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.
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Re: The Trondforge Assault: Fortis Imperator Oris: Chpt. 16
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Originally Posted by Greek Phalanx
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