Assault on Calebra Hive

[Carrack]

Assault on Calebra Hive

 

Putting an Ear to the Door

 

Cancon's skin crawled as they made their way through the mobbed street. He couldn't let his warriors know how uncomfortable this hive made him, and it wasn't just from being in the abode of the enemy either. It was the hive itself. He had been raised on the open prairie, and the confining pressure of being underground was wearing on his nerves. Honestly, he didn't even know if he was truly underground or not, such concepts were meaningless anyway, when miles of city were both piled above him and stacked beneath his feet. His feet hurt too, which was a sensation he had not experienced in many years, given a warrior's life constantly on the march, but the mix of cobblestone, ferrocrete, and flagstone were wearing calluses in his hardened feet. The confining, pressing nature of the urban landscape was amplified by the pressing of the teeming mobs crowding the streets. Cancon had to hunch his broad shoulders inward to keep his personal space, and shorten his swaggering stride so as not to trip over the feet of the surging sea of humanity. Even so, he was jostled and pressed with every step. There were subtle things about the hive that unnerved Cancon as well, his life of forced marches and long patrols had taught him that a ten minute walk was not long enough to travel any significant distance, yet here, ten minutes carried him into entirely new cultures, with different languages, different styles of clothing, different aromas in the air, it was unnatural how much could change in such a brief journey.

 

Cancon struggled to control his nerves as he glanced back to check his warriors. He could only spot two of the nine in the crowd, both following at loose interval, but he could tell they were having difficulties similar to his own. Harkin had his hand stuffed underneath the folds of his clothing, no doubt gripping his weapon, even though they were told gunfire in the streets of this level could compromise their mission. Jella, a few paces back in the file, was making subtle ward gestures with her hands, invoking the protection of the true gods. Like all of Cancon's warriors, she had been told any display of faith was strictly forbidden outside of their squad's bolt hole. Fortunately, these followers of the Corpse God were an ignorant bunch, and failed to recognize the gestures. This puzzled Cancon, he had been raised with teachings of how to recognize the enemies of the gods, and had assumed the reverse was true, but the common Imperial seemed oblivious to his religion's antithesis. Cancon even wondered if the precautions his lord had taken in selecting warriors for this mission were necessary. Only warriors like himself without readily visible gifts from the gods had been selected to venture into the heart of Calebra Hive.

 

Cancon saw the faded blue awning of his objective, and glanced at the ground around him. When he saw a sewage grate he raised his hand in signal, then shook his wrist as if he was working out a cramp. The signal was seen and relayed to Yarl, the rear most warrior in his file. He made his way past the objective house's front and stopped at the lamp post on the corner, lighting a lho stick. Harkin and Jella passed by him and turned, circling the house to take up a position on the opposite block corner from Cancon, they would watch the rear exit. The rest of his warriors took up positions under the awning, or with Cancon at the lamppost, save Yarl. Yarl stopped at the sewage grate and dropped a can shaped object down the grate, only to curse as it bounced off the catch-shelf to drop down the drain several levels and dump out into an alleyway. He fumbled in his pocket and grabbed his second, and last can. He twisted the lid on the can and pulled a ring from the base, then dropped the can with a silent prayer to The Weaver of Fates. This can bounced once on the catch-shelf, but came to rest without falling down the drain. A few moment later it began spewing forth a thick, noxious, black smoke. The crowd began to panic. It was like a herd stampeding in every direction. Cancon and the warriors with him at the lamppost struggled against the waves of humanity to get to the door beneath the awning. It was like swimming against a strong current, they almost got swept away. They reached the awning just before Yarl came rushing to the door dropping his shoulder into the aged plastic board. The door almost came off the hinges, and Yarl, expecting more resistance stumbled onto the floor just inside the room. Cancon leapt over Yarl drawing his pistol and blade. His warriors followed suit.

 

The room was dimly lit by a couple of smokey candles. It had almost no furnishings, save a surprisingly ornate wooden desk with a bulky vox station mounted on top. Two figures lay amongst some old guard issue sleeping rolls in the far corners, while a ginger haired man sat at the desk listening to a headset, and a burly man leaned against the far wall under a wide brimmed hat, with a lasrifle slung over one shoulder across his chest. As Cancon and his warriors burst into the door, the soft coughing of silenced pistol shots shooting into the lasrifle toting sentry preceded the wet thuds of blades and truncheons doing their dirty work on the sleeping forms and the vox operator. The sentry must have been wearing armor underneath his duster, because he was able to withstand the pistol shots and spray the warriors, dropping two, before he was felled by Cancon's whale skinner through the left eye. The room was cleared.

 

As his warriors took up stations at the doors, Cancon went over to the vox station. He took a mental note of the positions of the three dials before noticing that the outer channel indicator ring on the middle dial had been shifted. He applied pressure and slowly turned the ring till it clicked into place, and took note of the actual channel. Meanwhile, Yarl removed a black box that was jury rigged to the antenna outlet and handed it to Cancon, the encryption device they were after. Then, Minos, one of Cancon's surviving warriors, emptied a bottle of grain alcohol onto the power outlet the vox station was plugged into, as others sprinkled the room with similar bottles. Cancon whispered prayers while he searched his two fallen warriors for anything that would betray their allegiances. It was a somber task, but the warriors knew that if they fell this day, that is where they would lay. None had expressed any fear of such a fate. In the end, Cancon was forced to skin a tribal tattoo that had The Eye of Horus intertwined within its skulls and vines motif. Once the gruesome task was finished, the warriors filed out the back door and linked up with Harton and Jella. The last to leave, Cancon turned as he exited the door and flicked the lit lho stick he had started smoking before they breeched the door onto the alcohol soaked outlet by the desk. It lit up like a tinderbox. Cancon was under no illusions that this fire would conceal the evidence of his raid from all but the most cursory of investigations, but perhaps it would buy them a day or two of time to get away. As he passed by his warriors they began falling in behind him single file as he made his way back to the bolt hole.

Edited April 10, 2017 by Carrack

[EesiOh]

very nice

[EesiOh]

by the way do you have existing lore for these guys or are you creating them as you go along? 

[Carrack]

by the way do you have existing lore for these guys or are you creating them as you go along?

These guys are just a cultist squad from my warband, the Black Maw. I don't know how long they will take part in this battle, cultist tend not to last too long. :) In any event, the CSM of the Black Maw will be doing the majority of the work in coming installments. As for background on the rest of the Black Maw, here are some links.

http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/308028-it-black-maw-warband/?do=findComment&comment=4109733

 

http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/307717-the-doom-of-red-siliquastrum/?do=findComment&comment=4062505

 

http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/303361-fleet-of-the-black-maw/?do=findComment&comment=4033047

 

Thanks for reading and leaving feedback.

[Carrack]

Assault on Calebra Hive

Slim Chance

 

Previously....Yarl stopped at the sewage grate and dropped a can shaped object down the grate, only to curse as it bounced off the catch-shelf to drop down the drain several levels and dump out into an alleyway...

 

****************

 

Bull had been up on the slaught for at least five days straight, as far as Slim could reckon anyway. The red eyes framed with dark bags gave away his lack of sleep, and the pacing and shaking in barely controlled fits gave away the reason for his lack of sleep. This was not good. Not good for the health of the gang's leader for sure, but not good for anyone around him either, and that included Slim. Not making eye contact, Slim carefully shifted himself out of the inner circle of the gang as he edged towards the ally's entrance. "Where you going Slim?" Asked the hulking Bull as he drew his large bore shotgun from across his back sheaf. "Ah, uh, nowhere boss." Slim started to reply before a metallic clang interrupted him. The clang came from a can dropping from a sewage drain above the alley. The can was sparking from one end before a soft "pop" sounded and the can started emitting clouds of black irritating smoke. The gangers eyes started watering and snot started dripping profusely from everyone's noses. The first to act, unfortunately was Bull, he bellowed out, "This means war!" He then rushed out the ally and started unloading his shotgun into random pedestrians in the street. This was bad.

 

The first thing Slim had learned in the gang, and other gangers had as well, was that when Bull started shooting, you better be shooting too. Up till this point however, that lesson had only been practiced on rival gangers, people no one, like the authorities for instance, cared about. Now Bull was massacring random subjects. Slim had no choice though, so he racked the slide on his autopistol and took aim at an old man walking up the street with a plastic sack of ration tubes and water.

 

When it was all said and done, over a hundred civilians lay dead in the streets, along with Bull and his entire gang. Half of the gangers were killed by civilians in self defense, this was the kind of neighborhood where people sometimes traveled armed. The other half were dropped by Arbites executioner shells or power mauls. The area was cordoned off by order of the Adeptus Arbites, and an investigation was launched into the cause of this massacre. The Arbites investigation quickly focused on the excessive slaught consumption of the gangers and sought to find their source for the combat stims. This happened to pull resources away from the investigation of some mid-hive block fire that initial reports seemed to indicate being caused by faulty wiring.

 

Author note.

My writer's block continues. I've started a couple stories, but can't seem to get anything good going. Since, I'm judging this one, I'll go ahead and post the story that started my Assault on Calebra Hive campaign. The inspiration for the story, and the first paragraph in particular, was my experiences walking in downtown London.

Edited April 10, 2017 by Carrack

[Carrack]

The Assault on Calebra Hive

 

Part 2. Finding a Way

Cancon was happy to be out of the crowded hive, even if he had to put up with rebreather hoods and bulky, charcoal lined jumpsuits. A yellow haze had settled about 100 meters up, so he could not really see the open sky, but he knew it was there, which was more reassuring than megatons of city waiting to fall and crush him. Cancon and his warriors, down to 17 now, were wandering through a ravine cut into the massive open landfill that surrounded the Imperial hive for tens of miles. They had to walk on the uneven slope of the ravine, because a caustic river of sludge rushed through the bottom of the ravine. The sludge occasionally caught fire for no apparent reason. One of his warriors, Minos, had slipped on the river's edge and soaked his left boot in the filthy liquid. In two minutes, his environmental seal was compromised. In ten minutes the liquid was burning into his foot, and he had a bleeding rash all the way up his leg. In fifteen minutes, Cancon stabbed him through the heart and pushed him down the ravine into the river. He looked relieved when the steel pierced his heart.

 

They had been searching the landfill for almost four hours now. It was almost time to to change out their air filters. They were looking for the scavenger clans that were rumored to somehow survive in this wasteland, scavenging scrap and taking it into the hive through secret passages for resale. Cancon and his warriors paused as they came across a well beaten footpath that led over the top of the ravine in one direction, and a makeshift bridge of fiber boards in the other. Cancon did not wish to test the gods by crossing the rickety bridge, so he started up the path, changing his air filter as he went. Without a word, his warriors followed suit.

 

Just short of the crest of the ravine, Cancon stopped and signaled to Jella to scout the other side. She came up to the edge, and dropped to her belly, slithering like a snake over the crest of the ravine so as not to silhouette herself to anyone watching from the other side. A few moments later, she came crawling back and signaled for Farlen to take a look. The Gods had wanted Farlen to see the truth, and had gifted him with three extra eyes scattered across his face, it was said that some of these eyes saw things that normal human eyes could not. Farlen crawled up the path and poked his head over the ravine edge for a moment, then the two warriors came back to Cancon. Jella reported, "There is a camp about 60 meters from the ravine. I count two dozen, including women and children. They're mutants Champion Cancon." The use of Cancon's formal title seemed more prevalent after he had slain the other champion of this band of warriors when their lord had seen it fit to merge the two squads. Before Cancon could respond with a hastily formulated plan, Farlen interjected, "They are mutants, but they venerate the Corpse God, there are Aquillas on top of their tent poles and some sort of shrine in the center of their camp." This confounded the warriors, some of witch had been gifted with mutations themselves. That these scum, cast out from the Imperial city, without any hope of ever being accepted by the Imperium, would still worship as loyal subjects boggled the mind. Cancon checked the safety on the pistol in his right hand and drew the stolen navy cutlass with his left. As his warriors readied their weapons, he said, "Remember, we need prisoners, but we will make a battle sacrifice of the rest of this camp. Yarl, bring up the flamer."

 

With his warriors on line just beneath the top of the ravine, Cancon slapped the back mounted fuel tank of Yarl's flamer. Yarl leapt to his feet and yelled, "For the Dark Gods!" As he squeezed down on the trigger for his flamer, arching the stream of promethium high, and playing it back and forth across one side of the encampment. For effect, he waited until the area, and unlucky mutants in it, were fully doused with the sticky fuel before flicking on the pilot light. One side of the camp went up in an inferno of screaming mutants and roughly sewn tents of environmental sheeting. Cancon rushed over the edge followed by his warriors, pistols firing indiscriminately into the camp with the sacred words of his lords on his lips, "We are Returned!" The words of vengeance.

 

The Blood God must have been watching Cancon's charge, because most of the pistol shots missed their mark, or lodged ineffectively in the thick hides of the mutants. Well if the Blood God wanted personal kills, who was Cancon to deny Him. They charged in with blades and clubs and made short work of the surprised camp. Three of Cancon's warriors had fallen, one of the newer additions to Cancon's band was found slumped in the shrine with his neck twisted around to face backwards, another new warrior had taken a heavy blow to his chest, and flailed ribs had punctured one lung, he died in minutes. The last of the warriors to fall was Harkin, a longtime friend of Cancon, he had his environmental seal opened by a mutant's claw, the slashes were superficial, but Harkin knew what the outcome would be. He had shot himself in the temple with his pistol to save himself the certain, slow demise. They only spared three mutants, an older male whose face had grown snout-like to confirm with a truncated rebreather mask, a scaley skinned female with a long neck that showed what looked like gills, and an adult male with a lumpy hide and bulbous neck that had a severely broken collarbone from a club strike. Cancon and Jella began the interrogations as the other warriors, to the horror of the survivors, began desecrating the bodies of their tribe mates. On orders from Cancon, severed heads were piled high in the makeshift shrine.

 

Under the sometimes tender ministrations of Jella, and the completely tenderness ministrations of Cancon, the prisoners gave up the goods. The wounded male had died during question, they were keeping the elder alive until the could prove the veracity of the prisoners' words, and the scaly female, not to the taste of Cancon or Jella, had been given as reward to Yarl. Upon the alter of the camp's shrine sat the mummified remains of a double headed psyber eagle. When taken to an old freight entrance to the hive, could be pressed into a small niche. As long as the heads were placed properly, the freight doors would open into a cargo lift. The lift had three stops higher than the entrance, but the highest two required a coded sequence, but the first stop could be reached. Cancon had Jella and Bodde confirm the story, and they returned saying the lift opened up on a sparsely populated low hive level. More importantly, the freight doors were wide enough to drive two rhinos through simultaneously. Cancon had found the hidden entrance for his Black Legion masters to assault Calebra Hive.

[EesiOh]

keep it up dude ;) 

[Carrack]

Assault on Calebra Hive

 

Part 2.5 Infilitrated!

 

 

To Lord Calebra, Hereditary Govenor of His Imperial World of Candlebright, etc...etc...

 

We have been infiltrated! Reviews of ident logs have indicated an anomaly that occurred 11 days ago. A small packet ship, Thoroughbred, entered system at the Lighthouse Translation Point. Thoroughbred's owner and captain was the rogue trader, Kovitich. This was both the ship and her master's first voyage to Candlelight. Her registered manifest was vintage distilled wine and a selection of works of the painter Vensominair. She listed her point of contact as the Comb Trading House. (This should have raised concern given their past indiscretions).

 

The Thoroughbred was anchored over Calebra Hive and boarded by Tariff Inspector Wently's team. The manifest checked out and nothing unusual was noted, other than an unusually large request for shore leave passes for the crew of such a small vessel. In his notes, Wently stated that he suspected the rogue trader was sending out press gangs, and directed him to areas where such activity was tolerated. The Thoroughbred remained in anchor for three days before exiting to the Lighthouse Translation Point. Nothing further was recorded of the so called Thoroughbred.

 

However, as the Thoroughbred left anchor, actually within minutes of her disembarkation, The Red Pride, Luna XII class transport arrived from the recently fallen Siliquastrum sub sector, carrying refugees, mostly of the Reginaldo noble household. While the Red Pride offloaded her passengers, a routine data link was established with the PDF and the Militarium. This link carried a treasure trove of intelligence regarding the forces of the arch-enemy that had captured or destroyed most of the Siliquastrum sub sector. Buried in this data was a report that revealed that the ident of the recently departed Thoroughbred was forged. The true identity of the packet ship was the Full Coffers, a packet ship registered to the rogue trader Zanizar prior to his excommunication. I believe your staff is familiar with the Zanizar Network, but in brief, they are pirates and smugglers in service to the Black Legion, in particular, Lord Carrack, the so called Doom of Red Siliquastrum.

 

Unfortunately, this report was uncovered by a data miner by the name of Hanny Mathus, shortly before she was to report to her annual fortnight of retraining. My investigations have revealed that the data miners of the PDF, have been for years, using this annual training as an excuse to take vacations. As if work wasn't its own reward. Her whereabouts are unknown at this time. Only by the Emperor's grace was this report found and forwarded to me this morning. I have taken the liberty to raise the alert status of our defense forces, but need your approval for a general call up or any further protective measures you deem necessary. I pray we are not too late. I have heard rumors that Lord Carrack's warband, The Black Maw, frequently uses the Zanizar network to scout worlds prior to invasion.

 

Addendum I. Under intensive interrogations, the Comb Trading House Envoy revealed that he had no contact with the heretics during their stay. I trust the results of the interrogation. Incidentally, expect a formal complaint from their house coupled with a large medical bill. The Emperor shines his light on the truth.

 

Addendum II. Vid capture review of the lighters used by the Full Coffers indicate that 63 heretics made landfall that did not return. May the Emperor Protect.

 

Ever your, and Him on Terra's servant,

Lord Chancellor of Trade, Regalous.

 

[EesiOh]

keep it up man, loving your writing style 

[Carrack]

keep it up man, loving your writing style

Thanks, I look forward to reading more of the 6th as well. If you get a chance, you should check out the Inspirational Friday contest on the CSM board. It's a weekly writing contest with some excellent authors participating regularly. I know Chaos may not be your preferred army, but you could always develop your antagonists there. It also tends to get more readers and more feedback then this section of the B&C gets at times. Anyway thanks again, I will be getting into the big battles soon.

Assault on Calebra Hive

 

Part 3. Burning in the Night Sky.

 

Chief Calhoun leaned back in his well worn chair and took a drag off his imported cigar. He looked out over the servitors, and slightly more functional crewman staring into their view screens, and exhaled a ring of smoke into the flickering lights of the overhead no smoking sign. He tried to remember the last time he had a full crew to man the auspex array, they didn't fill the deck for mere drills certainly. It must have been fourteen years ago after that rogue trader impregnated the Lord Govenor's niece, that had been quite the chase.

 

Chief Calhoun's reminiscing was interrupted when a crewman abruptly stood up and leaned over his screen. The servitor stations nearby were hissing with focus commands. The chief calmly called out to the crewman to report. The deck was silent as the crewman timidly answered in a shaking voice, "I have a ship, grand cruiser, Retaliator Class, it reads as the Bitter Revenge, Tratoris Extremis." The deck was silent as the crew came to grips with what was just said, none were in doubt that it meant their deaths were at hand. Finally, the Chief was snapped out of his state of shock by the forgotten cigar burning his fingers. He called out to his bridge liaison, "Inform the skipper, perhaps we can warn others. The Emperor Protects."

 

Chief Calhoun, his crew, along with all hands aboard the system patrol boat Defensor Calabra, were lost when the Bitter Revenge fired her lances straight through the boats prow to detonate the aft fuel stores. Similar scenes were replayed throughout the Candlebright system as the fleet of the Black Maw warband burned and blasted its way through the paltry system defenses to take a position in high orbit over Calebra Hive, just out of reach of the city's orbital guns.

 

In spite of the Arch-Enemy presence over the city, the city's defenders felt safe from bombardment thanks to a dome of void shields powered by the heat of the world's molten core. The dome covered the highest spires and extended down almost to the ground level.

[Carrack]

Assault on Calebra Hive

 

Part. 4. Epidemic

 

 

Garaduk keyed in the hacked sequence to the freight lift controls and pushed the button for the middle floor. He then returned to his retinue as gravity gently pushed down on the lift as it sped for the 77th level. The swarm of flies followed him, as always since his unsanctioned pilgrimage to the Garden. The flies had become an ever present nuisance, buzzing in his audio pick up, and flying across his targeting array, yet they always stayed clear of his jet pack's twin exhaust and the business ends of his weapons, a crackling lightning claw and his ensorcelled flamer, betraying an intelligence not normal for vermin. His retinue, an elite squad of the Vultures Raptor Coven, made room for him at the point of a loose wedge formation before the doors. The Vultures may not have been accompanied by a swarm of flies, but they manifested the loving attention of the Grandfather same as Garaduk. Armor and jet packs were streaked with rust and sickly fluids leaked from creases and ill repaired rents in their armor. Almost as an afterthought, Garaduk glanced back at the "specialist", a team of two burly mutants lugging a barrel and a large pump, and their overseer, a skinny man concealed behind heavy black robes trimmed with green and a corroded bronze mask.

 

Cold air blasted into the lift as the freight doors retracted. They opened out to level 77, known locally as The Cooler. Decades ago several overhead pipes on this level had ruptured in numerous places. The main line that had ruptured was carrying industrial coolant, which was still pumped from a near bottomless reservoir somewhere beneath the ground. The effect was that temperatures on this level stayed below freezing in the entire level, but near the ruptures were deadly cold to those not wearing heated environmental suits. The other pipe that had burst leaks in several places was a water pipe. On contact with the cold air, the dripping water froze and precipitated ice and snow onto the streets and buildings of this level. Rather than attempting to repair the leaks, the residents of this level adapted, and turned industrial warehouses into cold storage for preserving food. Overnight, The Cooler became a primary larder for Calebra Hive.

 

The lift opened up with an unexpected ease after having been unused in living memory until earlier this night. A testament to the craftsmanship used in constructing this mega city. Craftsmanship that could not be equalled in the current era. The lift, long forgotten by the inhabitants to The Cooler due to its perceived impenetrable security codes, was unguarded by either the PDF, or the ragtag militias that had formed when the Lord Governor had issued his general call to arms. The end of the east-west street the freight lift opened to, was flanked by a series of warehouses holding cold stored foodstuffs, but nothing commonly used by the populous, just slabs of low grade meat and blocks of hard yellow cheese, rations no doubt for times of shortage. The good stuff was closer to the main lifts at the north and south end. Garaduk and his entourage quickly ran to the first warehouse on the left and rolled underneath a rollup door as it was lifted on Garaduk's signal. It was lowered just as quickly by a squad of cultist warriors who, after finishing their doorman duties, pressed their heads to the floor in a fawning show of respect for their Black Maw Lords. The cultist cringed when the mutants accidentally dropped the barrel. Garaduk paid them no mind and sought out the champion of the small thinblood squad that was holding this warehouse and defending their hidden avenue of assault. The champion of the thinbloods, Leven, took a quick knee and saluted Garaduk, then returned to the window that his plasma gunner was at, standing a few feet back so as not to be seen from the street. Garaduk followed and briefly ordered the champion to report on the current situation. The fact that most of his command for this assault would be comprised of thinbloods like Leven, either newly created Astartes, or Astartes that had only recently took the Black of the Legion, did not escape Garaduk, this was the price he was paying for sneaking off to the Garden of Nurgle without Lord Carrack's consent.

 

Leven reported, "The Imperials have a platoon of PDF on this level. There command and three squads are stationed in the barricaded central plaza with the commander's chimera. They also have a squad each at the north and south lifts, which have also thrown up barricades and checkpoints. The commander, and we have been monitoring their encrypted vox traffic, is Lt Deague. He also commands the militia squads, some 7 or 8 rifle squads that he has either patrolling the level or holding positions on the higher rooftops that don't reach the ceiling. These militia are rabble, no discipline or tactical ability, but they are equipped with heated suits to enter the more dangerous areas. As new squads of militia are formed, the Lt has them set up checkpoints and will periodically inspect them until he deems them fit for patrols." Leven went on to indicate the known positions of the Imperials on Garaduk's map display.

 

Garaduk acknowledged the thinblood with a slight tilt of his helm, impressed with the thoroughness of the report, but unwilling to verbally say so to some come lately upstart, and no doubt aspiring, champion. He left with his retinue and hugged the left side of the snowy street as they made their way towards the plaza. When they reached a three story warehouse halfway to the plaza, they engaged their jet packs and made a jump to the rooftop. A support pillar on the other side of the warehouse concealed them from the militia squad positioned on the rooftop of the next building, half of the squad was asleep anyway and the other half was not far from sleep themselves. Garaduk ripped open a ventilation duck with his lightning claw and the squad dropped into the warehouse. One of the Vultures fired his packs engines long enough to maintain a short hover and hastily replace the duct in case a patrol noticed the damage. They made their way down the stairs in the dark warehouse until they were almost to the ground floor when they heard footsteps and could see the beam of a handheld search light headed their way. Garaduk and his retinue cautiously backed away from the stairs making as little noise as power armored Astartes could. Outside it had been easier, the snowy air and streets muffling their sounds, but in here the servos of their armor hummed and their footfalls were heavy in the near empty warehouse. As the night watchman cautiously made his way up the stair, one hand holding an autopistol and the other his searchlight, his light found the form of a crouching raptor. Both the pistol and the light fell to the floor. The watchman said a word that would have shamed his mother before the vulture leapt into him using the spikes of his armored knees and his taloned feet to rip the poor man to shreds. Garaduk and his retinue descended the stairs and secured the ground floor. He called for the two meltagunners to get started. The two raptors picked a spot on the floor and began taking turns burning a hole in it, each one shooting a burning beam into the ground, then allowing time for the barrel of his weapon to cool. Garaduk voxed for his specialists.

 

After a canister of shots a piece, the two meltagunners had breached the floor into level 76. Below them was a break room of some sort with a long table laid out with recaf and pastries. A group of about 6 workers in heavy lead aprons were staring at the ceiling bewildered by the popping sounds of cooking ferrocrete. Garaduk shoved the barrel of his ensorcelled flamer through the hole and gave them a taste of hellfire. None survived. The Vultures' champion, Hazag, placed a melta bomb at the top of the breach and the Black Legionaries stepped back as it sent out waves of concentrated heat designed to penetrate the thickest of armor. It widened the breach considerably. Garaduk then had his raptors drop to the room below and secure it. The sounds of a revving chainsword were followed by a brief scream and the slamming of doors. The Vultures returned, having trapped the doors to the break room with frags.

 

The specialists entered the warehouse and came to the floor breach. The skinny robed being inspected the hole briefly and began hooking the pump to the barrel. Soon a weaponized virus, blessed by a priest of Nurgle, was being pumped into level 76 of Calebra Hive. It would be called Dark Lung by the inhabitants, and it would claim the lives of millions. Six additional levels of the hive were infected before the epidemic was contained. Hab blocks with infected residents would be quarantined, while those outside could hear their dying pleas. The dead would be burned where they lay, unable to be attended to by their loved ones, if they were lucky enough to be found before the swelling rat hordes got to them first. Families were torn asunder. Hospitals were overwhelmed and incapable of finding a cure. It was whispered that in the most heavily infected areas, strange and ugly little bloated daemons could be seen frolicking in the misery and attacking any who came near. The Lord Governor's call to arms was crippled in the infected areas before it was fully underway.

 

[EesiOh]

top notch work as usual ;) I always wonder how you dont get 1000 likes on your stories 

[Carrack]

top notch work as usual ;) I always wonder how you dont get 1000 likes on your stories

Me too :) I must not have made the appropriate sacrifices.

[EesiOh]

hey by the way, you entering the current liber challenge? Creating a CSM Warband? 

[Carrack]

Part 4.1 Flames of Martyrdom

 

Lt Deague knew something was out there. He shivered as he slipped off his glove to add a bit of sweetener to his rapidly cooling recaf, then quickly replaced the glove as his fingers started to numb. He went over the bullet points on his data slate.

 

. Dead watchman found in Caram Storehouse, east of Cold Plaza

 

. Missing militia squad 6 sent to investigate surrounding warehouses in vicinity of Caram Storehouse (4 hours late now according to scheduled check in time)

 

. Militia squad 8, in position of eastern observation point on rooftop of Vasser Cold Foods, disciplined for sleeping on sentry duty, two rifleman executed

 

All of these incidents seemed to be pointing to trouble in the eastern district. Lt Deague walked around his chimera, he stayed outside of its heated interior as much as possible while he had men out in the cold, and he made sure they all saw him sharing in their misery. He observed his second squad manning the eastern barricade. They were alert, more so than men who had been on duty for as long as they had without enemy contact should be. There was no whispered banter. No smoking of carefully cupped lho sticks in the somewhat vain attempt of concealing the burning embers. Strictly business on the barricade, cold men with therir gloved hands on their weapons scanning their sectors of fire. Something was playing on their instincts, the other squads, while performing there duties admirably were not on the same level of alertness. Second squad had the look of hardened veterans, even though they were as untested as the rest of the platoon. Something was out there.

 

The problem Lt Deague had was lack of resources. He had heard the sporadic reports of contact on the ground level and above him on level 113, but knew he was not in the loop of any strategic level briefings. But knowing this he had to defend the two lifts on the north and south ends of The Cooler. He barely could do that with his own men. This left any action he could take in the hands of the militia, and he was far from impressed with their performance thus far. On top of that, he was forced to rely on the militia to cover most of the level, particularly the hab blocks. The hab blockers would all rather be working for their wholesalers and grocers and bringing home pay checks, all the while pretending their city wasn't being invaded. Lt Deague had to keep checkpoints up in the hab blocks just to keep his militia from sneaking off to work, and he had to use the very same militia to do it. Given what he had to work with he formed the best plan he could and pulled the militia squads 1, 2, and 5 off of rooftops observing the north south and west of Cold Plaza. Of course they took their time reporting in.

 

 

He sent them in mass down the eastern main street, yelling at them about their spacing as they bunched up like they were on parade or some crap. He then knocked on the turret of his chimera with the pommel of his chainsword and told the gunner to aim down the street and fire at any targets regardless of the militias presence. Lt Deague though, could not just stand back and order men from the rear, so he passed through the eastern barricade to the surprise of his second squad. His command squad cursed as they dismounted the chimera and hurried to catch up with their foolhardy Lt. The chimera's gunner voxed in to the Lt and before he could get a word in Lt Deague told him, "My previous order stands, just be careful with your aim." "Right, Lt, carful with my rapid firing multi laser, what ever you say Lt." Snidely commented his gunner.

 

Lt Deague had his command autocannon crew set their gun up in an alley way on the north side of the street. His grenadier positioned himself in the cover of a loading ramp abutting the warehouse west of the alley. The Lt and his vox man were in between the two positions, able to direct fires from both. They were at about the maximum range he could count on his chimera to support them from. He left militia squad 2 in the middle of the street and had squad 1 post up on the south side of the street. Squad 5 he sent into the north side warehouse just passed his alleyway. He could here them bumbling around shouting, cursing, but not making contact. They came out a few minutes later and their Sgt told the Lt it was empty. Lt Deague started to move on to the next stage of his plan when the Sgt stopped him and said, "You don't understand sir, the warehouse is empty. This is Karber Stores, and it should be stocked full with square meat blocks and subsistence cheese, but there ain't even crumbs here. It's been cleared out. The east service door has been opened too, I can tell by the pushed snow outside the door, and that door isn't ever used by nobody." With a sickening feeling in his stomach, Lt Deague told the sgt to push eastward to the next warehouse on the north side of the street and hold at the entrance. He then had squad 1 enter the south side warehouse.

 

After an embarrassing few minutes trying to breech the door, squad 1 entered the warehouse. That's when it all went to hell. Squad 2, positioned in the middle of the street in order to reinforce the other two squads clearing warehouses, and to be brutally honest, to draw fire, started performing the latter duty. An incandescent beam cut into the point man from the east end of the street, burning its searing light into the retinas of the Imperials, and burning the point man into a pile of ash, a plasma weapon. The plasma blast was accompanied by well placed bolt rounds making messy work of 3 other rifleman of squad 2. Only one bolt missed its mark and skipped down the street before detonating in a small explosion of ferrocrete shards. The shots seemed to originate from windows and an open roll up door in a warehouse at the end of the street. Squad 2 started to run back towards Cold Plaza, not in controlled rushes, or even in a semi-organized retreat keeping their heads down and utilizing cover, but a dead sprint, in spite of the Lt's loud commands to take cover and fight like men.

 

After failing to regain control of the fleeing squad 2, Lt Deague yelled out to squad 1 to take positions in the building they were in and return fire. His autocannon crew, showing the initiative of a command squad scooped up their gun and shifted to the grenadier's position to get a better firing position, the cannon gunner firing from the hip as they moved. The rocking gun was too much for the gunner though, and his shots went high. The grenadier lobbed a frag in front of the roll up door, a perfect shot with fragments blasting out and into the building. Even the Vox man was able to get a shot off at one of the windows while calling out distance and direction of contact to the chimera back in the plaza. In spite of their quick reactions, nobody knew what affect their shots were having. The attackers were standing back from their windows and the roll up door, and were concealed by the darkness of the interior of their warehouse. The Lt told his vox man to bring the chimera and his own second squad down the street to his position. Then the situation got worse.

 

They weren't altogether human. Some sprouted tentacles instead of arms. One had a second face superimposed over his first face, only the second face was slightly left of the first. Another had a long scaly neck, and another had extra eyes scattered across his skull. The rest looked human enough, but feral. Unkept beards, gruesome trophies of bloody flesh, and cruel weapons. Pistols and blades and truncheons wrapped in razor wire were swung by a mob of frothing lunatics and mutants as they rushed from an alley into militia squad 5. In spite of the Lt's negative opinion of the militia, these men were fighting back, giving as much as they were taking with bone crunching strikes from lasgun butts and punches and kicks, all the while the chimera was firing rapid las blasts over their heads. But the enemy had the numbers, and once their leader hacked into the neck of the squad's Sgt with a thick bladed navy cutlass, they broke and ran. With backs to their enemy they were cutdown in the middle of the street.

 

Lt Deague was down two squads of militia and squad 1, unseen, was still not firing from their building. But after the loss of squad 5, the enemy, some dozen mutants and cultist were in the open. He could see them clearly now, not just their horrible deviations from the sacred human form, but the amulets of eight pointed stars and tattoos of stylized eyes, the markings of the Arch-Enemy. More disconcerting was the leader with his weapons held to the sky laughing like a madman as his feet hovered above the ground several inches. Grabbing the handset of the vox the Lt yelled fire, then started shifting dials to the company command channel, franticly reporting contact with the enemy. At close range the autocannon crew took two cultist down, while the grenadier blasted apart another two. Then the chimera opened up, and heavy las beams cut into the mob cutting two more in half at the waist, and striking the leader in the chest. The enemy leader stared at the gaping hole in his chest for a moment as a multi colored serpent came sprouting out of the wound, sealing it with its wide body and coiling around the cultist champion like a living suit of armor. In spite of the dark powers being exhibited by the cultist leader, the survivors turned and ran in face of the righteous Imperial fire, dragging their still laughing champion with them back into the alley.

 

Lt Deague hunkered down behind the loading ramp peeking his head over to try to find targets in the warehouse where the ambush had started and wait for his armored support. He called out again to militia squad 1 and still no response. Then he heard a noise on the rooftop above him. It was a loud screeching laughter projected through a distorted amplifier. He looked up and saw his death. A huge beast in black armor trimmed with brass and covered in spikes and hooks. Strangely for the temperatures of The Cooler, a cloud of flies hovered around the beast. A bulky jet pack was mounted on its back and a crackling lightning claw in its left hand. The right hand held an ornate dragon headed flamer with a green burning pilot light. The flamer sprayed down on Lt Teague and his squad and burned away their lives in hellish green flame. Level 77, The Cooler, lost its commander, and best hope of saving the level from the invading Black Legion.

 

Or did it? As Lt Deague stumbled to the ground, engulfed in hellish flames, he saw a shimmering on the rooftop of the warehouse behind him. For a brief moment, what looked like an old smokestack left over from when this level housed manufactorums, shimmered into the form of a huge man in black and silver armor with a white bird painted on his shoulder. He blinked and the smokestack returned. Then the pain and the flames overwhelmed him.

[Carrack]

Part 5. Battle for the Ground

 

Tasser the Hawk rested his hand upon the coiled whip at his hip, and Ferrigo pushed the Slayer's left carriage wheel out of the pothole with a mighty shove. Tasser rarely had to crack the whip anymore, Ferrigo had felt it enough to know better. But with all the potholes on this Ground street, he would probably be using it before they got the rapier laser destroyer into position. Most of the potholes were recent, battle damage from the near constant fighting on the ground level of Calebra Hive over the last two days.

 

The Ground, the local name for the ground level, had been invaded by the mortal regiments of the Black Maw Warband. Prior to the invasion, The Ground was a nexus of sorts. It was the rail and trucking trade nexus between Calebra Hive, and the other

lesser hives of Candlebright. All of the high value merchandise was traded out of the various hangers that were up-hive via air lifters, but low value bulk goods took the risky land routes through the wasteland of the Candlebright landscape. The Ground was also a nexus of less legitimate trade as well. It was the lowest level of the hive that maintained some semblance of order above the largely lawless under-hive. This made it a natural trading zone for up-hivers seeking drugs and all manor of illicit goods and services from the under-hive. However, with the invasion of the Black Legion warband, all trade had come to a stop, both vertical and horizontal.

 

Tasser leaned against the Slayer's gun shield as Ferrigo went to work with wire cutters to open a hole in a chain-link fence at the entrance to an alley. The Slayer, Tasser the Hawk's laser destroyer, was a huge gun, it was designed to blow apart tanks with one shot, or damage even mighty Titans. The Slayer's gun shield was marked with a crudely painted Leman Russ, and two equally crudely painted Chimeras, evidence of its past kills. However, for all the lethality of the Slayer's gun, it was severely lacking in mobility. When possible, the wheeled carriage of the Slayer was hitched to a truck or armored vehicle to be moved, but in battle, the gun had to be ready to fire, and that meant it had to be pushed by Tasser's assistant gunner. Tasser's assistant gunner, Ferrigo, was from Hell's Holdfast, the base of operations for the Black Maw. Both Tasser the Hawk and Ferrigo had survived harsh training in how to defend, and more importantly, how to fire the Slayer back in Howler's Charn, the main port of Hell's Holdfast. However, only one man had ever fired Slayer in battle, and that was Tasser the Hawk, and no other man would while he still drew breath. There hadn't even been a squabble over who would be the primary gunner when Tasser and the Ferrigo were assigned to the Slayer. Tasser, a tribesman from Hell's Holdfast northern polar regions, was simply bigger, meaner, and more intimidating then the more civilized Ferrigo.

 

Once Slayer was pushed through the hole in the fence and wheeled down the ally, the gun crew discovered that the ally opened up to a small parking lot with 8 caterpillar tracked cargo haulers. Tasser told Ferrigo that he should remember this lot and if they had a chance, to steal one of the haulers later on. They continued to push the gun to the opposite side of the lot, then Ferrigo went to work with the cutters on another fence. They started to hear small arms fire from the vicinity of the firing position they were headed to. No doubt the work of the Ganger General.

 

The Ganger General was the name given to the Imperial commander they were fighting on the Ground. He got his name from rumors that his origins were from the gang infested underhives. It was unlikely for a PDF general to not come from a noble family, yet the Ganger General had been able to maneuver his forces through the underhives with impunity, something Tasser's own commanders had been assured was an impossibility. The Ganger General had also taken to deputizing some underhive gangs into the militia, and they had proved a nuisance to the invading forces of the Black Maw. The gangers knew the secret staircases and ladders to reach the ground from below, and had more than once caught invaders off guard with ambushes and surprise attacks.

 

Finally, the crew wheeled the gun into place. They were looking out the end of an alley onto a large open lot surrounded by floor to ceiling buildings, warehouses, union halls, bulk markets and a hab block. The Black Maw were currently occupying the south side of the lot, and the Imperials the north. Las blast and auto gun rounds were zipping across the lot punctuated by the occasional chatter of heavy stubbers or meatier sounds of heavy bolters. In the center of the lot was a large circular hole 50 meters across that led to -1 level. This hole was the focus of the battle for the Ground. There was a lift mechanism in the bottom of the hole, and it had the capacity to bring up tanks to the Ground. The Ganger General brought his armor from uphive down to -1 via a lift that wasn't accessible, and thus safe from attack on the Ground. He would then move his tanks to this bulk lift and bring them up to the fight. The lift had been destroyed three times in two days, only for the Ganger General to have it rebuilt. This time, any tanks the Imperials brought up the lift would meet the Slayer. Tasser sighted his gun on the center of where the lift would rise, and made note of where to traverse the Slayer to reach the left and right edges of the open lift. He then made Ferrigo get in front of the shield and spot for threats. He had to use the whip for that.

 

The Imperial fire was picking up, they must have been reinforced. Missile contrails were seen coming from the north side followed by explosions in the southern buildings. One of the Corpse God's missile teams were definite sharpshooters, every shot found a window and took out a Black Maw position. The Slayer was to far back in the alley for the sharpshooters to see, fortunately, but Tasser the Hawk was wondering if he should push the rapier forward and start returning fire. If the Imperial onslaught continued, the Black Maw might be pushed back from the south side of the lot, and then the Imperials could use the lift freely. Tasser's concerns were abated when outgoing fire started picking up as well. Stubbers and launched grenades started digging out the missile teams.

 

The lift started to rise. The firefight across the lot raised to a new level of intensity. A close missile strike caused dust and small chunks of ferrocrete to rain down on the gun crew, cutting open the brow of Ferrigo. He wobbled a moment, but maintained his footing as he started bleeding profusely and cursing the gods, but it was not a serious wound, it just bled badly like most head wounds. A larger chunk landed on Tasser's steel toed left boot and broke his little toe, and maybe the one next to it, but Tasser barely flinched, and certainly didn't show weakness by cursing.

 

In a moment the dust cleared. The lift had stopped rising a little short of the Ground to briefly reveal two Leman Russ Tanks, and a Hellhound light flame tank, before all three vehicles fired their smoke launchers, obscuring the lot in thick grey smoke. The lift stopping short had left all three tanks in a hull down defensive position, with just their turrets exposed to the street level. Krak grenades started raining down onto the lift, launched from the higher floors of the buildings. Tasser lowered the barrel of Slayer until he thought he would have a good shot on the middle Leman Russ as all three tanks fired into the south side. The main guns of the Leman Russ's were predictably deadly. The guns reported with thunderous booms as they sent shells through walls to explode out entire rooms. The Hellhound, however, was exceptionally lethal in this urban environment. A large gout of burning promethium gel sprayed a building west of the Slayer. The fire found its way through shot out windows and loop holes to burn the squads inside alive. Tasser could hear their screams with his battle deafened ears over the sounds of the firefight. He slapped the gun shield and Ferrigio dropped prone, before he yanked down on the trigger chain. Slayer fired. The beam from the rapier laser destroyer was itself, invisible, but it's raw power caused a heat shimmer that could clearly be seen to cut across the lot in an instant and strike the middle tank center mass of the turret. The tank, with a new round just laid in the loading breech exploded in a ball of fire. Maybe it was the exploding Leman Russ, or maybe the rain of krak grenades, it was difficult to tell with all the smoke, but the Hellhound went up in flames as well. The Hellhound may not have had the violent explosion of the larger battle tank, but it's flames would burn for several minutes as the fuel for its inferno cannon caught fire.

 

The remaining Leman Russ began to traverse its turret towards the Slayer. Tasser the Hawk responded in kind. It became a race to who would fire first with the most dire stakes on the line. Ferrigo, from his prone position in front of the Slayer, kicked back at the left wheel, helping the rapier swivel faster. It was almost enough. The Leman Russ's barrel rocked back in its stabilizers as a round exited and began speeding towards the gun team. Tasser pulled the trigger chain again. The Slayer had fired second but struck first, ripping the heavily armored turret off the tank and transferring so much heat as to melt the crew inside and set off the tank's magazine. But nothing could stop the incoming battle cannon shell. Nothing but the pile of rubble in front of the Slayer from the earlier missile strike. The shell went off short of its intended target, blowing Ferrigio to pieces and pinging fragments off the thick gun shield. The blast had destroyed both carriage wheels and may have damaged the barrel. The Slayer was wounded but not dead. The concussion of the blast blew Tasser the Hawk down the alley, the Hawk actually flew a half dozen meters with his beard and hair on fire from the heat of the explosion. He was still conscious though, and with no one to hear his weakness, cursed Slannesh that he had nothing in his canteens that wouldn't add fuel to the fire on his face and head. He had to settle for handfuls of filthy dust to put the flames out, sure to leave nasty scarring should he survive the coming infection.

 

The Imperials had been repelled in their latest attempt to drive out the Black Maw.

 

Part 5.1 Dear Mum

Dear Mum,

See all those extra shifts tending bar so I could learn to read and write didn't go to waste. I hope it's not costing you too much to have this read. Anyway, I know we haven't talked since you threw me out, but I finally have good news for you. By the way, I understand why you did what you did, I was far to wild and caught up in the ganger life and was breaking your heart. Please forgive me, and I hope you'll take me back when this is over.

 

On to the good news! I'm legit now. No pushing haze or obscura or any of that other crap. No more addicts knocking on my door at all hours. No more throwing people off the balcony, and no more wearing ganger colors. I'm no longer known as Shadow, I'm now called Private Pallodiz. That's right, I'm an inducted member of the -3 Militia. You should see me in my uniform, I even got a respectable hair cut like you always wanted. You see General Handerly offered amnesty to all Lights Out Gangers on -3, you know, the official name for Undertree. That means my disciplinary record is expinged, exponged, whatever they call it, erased completely like I never did those things. They say the General comes from the Cess Pit, but I haven't actually met him yet. I did meet his confessor. A confessor is like a preacher that only preaches to someone rich, like the general. But this confessor, Gande, is no snooty uphiver, he talks to the people. You know I was never big on the preachers and mandatory mass, but this guy speaks to huge crowds, but you feel like you and him are the only ones in the room. It's awesome. I know the militia is dangerous, but so were the gangs, and with the militia I am at least doing the right thing by my city, by the Emperor, and hopefully by you. It feels good to be doing right.

 

Your Loving Son,

 

Private Apa Pallodiz

The Emperor Protects

 

P.S. Please burn this letter when you are done, the commissariat doesn't want us talking about the militia.

 

Note to reader for hire: don't read this part out loud to my mom. If you spread this around the Undertree I will kill you. If you don't believe me ask around about Shadow.

 

-This letter was recovered from the body of an Imperial on the ground level in the vicinity of hab block 12. Please forward to Intelligence.

Edited August 24, 2015 by Carrack

[Carrack]

Part 6 Miscast Spear

 

This spear tip had missed its mark aiming for the lackeys of the Corpse God. The initial assault on level 113, known by the locals as Thirteen House, had struck the command center for the PDF on this level and reduced it to a pile of corpses and rubble. But unbeknownst to the Black Legionnaires assaulting the command center, the commander and his key staff had not been present.

 

Thirteen House was a hab level devoted to housing 11 noble houses. The 12th house was a mansion converted into a common area comprised of high-end retail galleries, exclusive social clubs, and a grand ballroom that could hold most of the noble dilettantes for an evening formal. The Thirteenth house was not spoken of by the locals. It was an ominous obsidian fortress that jutted out of the main hive spire in its own turret. Behind an iron portcullis was a pair of heavy dark wood doors that towered 20 meters from the floor. All manor of ornate carvings could be seen on the doors through the gate, for those brave enough to approach it, but the most prominent one was a stylized "I". It was whispered that no one who went in those doors ever came back out. On the night of the invasion by the Black Maw Warband, the PDF commander, General Mann, was seen entering those doors escorted by 6 figures in dark robes.

 

Outside the rubble of the PDF command post stood the horrifying figure known as The Master of Chains, the Warpsmith of the Black Maw. He stood head and shoulders taller than the assembled Astartes wearing black armor that was as much a part of him as the small bits of his remaining flesh. A writhing snakes nest of mechandrites coiled and uncoiled from his back and shoulders, each ending in a weapon or tool appendage. They were attending the damaged and deranged Helbrute Kharfus as he spoke to the Astartes with a three voices that sounded as if a man, machine, and daemon were speaking in unison.

 

"Each of the noble houses here has their own personal army, designed to secure their precious masters from attack. Our original plan of taking out the commander of this level would have allowed us to ignore the houses and move on to our next objectives. Yet with the commander still alive, he can coordinate the personal armies and force them to go on the offensive. This would harry our lines of supply and as we moved on to the next level, leave us cutoff. Yet we can still cut the head off the Imperial snake if we can take out the commander. Then we can proceed as planned."

 

Vinno looked over at his squad of Lord Carrack's Chosen warriors and knew that they did not like what they heard. The Inquisitorial Bastion, the current refuge of the commander according to several thoroughly tortured witnesses, was heavily defended and well aware of their presence, an assault on it would cost many their lives. The Master of Chains continued, this time in a strictly mechanical voice that was accompanied by the faint echoes of screams of pain,

 

"I have access to the encrypted vox networks used here by the followers of The False Emperor. I have jammed all communications between the commander and the noble houses. He has been forced to travel to the noble houses personally to coordinate their forces. His envoys have been turned away at their gates. My monitoring of their systems has informed me that he leaves the bastion this morning to travel to House 3. You will intercept him."

 

Chosen Champion Vinno consulted his map slate. There were three possible routes the commander could take to reach house 3. Vinno did not wish to lay in wait at either the Bastion, or House 3, where the commander could be supported by the defenders of those locations. Of the three potential routes, Vinno chose the route that was neither the most direct, nor the most circuitous, estimating that the commander would not choose the most obvious route for security, but also not want to expose himself for as long as the circuitous route would take. He informed The Master of Chains of his plan, who instantly assessed its tactical soundness and told Vinno that Kharfus would be in the area to support Vinno. Vinno, with no real choice in the matter, leerily accepted the assistance of the barely controlled Helbrut. Vinno and his squad mounted their rhino and started moving towards an ambush location. Leaving other squads to control the less likely routes.

 

The Chosen of Lord Carrack set up in an alleyway between a gated artificial park belonging to House 5, and a four story plainly constructed hab on the edge of House 4, servants quarters by the looks of it. Their rhino was parked back several meters into the alley with plastic and silk foliage from the park concealing the armored vehicle. They could hear the Helbrut Kharfus wandering the street behind them, occasionally firing off his multimelta into the rear of the noble houses, and bellowing, "I AM KHARFUS!" over and over, it was all he said anymore. Fortunately the household bodyguards hadn't been seen with any anti armor weaponry yet, and were content to let the Helbrut shoot into the evacuated buildings at the perimeters of their compound. It did provide a good distraction. Now all Vinno and his squad had to do was wait in the alley like some ganger assassins for their victim.

 

Part 6.1 Coordinated Defense

 

General Mann prepared to leave the safety of the Inquisitorial Bastion. He hadn't a choice in the matter, but liked to think he would be doing so anyway.

 

General Mann was not a warrior, he was a politician. He had purchased his commission and rank, not entirely uncommon in the PDF of Candlebright, but unlike most officers, had never attended any of the prestigious military academies, never hired a retired guard officer to tutor him in military matters, had never even cracked open a book on tactics. Instead he educated himself on the etiquette of the noble houses, how to hold the little fork for eating Ruvian clams, how to address the second cousin of the head of a noble house, how to comport oneself at a masquerade ball. In truth though, that is what the position of PDF commander of Thirteen House called for. The actual PDF was small, officer heavy, and more of a dumping grounds for young troublemakers of the noble houses, than an actual fighting force.

 

The real fighting forces on Thirteen House were the bodyguards of the noble houses, small private armies. Certainly much of the bodyguards were for show. They were plenty of retired sports celebrities, unable to stay on the streetball courts or gladiator pits due to knee injuries or doping scandals, but there were also a few mustered out war heroes from the guard shown off by the nobles as status symbols, same as their carriages and mistresses. These veteran guardsmen would hopefully form the core of Thirteen House's defenders, and would drive off the invading heretics. But as it stood now, none of the nobles were willing to pull a single bodyguard away from protecting their houses to launch any kind of coordinated counter attack. Not until all the other nobles agreed to first.

 

General Mann, however, had gone over the nobles heads. He had gone to 13 House, the Inquisitorial Bastion. The fact that six goons from Inquisitor Gorvanof had basicly abducted him and escorted the general there was beside the point. The plan to coordinate the household bodyguards into a unified force may have come from the Inquisitor, and enforced upon the nobles with his Seal, but General Mann would surely have come up with it on his own anyway. When communications between houses were jammed, General Mann would have personally volunteered to risk the journey to the noble houses had not the Inquisitor ordered him to do so on pain of torture.

 

The storm trooper escort were making last minute checks on each other's weapons and equipment, insuring the carapace armor and combat webbing were fastened correctly, checking the connections between hellguns and back mounted power packs, loading canisters into the two meltaguns, and other pre combat routines. Routines they were, General Mann got the distinct impression that these professionals could do this with their eyes closed if the wanted to. Feeling the need to do something while the storm troopers made ready, General Mann loosened the decorative saber at his belt, the gems in the hilt could retire a man comfortably if sold. He then checked his ornate bolt pistol, the gold inlayed upon the weapon most likely outweighed the rest of the weapon, but it sure was a sight to see, and the ladies positively adored it.

 

Then the Inquisitor's pet witch made her appearance. It was unsettling, to say the least. The old crone looked out of milky white eyes that no man wished to meet. General Mann found himself making a ward sign for the Emperor's protection that he hadn't made since he was a child. It seemed appropriate. She walked into the midst of the storm troopers thumping her staff, as she walked. Even the Storm Troopers were unsettled by her presence. They may not have shown it, but General Mann was sure it was so. General Mann and his escort left the sally port of the bastion for House 3.

 

 

From here I intend to go back and tell more of the three battlefronts. As always C&C welcome.

[EesiOh]

 As always C&C welcome.

 

As always, bloody good

[Carrack]

4.2 Victorus Aut Mortis

Garaduk idly swatted at the cloud of flies that had become his constant companions. It was no use, they had survived burning promethium, freezing temperatures, even the heartless vacuum of the void, they would survive his slaps as well. They weren't really flies anyway, they were an expression of the attentions of his patron, The Lord of Flies, and like the attentions of his patron, weren't so easily dismissed. Garaduk stood on Level 81, The Requiem. In ages past, Level 81 had been a more prosperous uphive level. It had housed the High Cathedral for the world of Candlebright. But as the hive had expanded upwards into the sky, the High Cathedral had been relocated to a higher level to be accessible to the nobles and dignitaries without them having to rub noses with the common mid level dwellers. Now all that remained of Level 81's more illustrious past was the bones of relatives once entombed in the High Cathedral, but now too forgotten, or too unimportant to be reinterred uphive.

 

Garaduk's forces had just started their upward climb to link with the forces of The Master of Chains. They still had 32 levels to go, and although mostly comprised of the most feared enemies of the Imperium, Chaos Space Marines, they did not have the manpower to protect a protracted supply line. Thus the atrocities. From their initial breach point on level 77, Garaduk's strike force had climbed to Level 78, and released poison gas. It was a choking agent, a heavy, faintly green cloud that blanketed the level in death. Victims were drowned in fluid-filled lungs and left to rot. On level 79, in case the defenders had taken the precaution of rebreather masks, it had been a nerve agent. Invisible, the gas crept through the hive killing the inhabitants as it contacted with their skin. Level 80, The Billiard Room, as known by its inhabitants, had been a slower demise. The strike force had breached into a manufactorum and quickly slain the workers without raising an alarm. Then Garaduk had infiltrated his mostly human looking cultist into the level to poison the fountains that fed the thirst of the populace. Nothing was left that could strike back at the Black Maw Warband on all the levels Garaduk had visited thus far. But Garaduk path was becoming predictable, he needed something to draw the attention of the defenders away from his strike force's ascent.

 

The Black Maw had devoured their way to the center of The Requiem with ease. The PDF of this level of the hive was comprised of mortar platoons, tasked with supporting line soldiers in maneuvers in the open wasteland of Candlebright, but ill suited for battle in the low ceilings of the Calebra Hive. The center of the level was the foundation of the former High Cathedral, the building itself relocated uphive stone by stone long ago. In the centuries past since the heart of the level had been transplanted, no new construction had been allowed to cover the once hallowed ground. All that was left was a labyrinth of mausoleums that were once sealed beneath the sanctuary floor. Judging by the detritus scattered on the ground and the scents still lingering in the air, Garaduk surmised that the bones of this cathedral now served as a place where women working in the oldest of professions would meet clients. There was a symbol here about the fate of the empire Garaduk had once helped build, but he was not the philosophical sort to figure it out. He had his perimeter set with the small squads of thinbloods under his command, and his two squads of plague marines were patrolling the area. It was just him and his retinue of Vulture Raptors, the dozen or so of his surviving cultists, a handful of specialist-thralls, and the deranged Helbrut, Vingal The Engine of Frustration in amongst the tombs. Garaduk looked at his specialist-thralls and the cultists and commanded, "Crack them open." They went to work with stolen tools opening up the graves.

 

The dedicated corpses, some crumbling to dust, were laid out to form three circles by the specialist and cultists. Garaduk stared hard at the Cultist's Magos. He would bear watching. During this campaign, Garaduk believed he was named Cancon, had attracted the attention of the gods. He had even been gifted by them more than once. Garaduk had seen it before countless times with mortals in the Eye of Terror. A mortal champion would quickly rise in favor with the gods, only to not be strong enough of will or fortitude to withstand their blessings. Cancon was most likely destined to the fate of becoming a gibbering spawn, but could possibly ascend. It was similar to the path of many Astartes, they just had the discipline and tenacity to hold on to themselves for longer than their mortal servants. Some of specialist-thralls began the chanting. They were mutants concealed behind black robes trimmed with green and corroded bronze masks. They served as a priest class for the mortals of the Black Maw, priests of Nurgle. They would assist in the ritual, but Garaduk would preside over it.

 

Garaduk began the calling. The words were called in the dark tongue of the Daemon. They were words of power. The cultist fell to the floor, weeping, and these were hard men and women not unfamiliar with such rituals. The specialist-thrall laborers likewise hit the deck puking and scratching at their ears. The Calling continued. Some of the chanters were starting to succumb to the power of the ritual, as it started to syphon the sacrifices of the recent atrocities to power the ritual's master. One chanter passed out, bleeding from his ears and mouth. The other chanters struggled to pick up his slack, but remained voicing the Mantras of Despair. A sorcerer could have done all of this without the theatrics, but Garaduk had not been assigned one, no doubt because of the rift of trust that had opened when he had snuck off to make a pilgrimage to the Garden of Nurgle without permission from Lord Carrack. Garaduk commanded the loyalties of too many in the Black Maw for The Slayer of Multitudes to arbitrarily deal with Garaduk, but he was certainly not pleased with him.

 

The words of power and the chanting reached its crescendo with the culmination of the ritual. For a moment there was silence, then a series of sickening pops sounded across the bones of the cathedral. They sounded like puss filled buboes being lanced, only louder. With each pop, a daemon was wrenched from the warp to use the bodies of the one-time Imperial worthies to draw forth their unnatural forms. Skinny, disgusting mockeries of man sprouting worms from their bodies and single horns from their skulls. The daemons wrenched off lengths of wrought iron that were decorating the nearby tombs, these lengths of iron quickly warped and corroded into the vague semblance of swords. They were Plague Bearer Daemons, and they were but the first wave. A few minutes after the first wave of ten Plague Bearers, another 10 followed along with a more powerful daemon who formed his body not from the bones of the Corpse God worshippers, but from the chanter who had been overcome with the power of the ritual. This daemon looked like the others, save he was taller, his sword more ornate, and had an aura of power far greater than the other Plague Bearers. Then the Grinder of Souls vomited into existence. The beast was some sort of crab centaur with a crabs legs and barnacle encrusted shell, with a daemon form thrust from the top bearing a vicious claw. Lastly, with the remnants of the bodies in the circle, a series of small wet pops announced the arrival of three gangs of Garaduk's least favorate neverborn, runty but bloated, jovial Nurglings. Now came the difficult part of the ritual, the call that Garaduk was unclear if it would be answered. The Calling of the Daemonic entity known as the Filth Monger, the calling of a Great Unclean One.

 

Before Garaduk could conduct the grand finale of the ritual, several zings sounded next to his ears. One of the zings, caused by a large caliber projectile zipping out from a silenced sniper rifle, pierced his helm's right eye lens and blinded the eye before lodging in his orbital bone. The eye that once sighted down the barrel of a boltgun in the Emperor's palace on Terra, would never see again. Garaduk unceremoniously dropped to his seat, losing his concentration, and his hold on the calling of Filth Monger. The thinbloods at the south of the perimeter began firing bolt rounds wildly, defensively, when he heard the cry, "Victorus Aut Mortis!" Over the roar of Astartes jump packs. The war cry of the XIX Legion, the diluted remnants of the Raven Guard.

 

Garaduk struggled to his feet, fluid still leaking from his shattered eye lens, as his retinue, Vingal, and the newly summoned Daemons charged to the southern perimeter. They were too late. The thinblooded Black Legionaries guarding the south of the position were ripped apart by chainswords and lightning claws. The Raven Guard assault squad had just as quickly, retreated, once again using their jump packs. Garaduk's forces, particularly his Vulture retinue started to pursue before Garaduk called them back. "It's a trap, such is the way of the XIX. Withdraw to the breach point, leave the neverborn to wage war on this level." The presence of the Raven Guard in Calebra Hive was an unwelcome mystery for Garaduk.

Edited August 31, 2015 by Carrack

[deathspectersgt7]

 

top notch work as usual I always wonder how you dont get 1000 likes on your stories

Me too I must not have made the appropriate sacrifices.

 

I run out of likes way early really dig the stories.

[Carrack]

 

 

 

top notch work as usual I always wonder how you dont get 1000 likes on your stories

Me too I must not have made the appropriate sacrifices.

I run out of likes way early really dig the stories.

Thanks. I'm finding it hard right now to get on with plot progression without telling every little step of the way. The multiple perspectives is helping though.

[paulJam]

hey carrack,

enjoying the story so far, keep it up.

 

Hidden Content

At the risk of sounding pernickety... "Rusted and ill kept swords materialized in their hands."

the demons seem to be being created from the corpses, implying (could be wrong) that they're reconfiguring real-world material: but then they summon up whole weapons.

alternatives; have the summoners drop a bag of swords for them that corrodes to their touch (perhaps make it part of the ceremony), or the demons subsequently break off poles from metal fencing that warps into sword-like weapons.

[Carrack]

hey carrack,

enjoying the story so far, keep it up.

 

Hidden Content

At the risk of sounding pernickety... "Rusted and ill kept swords materialized in their hands."

the demons seem to be being created from the corpses, implying (could be wrong) that they're reconfiguring real-world material: but then they summon up whole weapons.

alternatives; have the summoners drop a bag of swords for them that corrodes to their touch (perhaps make it part of the ceremony), or the demons subsequently break off poles from metal fencing that warps into sword-like weapons.

In my mind's eye, the Plague Bearers, once firmly established in reality, called out to the warp for their weapons. However, your input makes so much more sense. I edited it to include this.

 

The daemons wrenched off lengths of wrought iron that were decorating the nearby tombs, these lengths of iron quickly warped and corroded into the vague semblance of swords.

 

I think that is more in keeping with Garaduk using the once concentrated to bring forth the unholy. Thanks.

[Carrack]

Part 7 general life

 

The Hungry Penny

Pennymar eyed the rat that brazenly walked down the middle of 13th Street. They had grown bold as of late. She wondered if they would be so bold when real hunger set in. She shook the thought aside and lied to herself that no one would get hungry enough to add rat to the menu. But the menu was getting meaner by the day, and the prices getting hire. She briefly flashed her papers to the militiamen who had thrown up a barricade of old tires across her path. They absently waved her through. She avoided making eye contact as she passed, it was easier if she couldn't put a face to the neighbors she was betraying. She did count the magazines they had shoved into belts and makeshift webbing, three each, including the ones loaded in their autoguns.

 

After passing the checkpoint, Pennymar continued down 13th Street till she came to a disorderly line in front of the RRP, ration restock point. She mingled in with the crowd at the tail of the line. The RRPs were a new institution, along with the periodic checkpoints, that had sprung into existence this morning. They were a result of the brief spat of looting that had occurred the night before around the grocery market of her district. People were concerned when the market had closed its doors early. They all feared shortages and gouging prices, but none were willing to take action, until a rock was thrown threw the glass doors. Then it was a mad dash to the sparsely filled aisles, followed by shouting matches and brawls. Pennymar had watched the anarchy from the street after throwing the rock.

 

As she waited in the ration line she heard muttered complaints and rumors of the war. "I heard we will be going to every other day rationing by the end of the week." Said one, still plump, matron. Another man said he heard the same thing. Pennymar quietly interjected, "I heard that Colonel Jaxon dined on succulent imported pink goose with fig sauce and pure white tubers last night." The crowds hunger was stirred by the description of the extravagant meal, as planned. She had their attention. Offhandedly, she commented, "They say he didn't finish it, and gave the scraps to his lapdog." This last comment was beautifully orchestrated, not only would the crowd resent the Colonel for having plenty in their time of scarcity, but sadly, many in the crowd knew that hard decisions were in the future for beloved family pets, and the Colonel would not have to make those same decisions. There were mutterings of discontent.

 

The line slowly moved forward. A young munitions worker, still smelling of fyceline, muttered, "All this waiting for a can of thin soup and a tube of ration paste. What am I some underhiver scum?" Pennymar quickly interjected a frequent voiced theory on the key ingredient in ration paste, "Ration paste is people." Most in the line had been trying hard not to think of the commonly held belief, ration paste was not a staple of the diet in the mid-hive, and was looked upon with derision. The finickiness of the well fed. Unfortunately for Pennymar, her latest efforts to stoke the fires of discontent had left the crowd in silent contemplation.

 

Pennymar broke the silence by whispering, "I hear that the enemy's captives are well fed, worked hard, but well fed. They did take The Cooler after all." People in line turned and stared at Pennymar, most judging her for a heretic with their glaring eyes. Most, but not all.

 

Finally, Pennymar reached the RRP. As it was in the morning, it was a table clerked by her former primary scholam master, that pompous ass, and worked by two burly garbage collectors, all were unarmed. Both scholam and garbage collection had ceased since the invasion. She placed her papers on the table under the nose of the scholam master. He read the ident page carefully and looked up. Trying not to cause a scene, and being uncharacteristically compassionate, he quietly told her, "Ms Pennymar, your ID number ends in an even number, I can't serve you until the morning call, I'm sorry." Pennymar flipped the table. She shouted, "What do you mean your not passing out any more rations today! I see stacks of boxes! If you don't give us our food, we will just have to take it!" The surly crowd rushed in, the scholam master and the garbage collectors didn't want to fight for their thankless assignment. The hungry crowd did. Pennymar slipped away from the scene quickly and took back streets to her hab.

 

Pennymar sighed in relief when she shut the door behind her. Safe at last. She went to her couch / bed and rapidly scribbled notes on what she had seen and done today. She then went to the dopers well, the ripped off toilet fixture that exposed a pipe that led several levels down to some unfortunate alley, connected by a small pail on a long spool of twine. Before the invasion, her husband had used the conduit to the lower levels to procure obscura from his connection. Now that lower level was occupied territory. She shoved the note in the pail and began lowering it down the pipe. A small wheel of fine cheese, a sausage or two, perhaps another bottle of amasec or a ball of black obscura would fill the pail on its return trip. While she carefully lowered the pail, she morbidly glanced at her dead husband's body. Murdered in the bathtub. She would have to dispose the body soon before he started to stink. She didn't have the strength to drag his fat, stiff corpse out the back though. She eyed the pipe and the butcher knife in the kitchen and formed a plan, just which part to send down first?

 

Author notes

I think Calebra Hive has become far to bright and cheery a place for the 41st Millennium. I mean the place was starting to feal like cute bunny rabbits would start frolicking beneat a rainbow at any minute :) So I figured a good dose of grimness and darkness was in order.

 

Originally this story was going to tell the tale of a struggling women dealing with the famine that would surely set in during a hive war. But when I got to the checkpoint, Pennymar became an enemy spy, then when I got to the ration point, she became a rabble rouser. When she got home she became a murderer and a collaborator. I hope you enjoy.

[EesiOh]

of course we enjoy, are you mad?