to use a lasgun?
-I hit something once in a while…
-One of these days, I’ll teach you the art of shooting…
-You better have a day off when this day comes…”
Aemilian smiled and handed the half-empty bowl to his friend. But, someone slammed the door. Yurgen suddenly woke up and got on his feet. He rammed a laser battery in his lasgun and pointed it at the shadow in less than three seconds. His reflexes were still as good as always. A wave of water “cleaned” the floor and a Commissar entered the bunker. His boots decorated with probably rare and luxurious fur, his dark green long coat, his officer peaked cap, and his chrome-plated pistol… signs of greed, signs of wealth, signs of authority… No mistake, it was a Commissar. The officer gave a sign with his hand and Yurgen lowered his weapon, unsure about what to do. The tall man glared at the conscript, and slowly stepped in the bunker, his luxurious boots leaving mud marks on the floor. He didn’t seem to care much about etiquette… In times of war, etiquette is the least matter of a soldier, no? He slammed the door back to “close” it and took his peaked cap off. He gazed with an amused look at the scene of Felski who was quietly swearing between his teeth at Aemilian who had dropped his precious stew on the dusty ground. The bowl rolled on the floor and the officer’s foot crushed it with an energetic and impulsive move. Felski stared at him, and now remembered how nice and gentle the Commissars were. Felski looked miserable as he pitifully tried to put some of the stew spilled on the floor in another bowl, angrily and silently grumbling.
“-Sergeant Mercutio? scornfully asked the officer.”
Mercutio and the rest of the men (which had already awoken) stared at him, incredulous. Mercutio raised up and met the green-coated man.
-It’s me…
-Follow me, now.
-And if I refuse?
-I’m not giving you the choice, sergeant! (He pointed his pistol at him.)”
Mercutio packed his things and followed his superior. Felski added:
“-And my stew, sir?
-Your mistake, conscript. Good day.”
Fifteen seconds after, the sound of a laser pistol firing irradiating flesh made the men look at each other. Yurgen and the rest of the crew packed their things, took their lasguns on their shoulders, and left the bunker. Between two sighs, Lawrence slipped:
“Maybe… someone else was…?”
The noise of the steps covered the rest of his sentence. Halus rammed a magazine in his two pistols and left the group. He was a pilot… and he had lost his craft. He needed another one.
Halus ran through the narrow trenches filled with thousands of conscripts. Most of them had this frantic look in their eyes… the eyes of he who never fought… the eyes of he who has never seen someone dying… the eyes of he whose heart is made of mud instead of steel… being the thin boundary between the killing machine and the human. The pilot jumped into a transport truck carrying injured soldiers. Thirty minutes after, when the truck reached a half-destroyed hospital, he knew that the Military Spaceport Base wasn’t far away. He walked a hundred of yards on a soaked soil, and finally reached a high building firmly entrenched in the ground. He grunted as he banged with his fist on the large door. The door opened, creaking with an horrible sonorous distortion.
“-We’ll need to lubricate this door before I get deaf, Lil’ Bam!” he yelled.
A stocky engineer laughed as he was cleaning his greasy hands on a cloth. He wore blue overalls probably made up from several pairs of jeans, a black cap, grey running shoes, and a cigar was, like always, imprisoned between his lips. Nicknamed “Lil’ Bam” because of a cigar that once lit a transmission fluid (BAM!), which had cost Lil’ Bam his mop of hair.
“-Put out your cigar… You want to get rat-arsed another time?
-What have you done of my Valkyrie, you fag!?! Tell me! yelled Lil’ Bam as he was violently shaking his friend.
-The Confederates are probably having a barbecue with its engines right now…
-My baby! What have you done, damn it! Damn you!
-Give me another one and I swear I’ll take care of it more than the previous one.
-You always say this… Come with me in the hangar. I may have something for you…”
The two men walked into the main hangar and arrived to some kind of big fighter plane. The fighter plane had four engines, two long and stretched wings, four machine gun turrets (one at the rear, one at the “nose”, one behind the cockpit, and one massive machine gun at the underside), and a wide and stretched appearance. The “craft” was a model similar to one of these terribly antiquated “B-29 superfortresses”, but the armour plating of the aircraft, the manageability and the power of the four engines were unequalled by every other “air-ground” assault vessel.
-“No, my friend. This is not a B-29, for sure! It’s a “B-80492 GV-6”: a pure wonder of technology. They reproduced the design of the B-29, which I venerate each day, and gave it the best material. Of course, the engineers got rid of the helixes and replaced it by powerful MT-89 “Broatendus” engines. They completely changed the interior. You can drop up to 150 bombs and you have an almost unlimited amount of bullets to fire from your four machine guns placed on your wings, so take care of this little baby. I drew myself the plans of this, so you better take care of him!
-I will, I will. I’m surprised you succeeded to give both “look” and “combat attributes” to this B-804 and somethin’…
-In the engineer jargon, we call it the “BGV”… Come on, I’ll present you the crew. These boys will show you how to control this. It’ll make you forget about your damn Valkyries!” sneered Lil’ Bam.
***
While, Yurgen, Lawrence, Felski, Aemilian, Tchackels, Vassili and Tybalt were walking through the ruins. Tybalt was leading them, even if he didn’t really know where they were going. They had seen some conscripts being executed by Commissars for “desertion”, which they preferred to call “cowardice in front of the enemy”. An officer spotted them, being followed by a group of about a hundred of conscripts. He hailed them and said:
“-What unit?
-Our boss has been killed…
-By a Com’ or a shell?
-A Commy…
-Come with us, then: we need some extra men.
-We’ll try to find another regiment.
-I’m not giving you the choice, conscript! Get your ass here!”
The crew sighed, as Tchackels grunted: “Yeah, yeah… I think I’ve already heard that one…”
Chapter VI
Three weeks after the crash of the Valkyrie, the fight was still consisting of artillery duels. But now, the Imperial Guard was ready to attack. Having only gained enough space to establish a base in Trondforge, the Conscripts, Guardsmen, Karskins and other soldiers of the Fourth “Parmeonian” Army were about to swarm the Confederate city. Though, a huge challenge awaited them: assaulting the Jiksel hill. The High Command doubted that tanks could even reach the top of the hill. The only chance was an attack from the infantry. On April nineteenth, General Lionel Caffran decided to launch the main offensive, which would be called “Operation Trondforge”. Hundreds and hundreds of Assault Teams transported by drop pods would attack the hill. The elite troops that would accomplish this mission consisted of randomly picked soldiers that had a bit of experience and that were specially trained for this task. The only flaw in the plan was the lack of experience of the conscripts. Too much of them would have to be sacrificed for probably no valuable purpose, but evidently the better soldiers would be sent in the second attack wave. So it began…
***
The morning breeze was cooling down the nerves of Captain Jurgen, commander of the 105th, 106th, 107th, 108th, 109th, 110th, 111th, and 112th Artillery detachments. The Basilisk cannons were for him what a hammer is for a blacksmith, the shells were for him what a bone if for a dog, and the sound of the earthshaking blast of the firing Basilisk was for him what a lullaby is for a baby. As a simple private, he had sent so many shells and defended with so much courage and vigour his beloved cannons that he rapidly became an officer, as his predecessor Artillery Commanders were gold targets for the enemy snipers. He always wore a double-thickness flak armour under his grey coat. His peaked cap was smartly covering his helmet, as he didn’t want to end up headless. He nervously tapped on his watch with his fingers, cursing that four minutes separated him from the joy of launching hundreds of shells. Usually, he fires as much shells as possible, but not today. Today, the High Command had given him the order to shoot at 6:00 AM exactly. His men had evidently prepared the Basilisks thirty minutes ago, as they were eager to fight. One of Jurgen’s men whispered to one of his comrades: “How much do you bet he’ll order us to fire before six? Look at him… he’s kicking dust as if he was waiting for… whatever.
-He will wait. He’s not a patient man, but he knows what can happen when an attack is not adequately coordonated…” answered another.
Three minutes…
Tybalt and Tchackels had already fixed their bayonets on their lasguns. Aemilian, Lawrence and Felski were still fighting with theirs, cursing as much as they wanted the little “click” to be heard. The platoon they had joined, led by a junior lieutenant called Paul Tarren, had positioned itself in Trench 509, behind the “No man’s land” about one kilometre long before the hill. The hill, horribly high and steep, was nothing more but a death trap. The rest of the platoon checked their power pack on their lasgun, hoping that they would have enough time to use it. Some of them barfed in a nearby hole, some of them wetted their pants, and some even prayed for their soul to be saved. Sergeants were leaning on their swords, gazing at their men with troubled eyes. The platoon was composed of about four hundred men, but a third of them was expected to survive, either in the hospital or by fleeing from the battlefield. The first wave of attackers was composed of about 10 000 soldiers, which was a little part of the army. Tank support wouldn’t be provided unless the artillery batteries on the hilltop weren’t destroyed. Yurgen spat on the ground as he joined up the second line of the platoon with his friends around him.
Two minutes…
While, Halus was playing cards with Lil’ Bam and the five other pilots of the BGV. Like always, Bam was snuffing his daily cigar before he lit it up. The titanic hangar was filled up with an impressive number of war crafts, counting the famous Ageon Squadron. Led by Major Rookes, this squad of Marauder Bombers had accepted to be bolstered by Halus and his crew. Bam laughed as released a puff smoke in his friends’ faces. He threw his cards on the table: “I’m feeling lucky, boys! Royal Straight Flush!”
One minute…
“Form up! Get ready!” barked Lieutenant Tarren. The “clicks” of the bayonets seemed to unnerve Yurgen, as his weapons were his old heavy machine gun and a battle sword stolen from a dead Imperial sergeant. He grunted as some annoying sound was harrassing his ears. A long whinny stirred the air, as a volley of shells crashed around the Imperial trenches. A shell spinned in the sky and rapidly aimed for the Imperial frontline. The explosive charge, located at the point of the deadly explosive missile, spread havoc and disintegrated a dozen of soldiers in the very trench, its victims trapped in a firestorm of suffering. A huge cloud of almost vaporized dust fell on the survivors. Another wave of body parts, blood, and liquid mud swarmed them as they tried to get on their feet. Lawrence and Felski screamed with pure terror as they tried to get rid of the flesh and mud on themselves. Lieutenant Tarren loudly hissed and whistled before he barked: “ADVANCE! FORWARD!!! FOLLOW ME INTO BATTLE! FORWAAARD!”
Tybalt and Felski, thinking about their fallen comrades Mercutio and Samus, forgot about their fear and cheered as they climbed the wooden ladders and ran into the smoke and dust of the bombarded “No Man’s Land”. The rest of the platoon followed, cheering unintelligibly and even louder than any other regiment in the Conscript Brigade. Each platoon was greeted with an incredible amount of machine gun salvos, sniper fire, and shell volleys.
***
“Commander! Commander! They have begun before us! BEFORE US!” yelled a soldier to Jurgen before the rest of his voice was covered with the whinnies of the shells crashing down on the ground. A Basilisk cannon was literally tore apart with its crew. Jurgen cursed loudly as he ordered his men to get in position. His heavy boots hammered the ground before he jumped on a Basilisk “Artilleryman Post”. With a powerful world-shattering blast, the cannon ejected its shell from the tube. The other Basilisks fired too, watching the terrible explosions on Jiksel Hill. Although, the Confederate Artillery kept firing. Jurgen roared as he ordered his men: “RELOAD, FASTER! FASTER! DAMN SLOW MOVING JACK---ES! RELOAD THIS DAMN PIECE OF SCRAP FASTER!!!”
***
While, the Conscript infantry was getting brutally slaughtered, either by the shells or machine gun fire. Pretty much everyone who was in the first line had died except a few brave men who kept running forward. Ignoring the bullets whistling around him, Lieutenant Tarren bravely led his men to a suicidal battle. Running over the dead bodies of their fallen comrades, the Conscripts’ will of fighting had dramatically lowered as they were surrounded by death. This would be a costly battle. “Take cover in the holes!” yelled Tarren as a bullet at the shoulder hit him. The bullet hit the shoulder’s piece of armour, creating a hole in the regimental badge… the green hammer. His muscular body fell on the hard ground, but he succeeded in crawling into a nearby hole. The shells created gigantic holes of the size of a vessel itself! Most of the remaining soldiers ran in the nearest hole, abandoning their wounded comrades to the cruelty of the machine guns. More shells fell, and the battle became impossible. Suddenly, dozens of loud explosions came from the hilltop: The Imperial Artillery was riposting.
Jurgen saw with contempt, rage, and his binoculars that the Conscripts’ assault was about to end up into useless butchery. He barked some orders like a bulldog barks in front of a couple of frightened kittens, which could be summarized in this sentence: “Aim at the hill slope instead of the hill top.” The enemy batteries were firmly entrenched in their fortifications, so the barrage of shells was useless there. They had to save the conscripts fist. The Basilisks lowered their angle and shot at the slope. Several craters were created, sending a storm of dust and ground on the conscripts. These holes would be the only cover that the Conscripts could have to reach the hilltop in one piece. After enough volleys to make a relatively safe passage, the artillerymen focused again on the hilltop.
Tarren got on his feet, holding his sword with his valid hand. His other arm had been burned to the third degree with a nearby explosion that could have become deadly if he hadn’t stumbled and avoided the storm of energy degaged by the explosion. The pain was impossible to endure, but he concealed his screams into battle cries. Aemilian got him up and yelled: “THE ARTILLERY BOYS ARE MAKING US A WAY THROUGH! ADVANCE OR WE’RE DEAD!” Most of the men hesitated, but when they saw Vassili sprinting like an olympic champion to the hill, roaring and firmly holding the Platoon’s banner in his crooked hands, they decided to follow him, cheering cold but essential encouragements. Vassili had taken the banner from the dead banner-carrier, not caring whether he was simply dead or agonizing. Never Vassili had dared to look back and to regret his past actions. Never he had looked back to see the shells falling behind him, killing too much soldiers that could have been at his place a few seconds before… looked back to see the bullets going past him… courageous, but fool he was… and will always be. The holes offered privileged cover from the machine guns to the conscripts, and a gleam of hope illuminated their eyes twisted with fear and despair.
The whole Brigade climbed as fast as the men could the hill, and about fourty meters from the hilltop, no more craters were protecting the Conscripts. Yurgen and Tchackels laid down covering fire with Yurgen’s heavy machine gun, which killed three Confederates soldiers who were in their sight. Now, most of the surviving assaulters were regrouped in a long line hidden in different craters. Lieutenant Tarren had barely been able to survive, but he firmly grasped his sword, which was his only chance to survive this war. The men hesitated one last time to attack… and this time, most of them wanted to hide in these holes forever. Though, Lawrence, in a heroic attempt to save his brothers of arms, decided to step forward and to charge. Alone, he came out of the concave surface and charged. He was brutally slaughtered by the fanatic machine gunners. Proud of his men and bolstered with a burst of suicidal courage, he barked: “FORTH! FORTH!” The men savagely cheered as they charged together to meet and kill the enemy. Lawrence’s body rolled down the hill and his body was stopped by an officer’s corpse… With his last bit of life, he saw a book of Tactica Imperium. The book was stained with mud and blood… and opened at a page. Lawrence’s eyes shut forever as the book’s page was by the carried along by the wind. On the page was written a single line tainted with blood. Under the Imperium sign was written: “For the Emperor we shall all stand or fall.”
Chapter VII
“TO YOUR CRAFTS! HURRY HURRY HURRY!” yelled a Commissar by the large speakers.
The airport was swarmed with pilots running to their ships. Halus was strafing between Marauders and Marauders, trying to find his BGV. Unfortunately, barely noticing that he ran into Major Rookes, his Squadron leader, he saw that his BGV was still being loaded with ammunition, rockets, and huge power packs. He climbed the ladder and penetrated into the pilot cockpit. He said an uninterested “Hey…” to his fellow pilots, already posted at the defence turrets. He watched the other Marauder Bombers taking off, their powerful engines roaring. He got up and yelled by the opened cockpit window to the engineers: “HURRY UP, ‘NGINEERS!” The other engineers didn’t look at him, placing power packs into the bottom turret and in the right wing of the BGV. A tall man slammed the little traps and locked them. The engineer crew ran away, knowing that Halus had probably noticed that the other part of the job was now his own matter. Halus pressed several flashing buttons with an incredible dexterity, as if he had always done this in his life. He turned on his radio transmitter and said: “Blue Ageon 7 taking off, over.” Firmly holding the control stock in his grasp, Halus felt his body vibrating at the same beat. The armoured aircraft trembled, but nothing could disturb the pilot. The BGV levelled off as Halus hauled back the stick. The ship’s ram jets kicking up a shower of dust and debris, Halus gunned the throttle and saw that the destroyed city hadn’t change since his last flight. The ship rapidly soared and met up with Ageon Squadron’s crafts.
Forming up with the rest of the 8 Marauders, a husky voice spoke by the transmitter. “Ageon Blue Leader to Squadron. Report.” Other voices answered: “Ageon 2 here.” “Ageon 3 here.” “Ageon 5 here.” “Ageon 6 wants a cookie…” “Shut up Shenk…” “Ageon 4 here… The Engineers forgot to load my bombs… remind me to hit one when we come back…” “Don’t tell us your life, Ageon 4…” “ Ageon 7… err… here.” Halus said through his microphone. Rookes’ so known voice gave orders: “Split up, guys! Ageon 2 and 3… go with me. Ageon 4 and 5, go together. Ageon 6, 7 and 8… you know what to do. Carry on!” And the squad split up. Halus observed the ravaged battlefield from his priviledged spectator place and saw hundreds and hundreds of bodies in the No Man’s Land. The Confederates had been merciless. He saw with joy that some survivors had managed to reach the hilltop. “Ageon 6 and 8… Let’s help our boys, dudes.” “Hey! I still want my cookie!” “FU-K OFF WITH YOUR COOKIE! BLAST THEM! GROUND ATTACK, GUYS!” screamed Halus. He pushed the throttle and brutally forced the control stick forward. The BGV dived sharply and abruptly as Halus was assailed by G-forces, crushing his body. The nose gunner blasted a Confederate platoon, several bullets reaping its ranks with a merciless precision. Halus fired sent several volleys too, the wing cannons almost “bursting of pleasure”.
Halus pulled the control stick with all his strength and the modified Marauder (as the BGV was constructed with the structure of a Marauder and modified with the appearance of the “mathusalemic” B-29) levelled off, and climbed faster and faster in the polluted sky of Trondforge. Waves of dust flew high in the air after the attacker’s passage. Ageon 6 and 7 followed Halus, as they knew he was one of the best pilots of the squadron. More Confederates were slaughtered, helpless. Halus spotted large trench filled up with enemy soldiers, machine gunners, and flak cannons (anti-air batteries), which were in his sight. He yelled to his men, trying to cover the noise of the shaking craft: “TURRET 1 (nose turret) AND 2 (bottom turret)! CLEAN UP THAT TRENCH ON THE RIGHT!” “OKAY, HAL’!” they both answered. Both gunners aimed at the trench and fired several bursts of fire. Halus launched two rockets, which made a slight curve before they exploded, projecting waves of vaporized dust on the BGV. The tail gunner sent a last volley to clean the trench, but the Confederates were proud soldiers. The survivors preferred to fire on their flying enemies rather than run. Though, the two other Marauders didn’t come to finish the job. “Ageon 6 and 7! Where are you?” A rude voice answered: “FLAKS! FLAKS! AGEON 6, MOVE RIGHT! MOVE RIGHT! THEY’RE GONNA GET YOU!”
Though, Ageon 8’s Marauder was hit by five times by the anti-air shells. The jet engine spat tons of smoke before the vessel dissolved into a fireball and a shower of debris. The right wing tore and whirled like a boomerang before crashing down into a Confederate defence turret. Ageon 6 turned right, like his gone friend had told him. He avoided an about five anti-air missiles that would have destroyed his Marauder… A terrible cry from Ageon 6 shattered the silence that followed “Ageon 8’s desintegration”. Halus checked the transmission panel and snapped the “Ageon Leader” button. “Ageon 8 is down. I repeat: Ageon 8 is down!” The sky rapidly became a storm of artillery shells, anti-air shells and missiles, and explosions. The sky had gone grey with all the smoke and explosions caused by the duel between the artillerymen and the Imperial Navy. Though, the Confederate Air Forces were going to do a violent counterattack sooner or later. Halus sent a last volley of bullets, seeing his wing cannons spitting fire with an incredible speed. One bullet out of five was a tracer bullet to help the pilot know where he was shooting to reajust his aim. Suddenly, an enemy aircraft appeared in his line of sight. He didn’t bother to warn his crew, as he didn’t bother anymore. He only wanted to avenge Ageon 8. Ageon 6 had disappeared from the scanner, but he was probably safe (as he always heard the pilot cursing and swearing, probably not noticing that he didn’t shut down the radio monitor.).
The BGV started to chase his opponent. Barely caring about the exploding shells around his craft, he gunned the throttle to give the ship a powerful combat speed. The engines buzzed with the augmentation of power and the whole structure trembled infernally as if the whole machine was crashing down on the ground. “NOT SO FAST, HAL! YOU’RE GONNA KILL US ALL!” Evidently, Halus didn’t listen to the advice. He made a somersault for the fun of it and kept swaying left and right horizontally, which allowed him to have more accuracy. The autocannons located on the wings spat fire and the bullets whistled in the air. The nose turret fired too, trying to take out the engines. Halus sent more bullets, more volleys… Although, the enemy craft was quite agile and manoeuvrable… more than this Bomber. Suddenly, the right wing ceased to fire. The left one kept firing. “DAMN! RIGHT CANNON JAMMED! LEO! FIX ME THAT!” The enemy suddenly levelled off. Halus followed him and kept firing with his left cannon. The nose gunner sent a final volley and the craft’s engines exploded. The rest of the machinery was never seen again as Halus strafed left to meet up with Ageon 6, which had succeeded to find him in the chaotic battlefield. Halus and Ageon 6 decided to do a ground attack, so they were level to the ground. The waves of dust following their passage violently made some bizarre choregraphy before meeting back with the ground. Pushing the throttle to engines 1 and 4’s max speed, the BGV rushed forward.
Enemy turrets focused on Halus’ BGV and succeeded to hit one of his engines. A long row of black smoke seemed to follow Engine 1. Several volleys of bullets hit his wings and the craft almost collided with the ground. Halus fired with his twin lascannons, his rocket launchers and everything he got. About five hundred meters in front of him, a huge bunker was exploding as if it had contained barrels of explosives only. Debris stuck in the armour plating and a terrible scream broke the silence between the crew. It came from the tail… Halus ordered the bottom gunner to see what was going on. About thirty seconds later, when the BGV was high above the carnage, almost safe I could even say, a squeaky voice answered: “The tail gunner’s dyin’… He has been hit by about four big bullets…” Hal’ answered: “Okay, we’re headin’ home.” The wingman (A-6) argued with the angry pilot, but he was finally convinced as fighting almost running out of ammunition wasn’t a good idea. When Ageon 6 and 7 saw the hangar, the ships landed with a remarkable precision and the noise stopped gradually. The side doors opened themselves and the crew went down. Hal’ was greeted with Major Rookes as he ordered the medics to carry the wounded man. Effectively, he was in a quite bad state.
-“Why didn’t you come back before, Ageon 7?
-What?
-Didn’t you hear that clear order of retreat from me?
-Huh… not at all, Sir…
-Your radio was probably broken… I’m surprised you survived the infernal fire that these Flaks had been giving us…
-I just had to fly low…
-You could have painted a bullseye on your craft, HUH?!? Were you mad? The infantry turrets have nearly cost you a precious team member…
-I have already lost Ageon 8… don’t say more, Sir…
-Ageon 3 and 4 are missing too… That’s why I ordered the retreat… Although, I’m sure that you have done a great mess in their lines, no?
-Aye, Sir. I was almost out of ammunition…
-Lil’ Bam’s gonna strangle you when he sees his BGV, Hal’!
-I hope he tries to. My right wing cannon jammed during the battle… I’ll strangle him too.
-Okay, get some sleep or help to repair the crafts…
-Let’s repair these crappy rusted things first… After I’ll strangle Bam.
-Good work, Ageon 7.
-My pleasure, Sir.”
Halus joined the teams of engineers and didn’t care whether the infantry had won the day or not. He had done his job and nothing more was needed. The pilot scratched his head as he saw the hundreds of bullets that had almost destroyed his ship… and he sighed.
***
Before the Marauders even took off, the second wave of (experienced) soldiers in the Imperial trenches was looking at the Conscripts charging to the hilltop. Indeed, they were impressed by their courage… A captain raised his sword and said: “Hey, boys! If even the conscripts can make it to the top, we can too! Let’s save our boys! COME ON!” And they charged.
On the hill top, it was a slaughter. The Imperial lasguns cracked as the Confederates were being slaughtered. The Conscript line advanced so courageously and rapidly that most of the Confederate soldiers were killed before they even had time to defend themselves. In the Confederate line, it rained grenades. The Conscripts were unstoppable. Several bayonets went into the flesh, several swords and chainswords chopped heads and other body parts… spilling blood on the ground. Paul Tarren took swung his sword at two enemy soldiers and their grey coats became ornated with a thick red and black line. Tchackels and Yurgen and placed their heavy machine gun on the top of an undefended building and kept firing wherever there was an enemy sign of life. The Conscripts, unable to go deeper in the enemy defence than the first buildings, sought cover in the ruins. While the Conscripts were unleashing their wrath on their hated opponents, some skilled soldiers tried to stop the reinforcements from high vantage points.
The first Confederate line was now the Imperials’, but the thin line of Imperials couldn’t hold out a lot of time against the now imminent Confederate counter-attack. They won the first round by taking the Confederates by surprise (because of the final charge), but now the rebels were ready and organized at their second line of defence, about a hundred meters away. Hidden in the Conf’ first row of trenches, the Imperial line was wavering. But, the main part of the Infantry had now reached the hilltop. Composed of karskin, ordinary soldiers and some other support units, the second wave had decided to help their new heroes: the Conscript brigade. Although, help came from the sky… the Imperial Navy. Paul Tarren gazed at the clouds and saw Marauders and other crafts. He grimly smiled and saw something uncommon in the sky. Some black spots appeared in the sky, followed by long lines of fire. “DROP PODS?!?” he said with astonishment.
Re: The Trondforge Assault: Fortis Imperator Oris: Chpt. 16
The Trondforge Assault: Aeternus Timor Oris
Eternal Fear
Chapter VIII
Far in the ruins of Trondforge, a once magnificent Confederate city, the Imperials were struggling for the domination of the city. A rough fight, known as “Operation Red Hawk”, savagely began to the slope of the Jiksel hill. Several Marauders, Lightnings and other crafts of the Imperial Navy were disintegrated by the Confederate Artillery and thousands of conscripts gave their life for the glorious battle.
Hidden in the ruins, the 1403 survivors of the Conscript Brigade were recovering from the previous exceptionally costly battle. The air was now cold and dry, and about thirty men were positioned in what remained of the Confederate Bunker Iota-7. A lonely man was scribbling on a sheet of paper since hours…
“Personal journal of Conscript Tybalt Nerionor
“Out here, everything is getting colder and colder. Winter is coming soon. Of the 304 men that counted our platoon, 43 lucky bastards are resting in the hospital and 32 of us (including our good lieutenant Tarren) are still on the battlefield. Still, we are luckier than these poor boys of the 7th platoon. Only 7 soldiers have survived. Fortunately for us, the High Command sent the survivors in our platoon until the platoon will be re-created. Our great lieutenant Paul Tarren has survived, except that he can barely move one of his arms because of the last battle. A rumour says that of the 10 000 conscripts that assaulted the hill, about 1400 of them survived. I’m sad that they sent us to do such an impossible task. The Conscript Brigade is quite glorious, but this kind of glory is nothing but a short-lived success. The rest of the army has taken position on the hilltop which was now under the Imperium’s control. Several military structures have been deplaced by gigantic spacecrafts and the Leman Russ Tanks have been brought here to help us, at last!
Our platoon is in a grim mood and state, today… Our uniforms are dirty, our flak jackets are pierced by several points and our lasguns are nothing more but dirty scrap. This fight on the hilltop was terrible, I remember having killed more than fifteen confederates with my bayonet… One after the other, they were slaughtered by this pointed piece of metal that each soldier fixes on his lasgun before charging. Our morale is lower than despair and we count each hour that separates us from our next fight. The sky is grey… damn grey… Is there any sun on this damn planet? The only things we can see in the sky are these long columns of smoke and fire that follow the numerous drop pods and the Marauders and Lightnings of the Imperium’s Navy.
Our situation could be worse as it could be better. We have found several bolters and shotguns in abandoned confederate depots. We have also found machine guns and I hope that we will use them well. We have a limited supply of ammunition with these guns, but at least we will have a decent firepower. We have four rocket launchers, some grenades, a radio to communicate (we stole it from a dead karskin officer), and some of us even have swords! Vassili has been named “Corporal” by the lieutenant and he now carries the platoon banner. He showed so much courage and devotion in this battle that most of us have fallen in admiration for him. I don’t have any news from the main army, but I know that they have launched a large-scale offensive. Hopefully the enemy will not have the time to do a counter-attack.
Aemilian has some scratches on his flak jacket, but he seems alright. I have taken a bullet around the left leg, so I often stumble instead of walking. Felski is presently trying to heal some of the wounds of our men, and he was given the rank of “medic”. He still fights with us, but he has gained more respect than our own mothers have gained. He is a great man. Lawrence has died, but he won’t be regretted as no one knew him. Tchackels and Yurgen are still playing cards and cleaning their brand new shotguns and their precious heavy machine gun. I think I should make an index of the nice guys I know for now before they are gone…
Lieutenant Paul Tarren: A tall man, a unshaved and dirty face, a grim look, brown eyes… I’d say that our lieutenant is a worthy soldier. He’s quite young and a bit inexperienced (a bit like everyone out there) but he’ll be a great leader if he survives long enough. He told me he was a teacher before… a History teacher, and a strategy master. He is slim and has a normal constitution. He is broad-shouldered and he proudly wears his black peaked officer cap. He has a long sword and a one-handed bolter. His grey coat gave him the look of a Confederate, but his peaked cap clearly showed that he was on the side of the Imperium. Our good lieutenant is a man who doesn’t know arrogance although he’s a proud man. I don’t know anything more about Paul.
Corporal Vassili: Vassili is a model for all the survivors of our platoon. He now carries our banner and is a worthy opponent for any Confederate soldier… He wields the banner (as it can easily be used as a weapon) like no one and his precision with the one-handed bolter is incredible. He is a energetic guy in an Olympic health… Before the war, he had no job, no friends, no family… but now he has us. He found his reason to live and die by fighting for the Emperor in the Imperial Guard. He likes fighting and often takes foolish risks. Rarely he steps back, but he has enough intelligence to know when victory is impossible. He has blonde hair and a thin chestnut beard (as he usually shaves everyday). He is a man who doesn’t believe in his own strength and that needs some encouragements to accomplish the greatest acts of bravery and courage.
Tchackels and Yurgen: These two guys are like twins… they always walk together, they fight together, they count on each other and they often act like brothers… Tchackels and Yurgen have known each other since they Tchackels was given a machine gun and that he needed another man (as a machine gunner crew needs two men). Yurgen accepted to help him and they became friends. Tchackels fires on the enemy while Yurgen reloads and covers him with his lasgun. These guys are an unbreakable duo and if one of them dies, both will die.
Aemilian: Aemilian is a really strange guy… he is silent and never talks except when needed. He is not a man of small talk. He’s the most bizarre man I’ve ever seen and I don’t know much about him. He is a tall man, is slightly built, shoots and kills without feeling any emotion. His face makes me think of a Terminator one…
Felski: Medic of the team, Felski is a nice dude. He heals people and seems to be really affected by Samus’ death. He told me he didn’t have an easy life and that he hopes to survive this war… to see his family again.
Finally, I am Tybalt. I’m not really tall and I have chestnut hair. I was a writer before the war and writing was my whole life. I keep writing, hoping that if I come back alive of this hell, I will publish this book… and show the world how disgusting war is. Although, I’m not against the idea of fighting for your freedom. I’m a man of ideas and I respect the Imperium’s ideas. I am the black sheep here… I was not created to do war or kill people… my place is not here. My place is in front of a sheet of paper. My place is anywhere, but not in Trondforge. I hope war will forge my character… and transform me into a real man.”
***
The men were playing cards, having small talk… but they didn’t know what was waiting ahead. The drop pods brought several hundreds of men to reinforce the army, and amongst them was Mercutio, a karskin sergeant. Taken among the mass of Conscripts, he was brainwashed and transformed into a real killing-machine by the Secret Services of the Imperium. His company, Delta V, was composed of other brainwashed killing-machines like him Most of them were better than any standard karskin and guardsman in the Imperial Guard… and they were given two single tasks: support the Main Army and accomplish special missions. The Confederates would surely launch a counter attack, and the Guard had stopped advancing since four days, stopped by the titanic defence line of the Confederates. No crafts could fly nearby, as the hundreds of artillery pieces would take even a spaceship down in no time.
Among the dust and the ruins of Lower Trondforge, a red light was shining in the darkness. Behind this light was an eye… an eye that had seen many things… an eye that had seen the crash of a Valkyrie and that had seen a terrible ride in a truck… and a Commissar… and nothing… A little whisper came out… “Sarge, we goin’?”
“Not yet… we’d need more than 40 men to do this… Where’s the radio?”
“Flat dead, sir… it didn’t survive the landing… I suggest we call for reinforcements…”
“Move out before we get spotted…”
***
Paul Tarren was looking with empty eyes at the ground when a “bleep!” woke him up from his trance. He put his hand on his earphone and said:
“Aye?
-Blue Falcon to…
-AYE, I SAID!
-Okay, okay, don’t get mad, Paul! I only do my job!
-What now?
-You need to reach the Christensus Cathedral as soon as possible… it seems that our boys here need some support. You are one of the few relatively fresh teams… tank support is on its way.
-How far is Christensus?
-Two days of walking… when heading north. When heading south… it makes a good-…
-Damn! Where are the guardsmen when we need them?
-Fighting at the Opoelis Line. Have fun! *Krrrsh*”
The lieutenant cursed as his well-deserved break was now over… “Have fun, he said…” The men quickly understood that war called them again. They packed their things and walked north on a desert street. The streets were disgusting with the little snow that fell on the men. Their child’s spirits were gone as the snow provided them nothing more but contempt for nature itself. Instead of a white carpet, it was a grey and black carpet covered with scrap… Although, the men now clearly knew that they would have to face a great number of enemies before they could reach the Christensus Cathedral… and probably some of them would die… and if they failed no one would live long enough to see the end of this terrible war… to see the dawn of the final battle… to see the sunrays crossing in the cathedral, the last rays of sunset illuminate the remaining stained-glass windows… and to see the mighty Lord’s cross on the altar… but the platoon had to go straight through the heart of battle…
“Form column! Follow!” ordered the lieutenant.
***
About thirty minutes after the departure, the platoon already met with other units of guardsmen. The soldiers grimly looked at them, their face sunk into their helmet, their dirty scarves hiding most of their face. Only their eyes could be seen… red eyes exhausted by the already too long war… Most of them were hidden behind partially destroyed walls made of bricks and other twisted things of metals. Once in a while, a shot was heard… A man dared to talk to Tarren…
“Be careful, sir… this area is swarming with snipers… Half of our unit has been pinned down already…
-Don’t worry, sergeant. My platoon has seen worse than these snipers…
-Chaos?
-Jiksel Hill…
-Oh damn… May the Emperor be with you all!”
Suddenly, a sharp sound was heard and a moan followed. A soldier yelled: “Abrams is down!” Lieutenant Tarren didn’t look anymore at the other soldiers… he just moved straight forward… ignoring the others. Vassili was behind him, with the precious banner grasped in his hands.
The long road to Christensus had begun...
Chapter IX
Three hours had passed since the departure from the Confederate Bunker Iota-7. The men had walked through the sinuous path of chaotic buildings. They saw several soldiers trying to repulse several attacks, helpless. Although, they didn’t look at the sad scene… and kept heading to Christensus. Lieutenant Paul Tarren was smoking a cigarette, trying to forget about the incredibly bad odour of death, explosives, roasted corpses tossed in drenched piles of body… Rain was nothing more but annoying droplets soaking the soldiers’ uniforms. Droplets dripped on Aemilian’s stern face, and crashed on the soil. Felski, on his side, was curiously observing the nearby architecture of the buildings of those who could have become their allies without this war… He looked at the other Guardsmen around their platoon, waiting for an enemy attack. Fear was seen in their eyes, but the heavy humming of the tanks covered their moans. Some Leman Russ tanks were already positioned, their big cannons pointing straight in front of them.
They kept marching for another thirty minutes and they met with a large group of men. Lieutenant Tarren raised his arm to make the company stop. His heavy boots walked on the mud, already frozen with the surprising cooling of the weather. Though, the weather wasn’t cold enough to bring snow instead of rain. A tall man saluted him, a battle rifle grasped in his wrinkled fingers. Evidently, he was a captain. The metal plates on his flak jacket were giving him the look of an “Alpha Marine” (marines specially trained for commando missions wearing a grey uniform and metal plates as protection over their thick flak jacket).
“-Which Unit?
-You don’t want to care, Sir.
-Great. Get your men in place, lieutenant. We’re gonna attack this bridge, over there.
-I have strict orders to reach Christensus as soon as possible.
-I’m sure that the Confederates have some vehicles in there. We need your help. We got five snipers and ten men with battle rifles, and the hundred other men got lasguns and bayonets. We would need Space Marines, right now… We need more firepower than that… Your bolters will do the trick.
-All right, Sir. I’m not a man of small talk. Give me five minutes and we can charge.
-Good. Carry on.”
Tchackels and Yurgen were given the order of positioning themselves on the roof of a high building. Two snipers were covering them. They had a good overview of the battlefield. Just ahead of them lied a long and damaged iron bridge. Lots of cars and other vehicles were probably burning on it. Although, with the rain, there were only a few sparkles from the fuel barrels. Yurgen took the binoculars and tried to watch farther than the barrier of mist. He distinguished some shapes that looked like a huge bunker, some tanks, a large number of soldiers… He even wondered if the attackers would be overwhelmed instead of the defenders! Suddenly, he saw some Imperials advancing between the wrecked vehicles. Paul Tarren and the Captain were leading an almost suicidal attack, but Yurgen still had to do his duty. He loaded his machine gun, and pointed it at the end of the bridge. He adjusted his gun sight and waited for some noise.
Lieutenant Tarren approached near the end of the bridge, apparently undetected by the enemy. He made a few steps forward, and crouched behind another vehicle. He heard some noise, probably some men chatting. He made a quick sign at his men and they prepared their grenades. Another sign; the grenades fell around the Confederate bunker. Yells, shooting, explosions… And then some heavy machine gun noise from both sides. “FORTH! FORTH!” Tarren yelled. He charged forward and rapidly met lots of enemies. He fired his bolter as precisely as he could hope to do, his men did the same. Several guardsmen arrived to provide some help to the Imperial platoon and a furious close combat fight began. Tybalt drew up his sword and sliced an arm in two. He banged his bolter on an enemy’s nose, and pressed the trigger to send some bullets. He fired as much as he could until he realized that his bolter’s magazine was empty. He didn’t take time to reload it, as a man was rushing towards him. He swung his thick blade and sliced his face. The men screamed like a banshee and Tybalt decided to shorten the man’s pain. Suddenly, he felt something hard cutting his right leg. He didn’t see the thick wave of blood falling on the ground and he turned back to thrust his weapon in the man’s chest. He dodged the strike and slammed his gun’s shotgun’s butt in Tybalt’s face, almost knocking him down. Although, the Imperial soldier didn’t want to die that easily. While the butt was ramming in his cheek, he slashed the man’s hand and took the shotgun from him. He fired it two times to make sure that his enemy was dead. He advanced to meet the other soldiers and shot several times, pellets raining on his enemies. But, reality called him back.
His leg was abundantly bleeding and he was feeling as if life was drained from his body. He fell on the ground, almost unconscious. Suddenly, a grey-coated man approached near him. He pumped his shotgun and prepared to fire. Suddenly, the equivalent of almost a whole magazine of a bolter hit his body, piercing his armour at several points. The man fell over, flat dead. Felski approached near his friend and shook him up to try to wake him up. The only answer of Tybalt was a delirious mumble. Felski unpacked his backpack and took his first aid case; a brown bag with a red cross on it. He pulled a disgusted face and took some bandages… “I hope I won’t spend the night on him… Aww!”
While, Captain Polaris had led his men into the bunker. Despite heavy casualties, the machine-gun support from Tchackels and Yurgen and the help of Tarren’s men had greatly helped the Imperials’ favour. It was strange, indeed, that conscripts reached this level of effectiveness in combat in so less time. Some of them fought as if they had done it during their whole life. Though, Polaris didn’t see the fear in their eyes, the fear of not living enough time to return home… home… where war wouldn’t reach them. He looked at his men throwing grenades into the bunker’s windows, he heard the explosions inside, the yells of the dying ones inside. Vassili was ramming a large metal bar with the help of five muscular soldiers in the metallic door of the bunker. The door gave up and opened.
***
Inside the gigantic bunker, Vassili was leading a fierce assault. With his big blade, he had killed so many that he had stopped counting. He seemed unstoppable. In his body was the spirit of the whole company, after all! He rammed his fists into a soldier’s belly and fired his shotgun on anything alive that was standing in his path. He held his proud banner with his left hand and didn’t have any shame to slam it in someone. It was like a blade, like a bardiche, after all!
He rapidly reached the Command Room where the officers preferred to surrender instead of dying. Vassili did what his good sense was telling them and rushed into another room. There, most of the men were engineers… not soldiers. The other soldiers were outside… being slaughtered. He spared them and several guardsmen helped him to gather them outside to see the Captain. With his thermal detector incorporated in his helmet, Captain Polaris saw that there were no more life signs but those gathered in a large red circle inside the bunker. His thermal detector rarely lied, after all… Vassili had succeeded. Although, the tall man’s job wasn’t finished yet. He still had one thing to do. He ran upstairs, leaving the guardsmen with the prisoners. Vassili rapidly reached the roof and saw the Confederate flag at its top. He threw it down and replaced it with the Imperium’s noble banner that a soldier had given him. He looked down the bunker, and laughed at the remaining Confederate soldiers, even still more numerous than his friends down there, outside the bunker. He saw them fleeing, afraid. They were afraid! He saw the Imperials cheering! They were cheering! They had won this battle! Even if the attackers were outnumbered, they had won! He saw Tchackels, Yurgen and other Imperials carrying weapons, ammunition boxes, wounded… They were transferring their wounded, and all their stuff in the bunker. The Confederate counter-attack would probably come soon.
Five minutes after the battle, the Confederates were already far away, and Captain Polaris and Lieutenant Tarren called the troop to a meeting. Polaris began:
“Soldiers! I want to congratulate you. You have proved to be REAL Imperial soldiers! Despite our 52 dead guardsmen, we will keep fighting to protect this bunker at any cost! Let’s thank Tarren’s platoon, which provided us a great help, today. We will let them leave to reach Christensus, where they will fight the battle of their life! I decided to give my battle rifle to one of them, as I know that they will need it. The battle rifle will belong to he who will catch it. Take!”
Polaris threw the gun high and it fell down. While, Tybalt was hardly opening his eyes, seeing the day’s light again. Felski cheered with joy that the injections had done the job. But then, catastrophe! Drama! A battle rifle coming from the sky fell on Tybalt’s forehead, knocking him off and sending him back to the void of unconsciousness. Felski loudly cursed as his “patient” was shutting his eyes. At least, Tybalt would have a brand new weapon, as his bolter was broken during the battle.
Lieutenant Tarren gave thirty minutes of rest to his men. After, they would have to go. The lieutenant followed Captain Polaris to the bunker’s hangar and saw, filled with wonder, dozens of vehicles. And among them was something like a Land Raider… Surely there would be enough space for thirty men! Tarren sighed and said:
“I hope this thing goes fast, Polaris…
-Of course, it does. You will win precious time…
-I just hope that I didn’t lose my time here…”
Polaris looked at the young lieutenant right in the eyes…
“War is a loss of time by itself…”
Chapter X
-“This Land Raider even has four machine gun turrets! I guess it belonged to Space Marines before… A Land Raider is often a worthy trophy, eh?” said Captain Polaris.
“-Sure, sure! I guess we better take care of this little baby, eh?” answered the Lieutenant. “All right, men! Let’s get moving! Where’s Tybalt?”
No man answered. Tybalt was slowly trying to walk, his whole body supporting itself on his sword. He stumbled and fell down. No man tried to help him to get up, as they all knew that Tybalt was a proud man. He would never accept to be treated like a cripple. Though, Paul sighed and said sadly: “My poor Tybalt… with a leg like that, my judgement tells me that… you should stay back with my friend Polaris. My heart would want you to fight with us, but… I’m sorry that you have to stay back, but with a leg like that, you shouldn’t fight… You will pursue the fighting while we will fight at Christensus…
-But, damnit!
-YOU SHUT YOUR TRAP AND YOU STAY HERE!” decided Tarren despite the protestations of Tybalt.
The men didn’t turn back to see Tybalt’s pale face, but they heard a sad sob. Felski and Aemilian waved good-bye at their friend and walked over the crude metal footbridge that lead to the Land Raider. The door closed and the vehicle moved off, being driven by Aemilian. A large cloud of dust, and nothing but the sound of the tracked vehicle humming in the dry air.
***
Mercutio sneaked between the chairs and the broken tables of the bar. His crew has gone undetected for five days since the beginning of his mission. Things were going well. His goal? Capture an enemy Colonel known as Colonel Hans Braun. Mercutio and his 40 Alpha Marines will have to infiltrate the Confederate Trench Network to reach the Command Room, where they will find the Colonel. Mercutio rapidly scanned the nearby buildings with his helmet visor and saw no signs of life. The group advanced for one kilometre, swift and undetectable. Suddenly, they met a large and thick wall. Around, there was a little trap in the ground. They opened it and entered in the darkness. They arrived in a dark room where nothing was visible. They turned on their thermal detectors and spotted four men in the darkness. With their sharp blades, they silently killed them. Using his radio transmitter of his helmet, he whispered an almost inaudible bunch of words: “Brandon, get your crew to the east. Hagman, get your crew to the north. Dmitri, get your squad just next to mine. Proceed with caution. Don’t get caught. If you are, disperse and rally to my squad. Right?”
Hagman, Dmitri, and Brandon nodded in the darkness, and the group split. Mercutio hesitated before opening the large iron gate in front of him. The men knelt and prepared themselves. Just ahead, there were dozens of little red shapes on their visor’s screen. The sergeant’s dry fingers pressed several buttons on the little control panel of the gate. He put a small box on it, plugged some electric wires, pressed other buttons, and a little “click” was heard. The door made an incredibly noisy screeching sound and opened. The red shapes rapidly moved like ants in an ant nest. The Alpha marines aimed carefully with their battle rifles’ scopes, and they fired almost simultaneously. Several red shapes fell on the ground, and then there were lights, lots of lights. Several projectors and lamps in the ceiling were flashing, allowing the marines to get rid of their thermal detectors. Mercutio yelled “Advance! Keep moving! Go! Go! Go!” Despite the bullets whistling around him and the pellets of the shotguns penetrating in his flesh or ricocheting and bruising his body armour. The marines shot with a deadly precision and rapidity, leaving so few time for their opponents to do an effective counter attack. Some marines threw grenades, which exploded, projecting waves of debris and flesh. Some marines were slaughtered by deadly machine gun volleys. Mercutio and his marines hid behind crates, reloading their weapons with more frenzy than ability.
Mercutio took the pin out of a grenade, pressed it against his heart, raised up and threw it at a machine-gun post. The enemies fled through several gates, knowing that despite their greatly reduced number, they could not match their highly-trained enemies. The Alpha Marines moved on to the Northern corridor. They didn’t mind about their fallen soldiers, knowing that protocol said clearly that the mission was first in the priority list. Finally, after an infernal run of ten minutes, the marines reached the Control Room. Mercutio banged his way in and the firefight began. His battle rifle shot as fast as its mechanism allowed it to, but the enemy was outnumbering them. Then, the sergeant’s voice tried to cover the noise of battle: “Get the rockets, boys! FAST!”
Some men took rocket launchers and aimed at the mass of enemies. The rockets were propelled and a huge explosion shook the whole structure. Smoke and dust filled the whole room, the computers bursting with electricity. Several screen parts flew in the room, slashing pretty much everyone in the room. Mercutio’s left cheek and forehead bled with abundance, while some Alpha marines were crawling to their weapons. Several Confederates were wounded and agonizing, and those who had more luck had fled. About 8 marines had survived, and Mercutio was triumphantly aiming at Colonel Braun, a tall and broad-shouldered man. His body armour could protect him from bullets, but not from dozens of bullets at the same time. He raised his hands and surrendered. With a nod from the sergeant, he followed the elite soldiers. They ran back to the main room, and Mercutio turned on his radio transmitter: “Hagman, Brandon, Dmitri! We got the Colonel. Rendezvous at the meeting point!”
Although, the only answer was from Brandon’s voice. Dmitri has been killed in the Control Room battle and unfortunately for Hagman, his squad has been ambushed and killed to the last man. Four minutes later, Brandon and three exhausted men appeared through the destroyed Western gates. This has been indeed a costly mission. When out of the trench, Mercutio said: “Okay, boys. If we don’t want to end like this poor Hagman and his guys, we must move as fast as possible. And you, Colonel, if you just do a step too far from us, you will end up this war with eleven bullets in your head, right?”
Colonel Braun nodded, as he knew that an Alpha Marine has the reputation of rarely lying in such cases. Already, Mercutio has lost about three quarters of his men… to gain one prisoner. For this, they had killed about seventy men or even more! Seeing the loyalty in the colonel’s eyes, Mercutio gave his sword to the colonel, in case of a fight… he whispered: “If you fight with us, you will live… and you will be treated well… If you succeed to escape, you have a chance out of two to be gunned down by your own buddies… understood?”
***
While, the Land Raider was under heavy fire. The turrets shot as precisely as they could, but this wouldn’t work against the well-hidden attackers. Several rockets fell on the heavy plating of the vehicle. The whole metallic structure shook as if it was caught in a storm. Inside, Lieutenant Tarren was far from panicking. With a calm tone, he asked:
“-Shield?
-Twenty-five percents, Lieutenant…” answered Aemilian’s rude voice. “Dead end straight ahead, boss… what do we do?
-Keep moving, I’ll try to quiet these damn rocket launchers. Vassili, Felski! Take five men each and help me get inside these buildings! Aemilian, open the door!”
The thirteen men charged out and dashed to the nearest building. Separating in two groups, the men hunted down the hidden enemies. Paul smashed a door with his strong foot and knocked the Confederate down. This one was a sniper. He took the gun and cursed: “That sh*t is not even loaded… damn…” He took some bullets that were on the man’s pockets and loaded the old gun. It was some kind of old gun… old, but damn precise. Vassili continued his attack into the other buildings, and a powerful explosion was heard. A rocket had almost killed Vassili! He was shaken, but alive. He roared and ran the panicking enemy through with his mighty banner. A distinct shot was heard: Paul’s newly acquired sniper rifle. Another sound, another dead. Felski had lost two men (they were wounded, not killed), pinned down by enemy snipers. With his radio transmitter, he yelled: “WE NEED TO FIND A WAY TO GET RID OF THESE MEN ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STREET! GET THE ROCKETS AND BLOW THE BASE OF THE BUILDINGS UP! FAST, DAMN IT!”
Despite his humble rank in hierarchy, when Felski was yelling, he had a good reason to do so. He was a respected member of the squad, and he had gained with his blood and medic skills what he couldn’t gain by military exploits, like Vassili. He was an important member of the team. Several men took the bazookas and they shot several times at the buildings’ foundations. For what seemed an eternity, the building held and then a fatal blow made it crumble under tons of debris. The men cheered and ran into the Land Raider, bringing their two wounded.
Aemilian said “It was time, Lieutenant… our shields are down… and we’ll need some time to make it recharge to full power…”
Although, straight ahead, a dead end was awaiting the Land Raider’s crew. The Land Raider simply went through the wall and continued his way…
And, a few hours after, a cross was seen high in the top of a huge building. The few suns of ray illuminated the golden cross on the cathedral’s steeple. Christensus was now in sight… and the great Aedis Pugnae (Temple battle) was already raging…
Smoke, dust and echoes… And wind…
Cold wind… And flakes… snow flakes…
They had gone red… And grey.
Blood and dust.
Re: The Trondforge Assault: Fortis Imperator Oris: Chpt. 16
Chapter XI
Christensus Pugnae (Christensus Battle)
The Land Raider’s driver door noisily fell down on the ground, a leg stepped out and Lieutenant Paul Tarren entered the halfly broken-down iron gate of Christensus Cathedral. Seen from a pagan and heretic point of view, this church was nothing more but a huge monument with a golden cross on its steeple. Although, as for the Imperials and for the Confederates, this place was one of the mightiest cathedrals in the world. High of three hundred meters, this cathedral has been once a magnificent cathedral, richly decorated with a luxury beyond the wildest of imaginations. The walls are made of stone and the structure is made of metal. Now, this building was shaking under the weight of a full war on its roof. Several holes in the roof, letting either very few rays of sun or tons of cold water swarm the interior. Right now, the monument was barricaded everywhere, trenches were even dug in the marble paving stones. Machine-gun nests were placed at strategic points.
Paul and his men carefully examined what remained of the painted roof. He saw some sunrays caressing his cheeks, and everything became dark through one of the holes in the roof. A soldier saw them, looked at the roof, and screamed “TAKE COVER, YOU FOOLS!” The men rushed to the nearest trench and a shell exploded about five meters away from the platoon’s previous position. Waves of dust fell on the seriously shaken soldiers. Paul got out of the trench and met up with an imperial captain. He saluted, but the tall man didn’t even care about giving back a polite smile. The man’s uniform was dark and had some scratches on it. He held a submachine gun in his left hand, while he was lighting a cigarette with his right one. He took a puff and grunted, smoke going out from his nose. He said with a rude voice: “Thirty men? I wish the High Command had more guts than that to send us worthy reinforcements… I asked a hundred men, and I don’t even receive the third!”
Aemilian sneered with contempt and said: “See this, Lieutenant? After the conscripts, there’s not a lot of worthy soldiers in these parts, huh? I guess that if the Captain wants a hundred men, he’ll have to cross the whole frontline to get his missing ones, huh?”
Vassili added: “And you should feel lucky to have us… all units are busy on the battlefield… General Lionel Caffran could have sent Space Marines, huh? Don’t dream, dude, we’re alone in there!”
Laughs came from the outside and other soldiers entered. The Captain mumbled: “At least you make my men laugh… They haven’t smiled in four weeks… Welcome, boys. My name is Heinrich Weaser. Tommy will show you your position. (he yelled) Tommy, where the hell are you hiding?”
An engineer warmly shook hands with the Lieutenant and said:
-“Follow me, dudes. ‘Glad you could make it to there… None of us was expecting reinforcements anyway…
-We got some heavy weapons in the Land Raider… where do we put them?
-Throw them in the trenches… Our boys will pick them up. And keep some near the ammunition depot, near the altar. Have you got some ammunition?
-Not that much… We have some, but you won’t last several days with this.
-Still, that’s better than nothing. I’ll show you where’s your position.”
The platoon followed the engineer. They walked for some minutes in the Cathedral, and then they reached the northern gate (they have arrived by the southern gate). Paul was about to open it when Tom stopped him with his hand. “The door is mined… If you don’t wish to finish toasted, just follow me.” They advanced a bit more through the cathedral and reached a large gap through the wall. “A shell did this to us two days ago…” They stepped out and saw with amazed eyes the scene. Several trenches and plateaus have been created. These trenches were of a great quality for hastily dug ones. The engineer had indeed done a marvellous job. Trenches were dug just next to the walls, and machine-gun nests with some light artillery cannons were positioned on the plateaus reinforced with sand bags. Just ahead, other trenches were dug as the first defences in case of a surprise assault. Ahead again, there were ditches with wooden and metal picks. These picks were placed almost everywhere in the defence line at strategic positions. Ahead lied a bridge over the river that separated Christensus from the Upper City. Several firefights have taken place around the bridge, both sides shooting from their trenches next to each side of the bridge. [note from the author: Here is a plan (please don’t laugh, PAINT isn’t my favourite tool…) https://img509.imageshack.us/img509/...susark6hi.jpg]
Finally, the platoon reached its position. It was a trench near an artillery cannon which function was to destroy tanks. They would fight with the two hundred men at Christensus… and hold out until reinforcements arrive… or until forever. The Imperials would use stolen Confederate weaponry, as Imperial weapons were so rare on the battlefield! Most of the soldiers had standard rifles, which could shoot up to fifteen single bullets per clip. Also, most of the officers in Captain Weaser’s section had submachine guns, able to fire fifty bullets per clip. Aemilian, Felski, Vassili, Yurgen and Tchackels unpacked their things near the cannon. They ate some uneatable and dry bread pieces with some men under Weaser’s command. Tchackels and Yurgen began to play cards on a crate with other men. Felski began to cure some minor wounds, Aemilian looked at the bridge with a stern look, and Vassili chatted with some men about what he had seen during the road to Christensus.
-“It’s getting cold more and more each day… have you noticed?
-You’ll see… I bet that there’ll be snow in some days. Although, I just can’t believe that we won’t fight alone…
-I can’t believe I’m still alive…
-What is doing the Main Army? I thought that we would swarm them in no time…
-It seems that the attackers are not outnumbering the defenders, this time.
-Why are we staying there?
-Christensus is one of the only accesses to the Upper City… Only infantry will be able to attack Upper Trondforge… They have too much anti-air defence… Sometimes I wonder why we’re fighting here…
-Because we must?
-Forget about the duty, dude…” said Vassili.
-“Why, then?
-I’ve heard that this city has done a terrible thing to the Imperium, but I don’t know what yet.
-I see the one you call Aemilian staring at that bridge… What a strange guy who is in your team!
-Without him, this whole platoon would be dead… He’s a great driver, and I think he should be in the Tank Brigade instead of this pitiful infantry corp…
-Hey, it seems that you’re a great fighter, is it true?
-I am, indeed. But still, I believe that I was made to fight and die for the Emperor.
-Like every of us, huh?
-No. See this guy over here? His name’s Felski. He was a doctor, as Aemilian has told me. Do you think he looks like a warrior? A soldier?
-I must admit… I wonder how he did to survive this mess…
-He’s a guy who draws his energy from the friendship he has with everyone. Aemilian has asked me to show him how to shoot… Tee! Hee! If he wants to survive, he’ll have to hit something with his gun… A scalpel doesn’t save you from a bullet in the head, eh?
-It’s great to have buddies like you to help us… We’ve never been that depressed… The Confederates badly want this cathedral, you know? A week ago, we lost this good old Major… He was a great dude… but Weaser is one of a kind. He’s sharp and isn’t a petty strategist… He fights with us, and he will die with us if we fail. How about your lieutenant?
-Tarren’s a great guy too. He’s a bit young to be a lieutenant, but he was from the conscript brigade, like me. In there, they could pick anyone and make him become captain at any time! Unfortunately, officers never lasted long in such wars. You should have seen him at Jiksel Hill! He had taken five bullets in total, but he was still running and fighting with his sword! He’s a source of admiration for all of those in his platoon. Jiksel Hill has cost us dearly… and the price was high… far too high to be a reasonable price… or to be called a “victory”. They have sent us blindly; a man out of ten didn’t have anything in his weapon…
-Ghee… See this bridge over here? Don’t blow it up, okay?
-Why?
-We’ve fought for about three weeks just to protect this bridge… Remember: it’s our only way to attack Upper City with the help of our reinforcements. It’s the only bridge for miles around.
-Understood. I’ll spread word to our chaps.
-Great.”
While, the engineer Tom and lieutenant Tarren were smoking a cigarette, each other telling about what had happened during this war so far.
-“Weaser doesn’t believe me when I tell him that the Confeds’ will attack tonight… I’ve rarely seen a day so calm. They’re gathering. Spread word to your men to be alert, tonight. Do you hear this?
-Hear what?
-Yeah, you’re right. We hear nothing. And that’s not normal. It’s almost sunset. And…
-Very well. We’ll be ready.
-Ah, I almost forgot. The Captain wants you to take command of the demolition team.
-I already have my men to lead…
-He doesn’t want to admit it, but I’m sure that he knows that your men are the most experienced for now…
-I doubt it’s…
-Look… Look at our men. They are tired, they are hungry, they are depressed… Your men are pretty much the freshest troops that we have. And you guys got battle rifles and bolters, remember? Your task is not only to protect the bridge and Christensus, but also to protect our only way to defend ourselves against tanks and other mechanic monstrosities.
-All right.
-Okay, I’m going back to see my section. Good night, lieutenant.
-Good night… Oh, and by the way…
-Yes?
-Wonderful work… these trenches are just wonderful.
-It’s nothing.” modestly mumbled the blushing engineer.
Finally, the sun hid behind the horizon, and the men began to try to have some rest. Though, Captain Heinrich Weaser was writing in a notebook:
“December 16th
6:00 pm.
It’s getting cold, out there. I have helped as best as I can Vaungh and Plextrio to heal the wounded, but I doubt that they will have anymore time to cure our wounded… as dozens more will come on their operation tables. Also, a Lieutenant called Paul Tarren has brought reinforcements. Thirty men… I don’t think they will change anything, but I’m a practical man. I immediately saw that these guys give morale to my boys, and this is a good thing. At least, they have some heavy weapons to give us… Although, I fear tomorrow. I fear… I fear that my men will lose their trust in me. And no! This will not happen! We will hold no matter what! But… I never told anyone…but I put explosives under the bridge. If my men are going to get slaughtered… if we are defeated… I will not risk their lives for a miserable spot of bricks. I prefer to make the bridge blow up and stop their counter-attack rather than die for nothing. The High Command is blind… damn blind… They don’t see what comes ahead… But I have seen. I have seen these hundreds of tanks, these thousands of soldiers… I have seen their power… and this whole army comes to us… To us! They want to breach our frontline… but the High Command keeps sending forces to the centre… to the entrance of the mines, I think… I must… Someone… Someone must warn General Caffran that the Confederates are encircling us. But who?”
*Characters List*
Conscript Tybalt: One of the heroes of the story. He’s a standard private who looks at war with the eyes of despair. Although, he is a courageous dude.
Conscript Felski: The medic of Tybalt’s platoon. He isn’t much skilled in war, but he’s a great guy. He’s a close friend of Aemilian.
Conscript Aemilian: He’s the driver/mechanic of the team. He is good with explosives and likes risk.
Corporal Vassili: A man that has no other goal in life than to fight the enemy. He’s a simple man who doesn’t like to ask questions, and he’s one of the best (if not the best) soldier of the team. He’s the banner-carrier.
Conscript Yurgen: He’s part of the platoon’s machine-gun crew with Tchackels. These two guys are like brothers.
Conscript Tchackels : He’s the other half that completes Yurgen. He is a good shooter and always carries a shotgun and his heavy machine-gun on him.
Lieutenant Paul Tarren : A junior officer that is beginning to get some experience in war. Although, he is not a man who likes to take decisions… He can begin a great military career, although he needs to last the whole war to do so.
Engineer Lil’ Bam : He’s an engineer who is also the creator of the BGV (Halus’ bomber plane). He’s a stocky man who has the bad habit of smoking.
Halus : One of the best pilot of Ageon Squadron, under Major Rookes’ orders. He likes risks and pilots the BGV (B-80492 GV-6 to be more precise).
Major Rookes : Ageon Squadron’s leader.
Captain Jurgen : An artillery commander that greatly helped the Conscript Brigade to win the battle of Jiksel Hill.
Captain Polaris : An infantry commander. For now, Tybalt (who is wounded) is under his orders, garrisoned in a bunker not far from Christensus.
Captain Heinrich Weaser : Commander of the Christensus defenders.
Colonel Hans Braun : Confederate Colonel captured by Mercutio and his Alpha Marines.
Sergeant Mercutio : He is a veteran. He has been brainwashed and trained by the Imperium’s secret forces to become an elite soldier called an “Alpha Marine”.
Engineer Tom: An engineer under Captain Weaser’s orders. He is a master of architecture.
Corporal Hoemir: He is a lonely sniper who fights alone for months behind enemy lines before he decides to go back to his lines.
Chapter XII
Christensus: 2:30 AM, December 17th
Snow. Thin white snow… quietly falling into the trenches. The men were already awaken, and they were alert. It was night. Everything was dark. Everything, except the hundreds of yellow lights flashing all around Christensus. The battle had begun by a nocturnal offensive from the Confederates. The machine-guns were firing, the rifles were cracking, the grenades were raining. Heinrich Weaser was laying a dense line of fire on the attackers, which resulted in an effective defence. Several grey-coated men, falling in the dark obscurity, others being cut down by the machine-gun bullets… The defence was going well. Even if the attackers had taken the initiative of attacking, the Imperial soldiers had been expecting such a strategy. Bullets flew in the air, bullets stroke everywhere… The exchange of fire between the two banks of the river was violent and deadly. Those who took the risk of going out of their post were exposed to a rain of metal and death. Tchackels, aiming and firing with his old machine-gun placed on a bipod, and Yurgen, holding the ammunition belt to prevent any jamming from the gun, were precisely shooting over the confederate fortifications. Several men were killed, being hit at the head.
The fight was raging since thirty minutes before the Confederates began to stop firing. The Imperials moved with haste from trench to trench to see if there were any wounded they could bring back to the headquarters. Fortunately, few were wounded and most of them wanted to fight. The engineer Tom took his binoculars on a table and observed from a window of the cathedral the other bank of the river. The bridge was intact, but he saw a compact mass of men cheering. They seemed to be happy… very happy. Suddenly, Tom saw everything… He ran downstairs and dashed left. He ran to a radio transmitter that was on a dusty and cracked table, and grasped the micro. He placed the earphones on his ears and yelled: “Schnaps tanks! HQ TO ANTI-TANK CANNONS! Watch your fire, they’re heading your way!”
A man answered and said that he had understood. He warned his crew and the nose pointed at the bridge. It went up a bit, the crew adjusted their angle, and the cannon shot. A terrible blast shook the whole trenches and a shell was whistling, heading to a tank. The meeting wasn’t really pleasant, as the tank exploded and dissolved into a ball of death, metal and fire. The tank’s burning structure advanced a bit more on the bridge before it stopped. Suddenly, the Imperials looked at the sky. Weaser, crouched in a trench, screamed: “Hear that sound, soldiers? Take cover! INCOMING SHELL!”
Artillery shells fell like rain on the defence line. Each droplet of metal exploded and sent hundreds of waves of vaporised dust on Captain Weaser’s men. Heinrich shook his head and loudly cursed. He stepped out of the trench and jumped into another hole. The barrage of shell would annihilate all his men if it continued like that! “TELL TO THE RADIO TO CALL FOR SUPPORT, DAMN IT!” But, the man of the radio was already calling for some.
“Christensus is crumbling! Christensus calling for support! Does anyone receive me? Damn it, answer me! Anyone!”
***
“Hurry, Braun!” angrily whispered Mercutio. His crew had been running since far too long… His men were exhausted, even if they had great capacities. Suddenly, they heard terrible blasts not far away. They crouched and hid in a nearby building. For once in their life, darkness had been their friend. A full division of tanks was passing by. The blast had come from a nearby artillery cannon. The big metal monsters’s column was so long that it seemed endless. Mercutio made a quick sign at his men and they left the building by a broken door at the rear. They checked the windows, activated their thermal detectors and saw no sign of life nearby. The sergeant opened another door and sighed. He whispered: “I don’t know what’s going out outside, but it’s swarming with Confed’s outside. I think the only way we can save our ass… is to go through the stretched streets. Guys, I don’t ask you to do what I am going to tell you, but… (he hesitated) I suggest that we sabotage as much as we can before going back to our lines.”
The men glared at him, and Colonel Braun glanced with nervous eyes. Corporal Brandon mumbled meaningless words and finally said: “We’ll have to do our duty, sarge. Let’s make these Confeds’ pay for Dmitri, Hagman and all our fallen brothers! We’re with you, sarge.”
Mercutio nodded and smiled. During his training, Brandon had been his closest friend… closer than anyone could be… closer than a brother. Mercutio unpacked his backpack and every marine did the same. Mercutio took a charge of explosives, its red light flashing over and over again. He would press the countdown button soon enough, but not now… not until everything was ready. The flashing red light really looked like… the red in his eyes… his tiredness… his thirst for vengeance… and blood.
***
While, at Christensus, the Imperials were still enduring the terrible barrage of shells. Several bodies had already exploded, tore apart by the thousands of metal pieces flying in the air. Suddenly, the shells stopped falling. Those who were in the first trenches immediately ran out of their trenches, carrying ammunition or wounded with them. They ran as fast as they could at the third line of defence (as the second one was the line of ditches). The Confederates roared and charged. Hundreds of them were violently hammering down the imperial front line. The machine-gunners did the best they could, but some Confederates had already hid in the first trench line. Some anti-tank cannons blasted the thin line, several bodies were tore apart with a storm of energy and fire. Other Schnaps tanks succeeded to cross the bridge and begun to open fire on the Imperial line. Vassili was firing with his rifle at the attacking enemy. He was positioned right next to a rusted Anti-tank cannon. A tank pointed its large cannon at the imperial battery, and fired. Vassili took two soldiers by the arm and jumped down the little plateau. His body crashed down on the ground with his two companions’. The cannon exploded and a large wave of metal debris and body parts in the defenders’ trenches. Several screams of terror, yells of hate… and a rude bark of an officer: Captain Heinrich Weaser. “DAMN THESE BASTARDS! KEEP FIRIN’, SOLDIERS! DRIVE ‘EM OFF! I WANT SUPRESSING FIRE OVER THE TRENCHES! TARREN! CLEAN THESE TRENCHES!”
Lieutenant Tarren, accompanied of around twenty men, went out of what remained of the third line. He was dressed in full combat armour suit, had a sword in his hand and a one-handed bolter in the other. In the Land Raider, there were around twenty Space Marine combat suits. For Tarren, the only way of repulsing the Confederates was to bring them into a close-combat battle in the trenches. There, they would surely be defeated. In theory, of course… Tarren, five of his men and fifteen of Weaser’s men have taken the combat suits, swords and had been given the task of vanquishing or dying in the trenches. Tarren charged and roared his mighty battle-cry: “FORTH! FORTH!”
The men, despite the heavy weight of the armours, were the strongest of the company. Bullets hit the armours, others ricocheted and others whistled around them. Two men fell, their body full of shotguns’ buckshot. Another one was slaughtered by an incoming rocket. Tarren jumped into the trenches and swung his sword with frenzy. He stroke as fast as he could. His sword reddened with blood as he stroke over and over again. The other men were unstoppable! They slaughtered their way to the end of the “Second line” (the ditches), and most of the Imperials followed them, cheering and charging. Those who had a submachine-gun “cleaned” the rest of the nearby enemies. Several Confederates fell in the holes and were greeted by wooden porcupines of death. Although, the Schnaps tanks still offered an effective defence against the counter-attack. Their machine-guns fired blindly; wherever they would shoot there would be something or someone to kill. The tank cannons fired again: more dead soldiers… Though, the “disguised” space marines (their body armours, protecting them against poison, minor cuts, etc… and could even regenerate he who wears it) slammed their fists on the tank armoured plating, putting “sticky bombs”, like they used to call (bombs with detonators). On Tarren’s order, the men fell back and the tanks exploded almost simultaneously. The Confederates yelled “VEANGEANCE!” and a confuse battle continued. Tarren slammed his sword on an officer’s body armour, piercing a part of his armour. He crouched, avoided a couple of bullets, and he hacked his way to the bridge. Captain Weaser was following him, firing his bolter with a great precision. He thrust his sword into a body, and into another, almost avoided a slash, but a sword almost crushed his head. He didn’t know what happened after, but the wound he got would scar him for life. He received another blow, some bullets met up with his body, another slash on his back… For him, it seemed that his flak jacket was nothing that could protect him, like a thin cotton jacket. He screamed, fired blindly with his bolter and fell down on the ground, blood running wild from his wounds. He didn’t see anything, he only saw red… and darkness… more darkness now… and nothing at all.
Vassili, on his side, was charging with the men of Tarren’s platoon. He fought bravely with Felski and Aemilian, closely followed by Tchackels and Yurgen, which had run out of ammunition for their machine-gun. Instead of going back to the cathedral to re-supply, they preferred to help a last effort that could maybe spare the whole company for one more day. Vassili slammed his banner into a man’s face, breaking his neck. Then, Aemilian saw the moon… He saw the full moon in the clear and cloudless sky. A few seconds after, despite the terrible noise of battle around him, he saw the moon darkening. He heard an almost inaudible whinny… And the artillery shell crashed down on the ground and exploded. Dozens of bodies, Imperials and Confederates, were either tore apart or projected towards all directions. The Confederates fell back to the other side of the bridge… defeated, but sure of victory. After all, this battle was nothing more but a skirmish for them. “DRIVE ‘EM BACK, GUYS!” screamed Lieutenant Tarren. A minute after, the sound of the guns had stopped… the shells stopped coming… and there was nothing more but the sound of the wounded and the dying… “GET THE WOUNDED BACK TO THE BUILDING! FAST! BRING THE MEDICS A-S-A-P (as soon as possible)! FIND THE AMMUNITION BOXES! HURRY! DON’T LOSE TIME, MEN!”
And, through the darkness of December 17th’s morning, the battle for Christensus had begun… Some thought that such a war between two world-wide super-powers would be endless… Who would want of an endless torment? Only a tormented soul would commit such an act… And soon, the men will want to know why they are fighting… why they killed, seen their buddies being slaughtered… why they are bringing hell to the gates of Trondforge.
***
“Bombardier Ageon Leader ready to takeoff. Roger.” said Major Rookes through his Marauder’s radio transmitter.
“Ageon Squadron is ready for takeoff, Major.” answered Halus. His second modified BGV’s (a second creation slightly different of Lil’ Bam’s first model as the other BGV was being repaired) engines were roaring with power.
“Remember the orders, Ageon 7. You will take command of Ageon 6, 8, 9, 10 and 11 for this mission. I will have Ageon 2, 3, 4, 5, 12 and 13 under my command. Take care of your new crew and of the new pilots in our squadron, okay?
-I’ll take care of ‘em as if they were my babies, Major!
-Has anyone got cheese?” answered the voice of Ageon 6. Ageon 6’s pilot was Shenk, one of the best bloody pilot of the squadron.
-Would you like to stop spamming, Ageon 6?” asked Major Rookes.
-Okay, Major. On your order…
-Always glad to hear that sentence…”
Halus glared at moon, almost hiding behind the hangar’s opened doors. “No clouds… damn mission…” he thought.
Ageon Squadron’s task was to do a major surprise bombing run on a specific place… but this would probably be a costly surprise. The Marauder Bombers and other Bombardiers placed themselves into a wedge formation, flew high over the sky…
Soon, there would be clouds in this cloudless sky… Clouds of smoke and dust…
Chapter XIII
Finally, the artillery shells had stopped obliterating the trench network of Christensus. Paul Tarren took off his peaked cap and looked at the foggy sky. Some kind of thick red, brown, and greyish fog had completely covered the sky. Some crows were wandering around, others were observing the scene down, on the ground. The black birds were perched on Christensus’ gargoyles on the rooftop, probably waiting for an upcoming feast.
It was a sad day for the Imperials, today. What they had almost failed to repulse was only a simple skirmish for their opponents, after all. Lieutenant Tarren helped a stretcher-bearer to carry a wounded man on his stretcher. The man was moaning with pain with each step that brought him nearer from the cathedral. Paul and the stretcher-bearer ran into the cathedral where there was a lot of activity. Everyone was busy. Either trying to repair the trenches, bringing back some ammunition for the cannons and the machine-guns, rescuing some nearby wounded: everyone was needed. Felski had replaced his gun by a medic kit. He had saved more lives than anyone in this war. The sun was rising after a costly battle for both sides. Tarren and the other man put down the wounded on the line of wounded and ran to find another one that could be saved. Since the end of the battle, Felski was trying as best as he could to save everyone, but he didn’t even have the minimum that a medic needs to “heal” properly a wounded. He had done miracles with almost nothing. But, unfortunately, many men have never seen the sunrise. Felski cleaned his scalpel from the blood and said: “This one should be all right. Give him water: he needs to hydrate himself. NEXT!”
Suddenly, an horrible body, horribly scarred indeed, was laid on the operation table. Felski watched the body and didn’t know where to begin. The man seemed dead… but his screams of anger seemed to reveal an intense will of living. Felski watched the body more carefully, looked at the nose, the eyes, the slashed forehead and cheeks, the bleeding belly, the left leg’s opened fracture… and the badge; it was written: “Captain of the Imperium”. Felski mumbled: “Poor Captain Weaser… I think… I think you should maybe… leave him there…”
-Son, if it’s no use treating me, kill me right now!
-No, Sir. I don’t care if I need to spend the night on you, but I’ll try to give you back a “human” appearance, sir. With all your respect, your blood has dried with mud…
-Damn this… wh… o… re…”
Captain Weaser fell unconscious. A soldier next to Felski said: “Is it me or I heard “whore”?
-I think he said “war”… but still…
-…
-Go back to your task, man! You’re disturbing me. Where did you find him in such a disastrous state?
-He was lying flat in the mud… like a pool of liquid mud and blood, more. When do I bring you the next one?
-Bring ‘em to Vaungh and Plextrio. They’ll take care of ‘em.
-Is it going to be long?
-Huh… Lemme see…” (he observed the body and finally realized that the wounds were more important than he had thought).
-Felski?
-OH MY GOD! I’M GONNA HAVE TO SPEND THE WHOLE MORNIN’ ON HIM! AUGH!”
***
While, the other soldiers were recovering from the last attack. Vassili had some minor cuts, but it was nothing compared to some other soldiers. Next to him, Aemilian was making coffee in an embossed metal can. It would taste like mud, but at least it would taste water a bit. Next to him, Tchackels, Yurgen, Tom (the engineer) and other soldiers from Captain Weaser’s platoon were chatting.
“-I’ve heard we got 43 dead dudes, 32 wounded… and that the Captain is dying…
-Don’t worry… These Confeds’ have seen what a bunch of us is able to do… We had barely some scrap to defend ourselves!
-I might even add that they lost about fifteen tanks in this battle… not bad, eh?
-Hey, Vassili! How much guys from your platoon have you lost?
-We’ve lost too much men already… Of the 32 buddies that came here, 10 are dead and 6 are wounded. It’s really a damn bloody war!
-There’s going to be a storm soon… look at the sky!
-I guess we better seek refuge inside the cathedral…
-‘want some coffee before?
-C’mon, bring it inside! I guess its taste is awful, isn’t it?
-Dude, I was a lawyer, not a chef!
-Still, hot wet mud is the best thing we can eat in this damn battlefield, no?
-All right, dudes. Let’s bring everything inside while we can. We’ve got a short break before hell comes back.”
***
“OH GOSH! LOOK AT THAT FOG!” said Halus through his transmitter. His BGV was flying high above the city, so high that he flew above the clouds. This time, his mission wasn’t as simple as he had thought. Flying in wedge formation, Ageon Squadron was divided in two: Major Rookes’ and Halus’ sections. Both of these groups were forming each “wing” of the formation.
“-Approaching target, boys. Five minutes.
-Understood, Major.
-Weapon check-up, dudes. I don’t want any mistake, this time.”
Halus said to his crew: “Check-up, boys!” The men answered:
“Dorsal turret’s all right.” “Everything’s smooth in ball turret (the bottom one).” “Left winder checked.” “Right winder okay.” “Nose turret’s loaded and ready for action.” and “Tail gun’s at full power!”
-“Okay, Ageon 7’s blazing and shinin’, Major.” Halus said through his transmitter.
The engines of the modified BGV positioned on each wing (2 per wing, which makes a total of 4 engines) were projecting a flashing light in the sky. Halus pushed the throttle and the engine brutally accelerated, being followed by the rest of the squadron. Major Rookes turned on his radio transmitter and said to his men:
“Okay, men. You have done great so far. But, you only need one mistake to make this operation turn into a massacre. So, be careful. I repeat that this is a covert operation… be stealthy, dudes. Our goal is a large factory heavily defended by anti-air guns. We’ll have to be quick and swift. Lock your target, drop your bombs, and wait for further orders. We’ll be far over the clouds, so the radars aren’t working really well for everything that is down this barrier of toxic clouds. Remember that if we go down these clouds, we’ll be shot down in no time. Follow my orders and everything will be a piece of cake. Okay, dudes… We’re approaching target. Turn your monitors on ultra-low waves. Speak only if you need to… In other words, shut your trap! Okay, boys. Approaching target… three minutes.”
***
-“How’s the job going, corporal?” asked Mercutio to Brandon.
-“Fine, fine. We still got a lot of job, but when all of this will blow up, it’ll be a real storm of energy, Sir!
-Great. Did any enemy spot our explosives?
-Don’t forget that our way of sabotaging is almost undetectable, He! He!
-That’s not an excuse of doing your job wrongly, son…
-Aye, Sir. Back to work, now.”
***
-“Sir, thirty seconds… or maybe one minute, or half an hour…. I don’t know!
-Yeah, yeah… This fog is f-cking us all… We don’t see any damn thing!
-We’ll drop our stuff when you tell us to, Sir…
-Just drop half of your stuff… we’ve got enough stuff to blow a whole bloody spaceport, after all!
-Aye, all right.
-Ten seconds…
-Get ready, boys!” said Halus.
Halus and the whole squadron dropped about six bombs per craft. Then, Major Rookes ordered Halus to go see down the clouds if the target was hit… Halus pushed the control stick forward and the BGV abruptly went down. “Direct hit, Commander! I repeat! Direct hit!” said Halus joyfully. Suddenly, he realized that the place wasn’t a factory… the factory was much farther… Halus saw a church… a gigantic cathedral. His copilot said: “What the… is that a…
-FRIENDLY FIRE, COMMANDER! CEASEFIRE! CEASEFIRE!
-Friendly fire?” said the major.
-“We’ve hit something like a church… and I see a whole confederate brigade fighting the guys down there!
-DAMN! ALL UNITS! CEASEFIRE! WE’RE MOVING NORTH! WRONG TARGET!
-Sir! Let’s go help them!
-No, the mission before everything…
-Well, you’ll do it without me! Ageon 6! You comin’ with me?
-Always, dude… count on Shenk! Let’s help our boys! I’m headin’ your way!”
But, it was too late for redemption… the mistake was done…
Christensus has been hardly bombarded… but the roof… the cross…
Christensus was consuming itself in a titanic blaze of flames.
Chapter XIV
In what remained of Christensus’ foundations, the survivors were struggling for air. The air had become some kind of strange grey smoke… Vassili and Aemilian had been spared by the terrible explosion that tore the building apart. They both walked between burning bodies and they soon met with other survivors. Apparently, there were about sixty soldiers still able to stand up.
“-What the hell did happen, Lieutenant?” said the engineer Tom.
“-I don’t care who did that… I know that we must hold that mountain of scrap until reinforcements arrive…
-If they don’t come?
-Somebody will…
-Are you sure?
-Only fools are sure of something…” was the lieutenant’s last reply.
While, the Confederate armies were just recovering from the terrible scene they have just seen. When they saw the dozens of bombs falling from the sky on the cathedral, they were far from thinking that these bombs were actually reserved for them. Now, most of them were regrouping, rallying their full brigades. Like an insane plague, the grey-coated soldiers and conscripts would swarm what remained of the “defenders”, like a mighty beast riddled with arrows and struggling for fresh air to breathe.
Under the tons of bricks of Christensus, several wounded soldiers were slowly dying… Felski coughed loudly as he roared: “Can anyone in this damn place help me to carry the wounded? We’re not dead yet!
-How is the Captain?” asked Tom.
“-Barely alive…
-Which means?
-He will live… but he wasn’t supposed to…
-Which means?
-He got luck… and that he lost some parts of his body…
-Such as?
-His left fore-arm… his left leg is badly hurt… he lost an eye… and he is more scarred than… huh…
-He can’t be more scarred than that, huh?
-Exactly… help me to bring those who can’t fight out of there…
-Ten men will help you… The fifty other men will hold the rebels back…
-Aye, sir…”
Lieutenant Tarren and Vassili immediately began to look for bazookas or other weapons, as their anti-tank cannons were reduced to a mass of black dust and smoke. Some were gathered, and Aemilian had the brilliant idea of using the Land Raider to their advantage. The men positioned themselves in the remains of Christensus’ walls. The Confederates rapidly sallied out of their base. Some shots were heard, and the fight rapidly intensified. While the Imperials were saving their ammunition, the Confederates were firing as much as they wanted. Some Imperials were hit, and several confederates were cut down by a machine-gun crew: Tchackels and Yurgen. Together, they were doing a marvellous job. Several enemies took cover in the trenches, but the bright lieutenant Tarren ordered some grenades to be thrown to clean them out. Vassili defended himself with a scoped battle-rifle and had a deadly precision. While, Tom was trying to fix the radio. He grunted and cursed, as the machine seemed to be severely damaged by the explosion. Suddenly, two bombers were seen in the dark sky. Several bombs were dropped on the other side of the bridge, and the bombing run became more and more intense. Halus managed to pilot his craft while his co-pilot dropped the bombs with a regular pace. Shenk, on his side, (Ageon 6) made almost suicidal runs by flying so low that dozens of bullets ricocheted on the battleship’s plating. The turrets shot pretty much everywhere, as the enemy was pretty much everywhere.
Halus pushed the throttle to a decent combat speed and avoided as best he could the anti-air shells exploding around him. An engine exploded and projected a long line of smoke and debris, so the co-pilot immediately ordered the crew’s mechanic to shut down Engine 3. Although, another explosion violently shook the BGV. He said: “Dorsal Turret! Go see what just hit us!”
The crewman left his post and that saved his life. An explosion just above the craft made the Dorsal Turret literally burst. The crewman turned back to see his burning seat and sighed. He saw a hole in the vessel’s structure and saw the radioman’s body lifeless, his dead eyes looking at his blood dispersed on the wall. He shut with the manual button Engine 3 and took the radioman’s place. He put the earphones on his head, looked at the scanner and said: “Ageon 7 calling for artillery support at 53.32.52.162! We need support immediately… send everything you got! A whole army is heading this way! The Confeds’ are coming out!
-Captain Jurgen receiving, Ageon 7. My Basilisks will provide heavy fire on these damn dummies! I’m calling for reinforcements A-S-A-P!”
Halus’ craft brutally turned left, followed closely by Shenk. Both of them tried to get out of this battle, but they would die rather than leave soldiers to a painful death without doing anything.
After fifteen minutes of combat, several tanks had been destroyed, and lots of bodies were “decorating” with a gloomy atmosphere. Paul Tarren and some his men (those who had the space marine combat suits) were banging their swords on the opponents that had dared to reach the breeches in what remained of Christensus’ walls. Paul rushed forward and charged a dozen of men. Other great men such as Vassili were following him close by and the swords chopped and slashed. The soil was reddened as Vassili was swinging his weapon (his banner, in a matter of fact) with a great dexterity. His incredible strength broke several ribs, broke maybe some jaws, and the banner’s heavy blade had probably hit hard armours and bones. Although, despite all the bravery of the Imperials, some gaps were rapidly created. The fight rapidly became a close-combat battle. Still, the support gunners didn’t quit their posts. A confederate sergeant ran with his platoon in the cathedral and saw the column of wounded being transported to an underground shelter. They charged forth, but Felski was among the column of the attacked ones. He thought: “These Confeds’ don’t have any respect for anyone… not even for wounded… They would kill them even if they were begging for mercy. Sometimes, even the weakest one must take a weapon and fight so that his friends can live… This time is now.” He took two one-handed submachine guns, loaded them as fast as he could and fired in the mass of men charging at him. Several enemies fell down, pierced by the deadly bullets. The sergeant reached his opponent and swung pumped his shotgun. He almost pulled the trigger but he gave a dement smile before falling down on the cold ground, his whole back reddened with blood coming from the dozen of holes. The rest of the platoon rapidly became exterminated, each man falling after another. Tchackels had fired just in time, it seemed. Felski emptied his magazines on the rest of the grey coats before he reloaded his guns. He rushed to the mêlée and joined his comrades.
While, another platoon of Confederates had approached near what remained of the gate. Unfortunately for them, the mines around it were still operational and the bodies disappeared forever, trapped in a storm of energy and fire. Suddenly, a loud whinny broke the noise of battle. The whinny intensified until a terrible and merciless shell propelled a tsunami of dust and mud on the assailants. On the other riverbank, the artillery under Captain Jurgen’s orders was bringing hell to this world. Not even the most powerful cannons had done such an aggressive and intense pounding. The secret of it was an incredibly fast reloading that only the most experienced crews could achieve with years of practise. For the first time since this horrible war, the Imperials had a decent chance of winning. With a lot of luck and a good communication between every part of the Imperium’s army, an effective defence, even if it was a bit too late, was dangerously threatening the Confederate army. Still, they had the chance of inflicting a crushing defeat. Although, another bunch of heroes have made this dream of an Imperial Victory.
***
In the Confederate base, Sergeant Mercutio and what remained of his section had planted and camouflaged an enormous amount of stolen explosives to slow down their enemy. Mercutio had a detonator in his hand and his obsession was to press the button as soon as possible. But, he had to take control over his impulsions until everything was ready. A failed sabotage would inevitably cause his death and his men’s execution too. Now, everything was ready… at last! He had waited so much and even bit in his gun to avoid pressing on the detonator’s button. He made a short prayer with his men before he pressed the button. But, nothing happened. He sobbed and pressed again. What was going wrong??? Brandon mumbled: “I guess that we must manually activate them… which is impossible… but if we had some external help, like a big explosion or something, it would provoke a chain reaction… Suddenly, as a gift of God himself, a loud humming broke the moans of the Alpha Marines. Mercutio looked up in the sky and saw almost a whole squadron of Bombers was flying not far from the base. Mercutio turned to Colonel Braun, his prisoner, and said: “It is time to show us who you are loyal to… and if you want to live. You are the only one who has a confederate uniform… so go take an anti-air cannon and fire on the squadron. You’ll be spotted, you run back here and these bombers do the job. Don’t take any of these bombers down… just shoot near…
-This is madness, sergeant! How can you trust him?” replied Brandon.
-I know that he will not betray us…”
Mercutio whispered something in Hans’ ear and gave him a pistol for unknown ends. He waved good-bye and Hans ran out. He immediately reached an anti-air cannon, and despite the protestations of the platoons of soldiers around him, the threats of execution and the curses, Hans took the turret post and shot. He almost hit a bomber, but he precisely shot a few meters down it. The Bombers moved down and launched their bombs with an incredible precision. Hans barely had the time to leave his post that a bomb disintegrated it. He rushed towards the building where Mercutio was hiding. Bullets whistled around him, and he felt a sharp pain in his back. He turned back and shot with his pistol at the shadows pursuing him. Suddenly, a distinct shot (probably a sharpshooter) tore the wind apart. Hans stumbled and fell down, screaming. He ceased to scream when he fainted… His vision blurred, blacked out and a dreamless world took control of his soul. A hand grasped him, other bullets whistled, a grunt was heard, some blood fell on his face, he heard a curse, and he would probably have been glad to know that Brandon and Mercutio had taken him away from the firefight. Brandon had taken a bullet in his left arm and Mercutio had taken his heavy body on his shoulders. While Mercutio and the Alpha Marines were looking at the scene around them, bombs crashed down and exploded everywhere, making the whole base explode. The chain reaction had worked! Hundreds of crafts, cannons, tanks and supply depots had gone in dust. The marines crouched and waited for the carnage around them to stop. Around them, hellish flames were spreading so fast that even wind seemed to be on the Imperium’s side.
At Christensus, Imperial reinforcements were coming from everywhere: tanks, infantrymen, support mobile guns, planes, drop pods and vehicles. At last! The great fourth Brigade was coming to get the job done! While the Confederates were falling back, some men helped the last remnants of Christensus’ defenders… Lieutenant Paul Tarren and what remained of Captain Weaser’s men. The survivors, the wounded and every single man still alive was brought to twelve-places trucks. Everything happened so fast that pretty much everyone wasn’t sure who had survived and who had died… “You will meet your comrades at the Kastor Line.” the Commissars had said. Everyone jumped in the trucks that rapidly left Christensus. They were going southwards and would make a detour by the southern bank of the river. The main assault was raging at Kastor Line, and every man was needed there instead of north of Christensus. Lieutenant Tarren saw Captain Weaser stumbling and falling over and over again. He helped his superior to get in the truck, in which Aemilian (this time, he decided to let another man drive instead), Felski and Tom were. The others were probably in other trucks. Heinrich sat down in the truck and looked at Felski. He wanted to say something, but he preferred to shake hands (with his right one as his body wasn’t yet used of his new “mechanic” forearm) and to give a look that was worth a whole novel of gratifications. Because of Felski who had risked his life more times than even himself would have been able to do, he was alive. At last, there would be time to rest… The Kastor line was really far away… three days away. This time, it was the first time that Tarren’s and Weaser’s men would have a period of rest since the beginning of this horrible war.
Lieutenant Tarren looked at Aemilian, at Tom, at Felski and then at Captain Weaser. He said: “Today, I must admit that I have never been able to fight with such men as you, folks.
-You want a medal?” sneered Aemilian.
-No… but if I had the power… I would get us out of there, so that there may be peace again.
-You’re dreaming, man…
-I wish I could know why we are fighting…” mumbled Felski. “Why so much of us gave their life…
-We’ll probably never know… but one day, we’ll all be fed up of fighting this dark war… and there will be a reason for us to stop the fighting.
-You mean a rebellion?
-We’d be dead before we attempt to think about revolting; the Commissars will have us killed like they killed Mercutio.
-This war will end sooner than you guys think…” said Tom. “I’m sure that there will be a major event that will end this maybe sooner than we think.
-Stop kidding, man…
-And if General Caffran strangled himself with a peanut?” asked Aemilian, half-laughing.
-Then we’d be home in no time!” laughed the Captain.
The men loudly and cheerfully laughed together… and for Heinrich Weaser it was the first time that he had laughed or smiled since he was called to join the glorious Imperium of Mankind’s army.
Re: The Trondforge Assault: Fortis Imperator Oris: Chpt. 16
Chapter XV
Fortis Imperator Oris (Strong General)
A lone man was digging. Digging in what? Digging in mud… digging into the frozen mud, tainted with the blood of hundreds of soldiers. The lone man, snuffling in the frozen air, threw a body in what seemed to be a hole. His priest cloak provided him some heat, but the coldness of the wind was too intense for the priest to endure anymore. The man spat in the grave with scorn, said a prayer threw some dirty ground to fill up the hole. After some minutes of working, in a supreme effort, the priest succeeded to plant a wooden cross in the dirt. On the cross was written: “Sergeant-medic Plextrio Lopreus. Dead at Christensus: Year …… (the date is unreadable). His comrades will remember him as long as they live.” The priest spat on the grave, spilled everything with his foot and thought: “Soldiers only know how to die… They speak of “saving the world”, but they will destroy it before anyone is being “saved”. Soldiers only know how to fight… they should sing psalms instead and pray for their souls…”
***
The long column of trucks was slowly advancing through the snowy streets. Aemilian, seated in a truck with his lieutenant, Captain Weaser and Felski, was looking through a window. Out, there were some tanks following the heteroclite and disordered column. Some men were going on foot, some were sitting on a tank’s corner, and other high-graded officers were carried as fast as the wind by rapid jeeps. The feet of the footmen splashed in the melting snow and the wheels of the trucks were partly sinking in the mud. Aemilian watched carefully the buildings in his sight and realized that some heavy artillery fighting had taken place lately. Few roofs were still intact and there was an abundant number of columns of smoke. Some sounds of shells crashing down and exploding were the background… a bit like the soundtrack of a movie. A shell whinnied and two trucks brutally exploded, projecting waves of metal pieces everywhere around. Some men fell down, hardly hit and wounded. Nearby soldiers and medics ran to take out everyone that could be safe out of the way. Aemilian shut the window trap… this war had become horrible. He heard screams and moans… and a mine exploding. Death was everywhere… and hunted everyone.
Aemilian shed a tear and tried to hide it with his hand. Paul put his shaking hand on his shoulder and nodded. “You have the right, dude… Everyone has to do it at least one time in his life… and no one’s there to judge you.” Aemilian looked up, and a terrible noise brutally broke the silence that had lasted a few seconds. The soldier to Aemilian’s left had blown his head off with his pistol… committed suicide, in other words. Paul sobbed and opened the gates at the rear. He threw the body out, leaving it in the snow. Everyone wanted to say something, but they were wordless… everyone wanted to look at the blood and at the brain pieces stamped at the dead man’s seat… Everyone stared, breathless and each second was a pain for anyone to be in this truck. The terrible sight of a despaired man who had decided to put an end to his torments had something to prevent the men from sleeping for several nights until they become crazy.
“His nerves broke… So I suggest that you calm yourself and stick together when we’ll be there, if you don’t want to end like him… A soldier that commits such an act… is not a soldier… and if he really is, he has stayed too long in this war-torn city. Before doing it, just tell one person… and if this person lets you do it, make your choice.” said sternly Heinrich. Paul knew really well that the Captain was a veteran… and that he had more experience in this war than anyone else. He knew that Heinrich had understood the minds of men during a war. Despite his one eye still “operational”, his mechanic forearm, his horribly scarred leg, his scarred face and the dry blood on his uniform, he was still alive, still as proud and able to fight as before. Paul had learned that sometimes, a man must step on his pride and follow the example of braver and better soldiers. Paul had become officer by studying theory, while Heinrich had even forgotten the time when he was a standard soldier.
-“Captain…” said Felski, “How can we be as good soldiers as you?”
Heinrich ignored the compliment and answered:
-“I don’t consider myself as a terrific soldiers, boys… I will maybe find death at this very moment! Some people think that war is a game, and these people are nothing more but fools. At any time, even the best soldier can fall, his body crippled with metal. This is not a war where the quality of soldiers are taken into consideration… Paul! I’ve heard that a whole brigade of conscripts was sent to assault a fortified hill! That was nothing more but madness! I can hardly believe that you and what remains of your platoon have survived this far. Most of your commanders are donkeys… donkeys with cigars, officer badges and peaked caps. They have an enormous ego, but they have nothing more. Some officers are excellent commanders, so several of my companions have given their lives for these precious leaders to survive. I was one of them, and I have crawled under hundreds of meters of barbed wires… just to save one man. Today, this man is dead, but he made us win so much battles that the Imperium would have conquered the world if they had given him the opportunity. Men take their leaders as idols… models… but I tell you that true leaders have their own way of doing things. Being the copy of an officer is the worth fate that could happen to a man.
-How do you think we will go through this war in one piece?
-You are either broken physically or you are broken mentally… you don’t have the choice… you never have.”
The truck turned a street corner (or what seemed to be a street corner…) and crossed a bridge. This bridge wasn’t over a river or anything made of water… The bridge was allowing soldiers to cross a deep row of ditches that had been dug by good engineers. The truck slightly reeled as it rolled over the badly damaged bridge. Several points were shaking under the weight of a single truck! The truck went past a platoon of infantry that was slowly walking in the muddy road, their feet going a bit deeper in the mud with each step forward. Snow had been replaced by greyish and melting flakes. Already, the white snow was fading away, being replaced by the usual dust that war inevitably brought with her.
***
Captain Jurgen, a great Artillery Commander, had done an almost miraculous entrance on Christensus’ battlefield, and seriously shook the enemy position, so that a minor but significant offensive was launched by Christensus’ bridge. His peaked cap hiding one of his eyes, his proud stature had given him the admiration of a whole army. Christensus was nothing more but a mountain of bricks and debris, with some bones and black flesh trapped inside. He was crossing the bridge, holding himself against the huge cannon of his artillery piece. The vehicles’ tracks were making the bridge shaking, damaged by the last battle that completely annihilated this part of the city. Hidden on the other bank of the river, Sergeant Mercutio had sabotaged so effectively the enemy supplies that the Imperial reinforcements had very little resistance to cross the bridge… The battle rages farther, but Mercutio and his men had their duty to do. Heading to the Imperial headquarters, Mercutio and what remained of his Alpha Marines, guarding the captured Confederate Colonel Hans Braun.
Mercutio and Corporal Brandon were slowly walking in the dark mud, their anger calmed down with the rain droplets falling on his helmet. Droplets stuck to his chin already covered with a thick brown beard, result of the almost inexistent sanitary conditions… A crowd of soldiers was heading to a tunnel when Mercutio asked one of these men what was happening.
“-Oh! It seems that some of our men succeeded to take control of the southern tunnel network… and the sub is still operational! We’re heading there to reach Kastor Line, and we’ll probably arrive there in time to reach General Caffran’s forces!
-Can we follow you?
-Sure, sure, Sergeant! We always need more soldiers to join us ! »
“Maybe that General Caffran will be there… so that I can give him Hans and get rid of this ball and chain… so that we’ll take some rest…” thought Mercutio, making a sign to his men to follow him.
***
In the column of armoured vehicles, Vassili and Tchackels were having small talk, trying to kill some time. Vassili was recovering from his wounds, but Tchackels’ hands always shook, as if a terrible shock had shaken his soul. Yurgen, seated right next to the truck driver, was writing his thoughts on his journal.
“Today, I feel that I have a chance to see the end of this war… I have heard that our General is at Kastor Line, where we are heading to. I don’t know if he has noticed it, but his men are exhausted… and I do think that I’ll kill him before I kill any more Confederates… Why are we here? What are we doing here? Why does the Imperium want men from different homelands, such as Nophelion, my dear homeland that has given so much lives for the Imperium’s cause, to join this army to destroy this city! The city is consuming itself, but there will be men fighting until the last of these buildings is razed. What I fear the most is a… a nuclear war. I’ve discussed about it with Vassili (I must admit that he’s as strong as he’s naïve…), and his answer was: “If there’s a nuke heading to me, I’ll crush its nose with my fist!” … I think that what he meant was that he would die for the Imperium’s cause… He’s a man that doesn’t like to think too much and to ask himself questions… He’s a man of action that indeed excels at fighting with his beloved banner… I almost can’t believe that he has this banner since the battle at Jiksel Hill… the first time I’ve realized that he was a worthy soldier. He has more courage than anyone here…
I think that there will be a major offensive at Kastor Line, and that so many will die that this will be the Line of Blood. I’ve had a dream, before I joined the ranks… Before I was a soldier, I was a teacher… and I know History pretty well… such as the History of Nophelion, my homeworld. I understand politics really well, and I know that there’s something wrong in this battle. My cousin Tchackels, who’s almost a brother to me, seems more troubled than anyone… He has always been more stressed, more impulsive and… doubtful towards himself. He seems to wonder about what happened to the rest of our friends… Are they dead? I just hope that they will come back to us in one piece. Also, I hope that this engineer… Tom, if I remember well, is still alive. I’ve talked with him at Christensus and he’s a nice guy to talk with… I hope that he’ll survive, and that a nuclear war will not destroy us all… I do believe in Liberty, but if no one’s remaining to live through this liberty, it gives nothing to die for it… General Caffran will not die for us, but we must die for him, and the Imperium, and Nophelion too. There are too much people dying for too much causes, here.”
***
Halus, the Marauders and Major Rookes had gone back to a Military Spaceport, but a new one had been built near the river that separated Upper Trondforge and Lower Trondforge. Its name is “Rexdrakka 53”. Halus had been obligated to go there because he was almost running out of fuel and energy. Shenk, Halus and Lil’ Bam were playing cards and smoking cigars, like they always did when they weren’t on a mission.
“-I’m glad I’ve been transferred here! At least, we’ve got enough stuff for pretty much everyone here!” joyfully said Lil’ Bam, his eyes hidden under his greasy cap.
“-Yeah, yeah… but you’re damn close to the Confederate base, you lucky bastar---
-Sure, Shenk… Hey, by the way, you’ve done a marvellous job with me at Christensus, buddy!” said Halus without the smallest bit of contempt in his voice.”
What they didn’t know, however… Several squadrons of Confederate fighters and bombers were making a surprise-attack on the whole Imperial Line. One of Rexdrakka 53’s watcher, looking at the sky on his watch tower, was brutally awaken by a low humming. He looked around him and glared at the clouds. He looked at the river, and saw nothing. He looked back at the clouds, looked a little bit lower, at the horizon line. He took his binoculars, took a look and dropped them, the loud crash of the lenses breaking the silence in the Spaceport. The horizon seemed to darken, and indeed, hundreds of black spots were heading towards the Spaceport… The watcher rang the alarm and spoke through a microphone:
“ALL PILOTS, SCRAMBLE! TAKE OFF A-S-A-P! MAXIMUM ALARM! SCRAMBLE! SCRAMBLE!”
[And then, the mighty winged angels came from the sky to annihilate the invaders… but these angels were pagans and made of metal.]
Chapter XVI
Rexdrakka 53’s control tower was in flames. The sky was proliferating with Confederate fighters, pouring out hundreds of bombs everywhere. The spaceport below was exploding everywhere, as savagely as a volcano bursting.
Halus and Shenk were running through the hangar alleys, trying to find their crafts. Halus was heavily breathing, his body covered with soot and dust. While, Shenk had a large black spot on his back, probably caused by a overheated explosion. He was looking right and left, dashing at some uncertain paths between the toasted skeletons of what seemed to be left of the Imperium’s navy. Hundreds of electric wires were hanging from the roof, sometimes reaching the floor and electrocuting an unlucky person.
“-Faster, Hal’! You’re stayin’ behind!” yelled Shenk.
“-I’m running as fast as I can, man! Shut your trap and keep going!” answered Halus.
Finally, the two friends saw that an enemy bomber had crashed into the hangar and had destroyed half-a-dozen bombers, including the BGV. Shenk made a quick sign, his hand pointing at a nearby door. The two friends stabbed the debris that blocked their path and they heard a low whinny. They laid down, covering their head with their blistered hands. A deafening sound was followed by a tsunami of cutting and twisted by the infernal heat metal pieces. Halus cursed, holding his arm with his left one. Shenk took him by the coat and they succeeded to get up. Shenk crashed down the gate with his bare fist, as the hinges were “melting”. The sun’s rays reached Halus’ face, bringing life to his despaired eyes. Shenk’s blue and sad eyes were evacuating some tears of rage in a strand of hate dripping from his face. Both pilots’s boots hammered down the cracked asphalt, reinforced concrete, and iron airfield until they reached a hangar that seemed less damaged… which means that its low roof, the miraculously few columns of smoke coming from the few holes in the roof’s structure, and the anti-air batteries firing around it showed that this hangar could still have “operational” crafts. The anti-air batteries fired furiously at the sky, aiming at pretty much anywhere… The sky didn’t seem large enough to contain all the strafing crafts. At least, this hangar seemed to be heavily defended. After three minutes of running, the two pilots arrived, exhausted. The second after they sought refuge under the hangar’s roof, a shell directly hit an anti-air cannon, creating a tornado of fire and metal.
Inside, dozens of crafts were being hastily fuelled and packed up with power packs. Some pilots jumped into the cockpits, lighting up the engines. Shenk and Halus tried to find an Armoured Combat Bomber, but none of them seemed to be operational or fuelled up. Finally, Shenk pointed at a small craft, still being fuelled with a big tube.
“-A Lightning? Are you mad? I don’t know how to use these crafts!
-At the training camp, I was the best with this craft! It’s fast, swift and sooo fun to control!
-I won’t jump in this, Shenk! Don’t even think about it!
-I’ll get into the cockpit, Hal’! Just get to the turret at the back!”
Halus nodded and shook his head, trying to say “no” and “yes” at the same time. He had always hated small crafts. For him, these Lightnings 62 were fragile crafts that could take no hit and had practically no decent firepower. But, Shenk knew that the Lightning, with the cannons on its wings, the heavy machine-gun on the nose, the turret at the back, and the incredible speed of the craft made of it the perfect fighter for a battle against other fighters. Halus had this bad habit of thinking that the Bomber was strong and powerful, but the Lightning was swift and fast, and still had a decent firepower. Shenk climbed the little ladder and jumped into the cockpit. Halus climbed another little ladder and jumped into the rear turret. He tapped his fingers against the heavy machine-gun’s trigger and waited for the protective window to close. Shenk sat down on his seat and laughed.
“-Trust me, Hal’! I’m as afraid as you that this thing isn’t even loaded!”
Shenk tied his security belt and snapped the “POWER” button. Seeing the engines whistling and activating themselves, the engineers took off the fuel tube, closed the trap and ran to fuel another craft. Shenk pushed some buttons simultaneously, and his cockpit window closed. The engines were now making a low humming, sign that they were operational. Shenk moved the crank to the “Taking off” position. The wings’ flaps slowly placed themselves in such a way that the craft would remain the less time possible on the ground before it elevated itself in the air. Shenk looked at the fuel panel: 45%… Still, they could last at least five hours. It was enough. The pilot looked left and right, looking at the nearby Lightnings being propelled out of the hangar. Suddenly, a huge explosion shook him up. He turned up his radio and asked what was going on. A voice answered: “It seems that two crafts have crashed on each other… The alley is partially blocked!”
Although, Shenk didn’t mind. He pushed the throttle to a reasonable taking off speed and released the breaks after the nose levelled up a bit. The engines fiercely roared and the Lightning charged out of the hangar. Halus barely had the time to see some fighters exploding inside the hangar and he saw Major Rookes’ face through a cockpit window. Though, this cockpit belonged to a craft which gear’s had broken, leading the nose flat to the ground. Halus was terrified that his beloved commander had maybe died in the crash! Shenk’s Lightning charged into the alley. Shenk brutally pulled the control stick right, avoiding with an inch the flames of the burning shells. Shenk pushed even more the throttle to 95%. Hundreds of tracer bullets whistled around him and some hit the plating. The craft violently shook, and it rose up in the sky. Shenk cheered and turned right, sending a volley of tracer bullets that tore apart a vessel’s wing. The structure rotated on itself until it exploded somewhere under the chaos. Shenk pushed the throttle to maximum combat speed, looked at the engines on the wings roaring with its mighty power.
Indeed, Shenk was an Ace with his Lightning.
***
While, Mercutio and dozens of soldiers were trying to blow up the subway’s door. A huge iron gate seemed to be blocked, and Mercutio had tried several types of explosives, but none had been able to breach the gate.
“-I guess that these Confeds’ have blocked it… What do we do, Sarge?” asked Brandon.
“-Aww… I thought that even these Proto Nichs could do the trick…” Mercutio answered. Suddenly, Hans made a quick sign that he had something to say.
“-How about… Lemme think… And if? Follow me, guys.”
With contempt, Brandon followed the captured colonel to a nearby supply truck. He looked at the tools hastily and found what he wanted. With a sign of relief, he stole Brandon’s backpack and took a little box that had been used to open a door during Hans’ capture’s mission. The huge door had a control panel on it, which had been intentionally sabotaged by the Confederates. Hans took the little box and took another strange thing that looked like a miniature computer used to hack doors like this one. Strangely, Hans didn’t use the computer to try to open the door.
“-Why don’t you use the computer?” asked Mercutio.
“-In our army we use pretty much anything we have… so we can do anything with almost nothing. Anyone got a plasma weapon?” asked Hans.
A soldier gave him a plasma pistol and Hans plugged the box into the control panel and plugged the mini-computer on the little box. Hans typed something on the miniature keyboard, pressed some buttons on the box and told the men to stay back. Hans fired ten times on the computer with high-powered electrical discharges. The whole electrical circuit burst in flames and purple flashes blinded the men. The door made a loud sound, as if something had exploded inside. Hans smiled, happy that the overheating of the electrical circuit had neutralized the door’s systems. Mercutio nodded and the men made the door glide to the left with their bare hands and arms. The men cheered and slapped the “prisoner” in the back. They seemed not to care about the fact that he was an enemy; they even respected him more than their own officers. Indeed, Mercutio began to realize just a little part of why he had been asked to capture Hans: he was a true leader. The men cheered and ran into the subway, making the piles of scrap that blocked their way explode with grenades. Finally, they reached the subway, and they saw with their astonished eyes that there was no train there… and now, they needed to find a one… probably they could find one in the next train station…
“-These Confeds’ took the train with them after they sabotaged this station, so we’ll have a short way to walk to the other train station… Ready yourselves and stay vigilant… We’ll probably have to fight to gain control over the next train… if it’s still there.” said a lieutenant.
***
On the road to Kastor Line, Lieutenant Tarren had let some wounded get into his truck, so he had to walk on foot… for now. They had met their friends because their truck had rolled near a mine… much too near… The truck hadn’t exploded, but it was now overturn on the right side. The friends had been really joyful to meet again. They had formed a brand new platoon with some of the survivors of Christensus and some soldiers separated from their regiment or soldiers which’s regiment had been annihilated. On the muddy and dirty road, Lieutenant Tarren was discussing with his newly formed platoon.
“-We are 59 men… we have a banner, and courage… skills, and valour! Has anyone an idea about a name for our regiment? We will find men who will want to fight with us as free men instead of narrow-minded officers…
-Black Vultures?
-I hate these names… Vassili! It was the worst joke I’ve ever heard… We’re not carrion eaters! We kill!
-And if we were the Tortoris Fraternitas?
-The Tormentors’ Fraternity? Excellent idea, Aemilian.”
With the fading sun walked the newly born Tortoris Fraternitas, marching to a war beyond their understanding, but within their reach to turn the tide of the war.
Re: The Trondforge Assault: Fortis Imperator Oris: Chpt. 16
Hello, Greek Phalanx, good to see you back again ~:wave: .
Quote:
Originally Posted by Greek Phalanx
I'd really need comments, as much constructive as they may or may not be... Watch out it's about 55 pages by now...
Fifty-five pages! I would like to comment, but I haven't got time to read all that. I'll try to do some reading in the weekend, thoug, but I think smaller chuncks of stories are less likely to scare potential readers off.
Re: The Trondforge Assault: Fortis Imperator Oris: Chpt. 16
Chapter XVII
-250 meters under the ground, subway, Vth alley.
Darkness. There seemed to be nothing more but darkness in this part of the tunnels. There was a delicate smell of sewers floating in the air, bringing a pulled and disgusted face on the Confederate lieutenant’s face. Smoking a crippled smoke yellowed by the time, his eyes were hidden under his dark hair and his peaked cap. Some puffs of smoke dared to seek adventure out of his nostrils, but almost immediately vanished. The lieutenant’s eyes seemed to do an almost undetectable movement, a movement of eyes trying to seek something behind his long tufts of hair relaxing on his face… somewhere in the darkness. The lieutenant took his two fingers and crushed the cigarette’s brand with a swift gesture. His eyes reddened with tiredness and the lack of rest scanned the tunnel’s big mouth, and he saw some shadows walking towards his direction. Despite the lack of material and technological tools deserved to the elite soldiers and high-ranked officers or nobles, such as thermal detectors, the lieutenant and his men, like most of the soldiers in the Confederation of Trondforge’s army, had learned to use their brain and to succeed the greatest exploits with barely nothing as basic equipment. The lieutenant took his rifle on the ground, tapped on his fellow soldiers’ shoulders and ran towards the train station to warn his men.
After five minutes of running, the scouting crew that was with him gave silent orders to prepare the men. The lieutenant, positioning a machine-gun on a window, silently cursed between his teeth. A man positioned himself at the machine-gun post, and the lieutenant ran up dusty stairs to reach the train station’s second floor. He took some magazines in ammunition boxes, loaded his rifle and looked down the window. His men acted as if they had always been prepared to defend a train station… They did like they had learned in the training grounds, as if they were professionals. Indeed, these soldiers had a bit of experience, but a great man had formed them: their lieutenant. The men took their submachine-guns and their rifles, some guys who had more luck would take the heavy machine-guns. They entrenched themselves into the building, protecting the only way to their train. If they lost this strategic point, the Confederates would lose a major strategic point. Unfortunately, the High Command had lost interest in the subway, leaving it under-defended. It was just a matter of time before the Imperials discovered the who network of rails and stations. Now, it was their task to protect the train. There would be no retreat…
The men waited some long minutes, and they heard steps. The men waited, their hands shaking with the constant envy to shoot at the darkness to make the steps stop… but they needed to wait for the orders. The lieutenant’s average hair that were long enough to cover part of his eyes, fell down on the rifle’s sight. He aimed carefully at the shadows running everywhere in the darkness.
-“Charles…! Psst!” whispered a voice to the lieutenant.
-“What, Misha?” he answered with a hoarse voice.
-“They’ll swarm us… and slaughter us in no time…
-No, they won’t… not if we can use the train…”
The lieutenant Charles Everett had always been a practical man… and now he had to put what all his experience had given him in practise, and to show his worth. The dark shadows stopped to move, and he looked at his friend Misha, just posted at the window on his right. Misha nodded, scratched his brown beard, adjusted his sniper rifle’s sight, and he aimed carefully. He held back his respiration and pulled the trigger. A sudden and shrill snap broke the silence that had seemed so noisy lately. A shadow fell down, grinning and cursing. The shadows crouched and rapidly advanced forward with long steps. Lasers and bursts of bullets we propelled to the buildings composing the station. The lieutenant yelled: “HOLD YOUR FIRE! HOLD YOUR FIRE!” While, the Imperials were rushing at the buildings, the sound of their boots hammering the ground, the whistles of bullets and the cracks of lasers creating the beat of a battle raging. The Imperials reached the last twenty meters that separated them of the station, and Lieutenant Everett instantly decided that the enemy had gone far enough without seeing any real resistance. Red flashing lasers whistled over Everett’s head, he took his heavy KAR (“Kartoff Automatic Rifle”, some kind of two-handed heavy machine-gun similar to the prehistoric BAR (Browning Automatic Rifle)), leaned the gun’s butt against his chest, and shot. The gun spat fire and bullets pierced the air to drive into the falling bodies. Almost the whole Imperials’ first wave of attackers fell down, hit either by bullets or grenades. Suddenly, the attackers established a violent and efficient line of fire, bombarding the train station with everything they had.
A grenade exploded in the first floor, projecting bones, flesh and screams into the other rooms. Some Confederates screamed, a bullet stuck either somewhere around their head or right into their chest. Although, the Confederates violently replied with heavy machine-guns and anti-tank bazookas. The whole station became a storm of fire, bullets, smoke and dying soldiers. Suddenly, a terrifying scream succeeded to reach the Condeferates’ ears, a scream mightier than anything they had ever heard before. It was the scream of hundreds of men charging at them. Charles hastily reloaded his weapon, and shot other volleys. Some men fell, but with each man falling two more appeared. Charles yelled: “C’mon! GET TO THE TRAIN! TO THE TRAIN! FAST!”
What was left of Everett’s section was almost a third of his initial forces, as the Imperials were already storming the station with their bayonets, their submachine guns, their grenades… Lieutenant Everett ran downstairs and ran through a long corridor. He met some Imperials on his way, but he shot them down with his KAR. He turned a corner, followed by some survivors. He met other enemy soldiers… “They’re surrounding us! Damn!” he thought. He emptied his magazine on them, but the green-coated Imperials took cover behind crates. In the next seconds, the fate of Everett’s men would be decided… Everett put his gun on his backpack, took two pistols from his holsters and charged. His men were frozen with fear and dumbly looked at their leader. Everett shot with all his efforts to be the most precise possible. Two Imperials’ heads appeared in his sight, and two detonations reached Everett’s ears. Two other heads, two other detonations. The lieutenant climbed on the crates and emptied his magazines on the Imperials. When two “clicks” brought the furious lieutenant back to reality, meaning that his pistols were empty, he roared with laughter and his men followed him, cheering. The Confederates opened a nearby door and reached the other extremity of the train station. Few Condederates had made their way to the train, and they had laid a line of fire to shoot the Imperials that would reach the train. Everett saluted them and their courage, and hopped on the train’s ladder. He rang the horn as loud as he could, and the men jumped inside the wagon. When enough men had gathered inside, Everett began to augment the train’s power. More Imperials had come, and they were already shooting with bazookas at the train. A wagon exploded, but this wagon was empty. “Detach this wagon! We’ll leave them the rest of the train! Our lives are priority number one!” Charles said.
And the train was eaten by the darkness of the subway’s tunnel in the following seconds. The Imperials looked at the void, hearing the cheers of the Confederates that had been able to save their butt. Sergeant Mercutio appeared through the dark door of the station, looking at what was left of the wagons. He spat on the ground and Corporal Brandon came to see him: “We’ve found another train in this station… We’ll just have to attach the wagons to it, so we’ll be able to reach Kastor Line with all the men!”
Mercutio nodded and said: “Good work, guys… The battle was costly, but we’ve won! Cheers, men!”
Although, Mercutio seemed in distress behind his troubled eyes… looking at something in particular: Hans Braun, lying down on the ground, spitting blood and roaring. He was dying…
“I don’t know how or why, but I’ll make him live… no matter what happens!” thought Mercutio.
***
Shenk and his Lightning were speeding up through the aerial battlefield. Firing some precise volleys, Shenk was taking down an enemy bomber, tearing its wing apart. Shenk brutally tossed the control stick right, avoiding the wing part that had flown dangerously near his cockpit. A collision would mean inevitably death. Shenk saw another bomber to his right. He turned right and pulled the throttle to slow down the craft. The engines would overheat if he kept his speed to this point. The bomber’s turret turned towards Shenk’s Lightning and began to shoot. Several red lasers missed their target, but some hit the cockpit, creating some holes in the window. Halus turned back and yelled: “Shenk! Are you all right?” Shenk cursed loudly, tried to get rid of the oil on his face with his right hand, while the left hand was holding the control stick. The Lightning’s nose pointed down and the whole craft whirled on itself, its wings firing salvos of tracer bullets. The bomber was literally sprayed with bullets, but the structure seemed to hold together. Shenk looked annoyed as he accelerated towards the bomber’s right flank, shooting directly at the fuel tank. The bomber became trapped in a firestorm and the fireball went down, followed by melting debris and burned pieces of the wings.
The Lightning went up, and Halus, posted in his machine-gun turret, was looking at Rexdrakka 53… Soldiers were fighting everywhere, dying everywhere… there would lots of Imperial prisoners, this day.
