Ironforged

[Wargamer]

Part One

On occasion, and only ever in the privacy of his own head, Dyus wished he had a different Chapter to lead. His brother Supernovas were peerless warriors, but commanding them was like herding Orks; you had to convince them that doing as they were told would bring a more satisfying battle than what they'd find alone. In this way, Dyus felt some camaraderie with his foe.

 

He'd needed intel, and that had been the first hurdle. The Guard were unable to slip through the Ork lines, and with the greenskin fleet being uncharacteristically tactical in their deployments the entire northern continent was a no-fly zone for the Navy. Only Astartes could hope to punch fast and far enough into the enemy territory to find key targets. Unfortunately, his Chapter were not ideal scouts. The Fourth were almost reliable, but Dyus knew that Captain Xeran would invariably decide to engage head on sooner or later, likely as soon as he found anything resembling a high value target. He dismissed the idea of sending the Eighth immediately; their new Captain was too eager to prove himself and would be after glory above all else. That left the Fifth, which was under strength and mostly inexperienced, thus equally likely to engage due to error as lust for battle.

Dyus felt a tension headache coming on. He wondered if this is why Cylaros had surrendered the position to him without argument. He wondered if this was why Ximo suddenly got the urge to adventure across the Imperium to his inglorious death. To be surrounded by warriors who either could not, or would not see the bigger picture was infuriating.

 

Fortunately, not every Battle Brother was out to boil his blood. Toxr emerged from the wet night into the command bunker, his camo-cloak caked soaked through and caked in mud. He brought his hand up to a muddy brow in salute, "Stalker Team Toxr reporting, Master."

Data-slates were offered and accepted without further comment. Dyus liked Toxr. He had an attitude the Chapter Master sought in his men; patient, careful and humble. There was no hunger for glory in his eyes anymore, merely a quiet pride in doing whatever the Chapter asked of him. Long ago, he'd been considered and rejected for the Ironforged, deemed too impulsive by the venerable Brok. That impulsiveness remained now, expressed as a skill for infiltration that bordered on the supernatural.

 

It took only a few moments for Dyus to find the one area Toxr hadn't slipped into. "Estimated strengths?" he asked without looking up.

"Few thousand defenders, a dozen heavy wall guns, indeterminate lighter pieces... and one partially constructed Gargant."

"You're certain of that?"

Toxr nodded. "I know enough about Orks to know where and when they're building a Gargant."

"This should keep our Brothers entertained. You've done well, Toxr. Now perhaps you can assist elsewhere. I will arrange for the Guard to draw the Ork's attention away from this Gargant facility. A few well-timed acts of sabotage would help things along."

Toxr made the sign of the Aquila and left without another word. In truth, Dyus would have liked Squad Toxr to join in the assault, but the squad had done well in their mission; it seemed only fair to reward them.

 

With Toxr gone, Dyus summoned his Captains. Xeran entered with his first-sergeant and company champion, all wearing his black and red heraldry. Cyda brought with her sergeant Oxor, and the Primaris Tiberius. Nyel of the Eighth came alone.

"Brothers, we have an objective. A Gargant is being constructed on the Yur-Haseem peninsula, some two hundred miles behind enemy lines. Orbital strike is not an option due to the enemy fleet, and attacking from the air runs too great a risk of interception. We need to go in under the auger, and that means an indirect route. Toxr and his men have found us a gap in the Ork lines, but we must move quickly to exploit it. I want all three Companies motorised and moving in fifteen."
"What about the First?" Xeran asked.
"They are why the Emperor invented teleport homers," Dyus replied, earning a few chuckles from the assembled officers. He handed a data-slate to his Fifth Captain and said, "Cyda, you are the vanguard. Xeran will follow, Nyel will take the rear. Follow the route precisely, and under no circumstances deviate for any reason. I don't care if the Orks bombard us from orbit; on this, my will is absolute. Clear?"

"Clear," all answered in unison. All bar Tiberius, who remained silent and somewhat puzzled.

"Then ready your forces, and ready them swiftly."

 

 

All but one squad of Cyda's company were mounting up on bikes, ready to ride for glory. The sole exception were assembled in parade ground fashion, two ranks of five. Cyda rode up to them slowly, admiring their newly painted armour. Tiberius had ordered them to swap the Chapter symbol to the opposite shoulder and discard the Codex-issue squad marking. They had also adopted her company's green livery, although they wore it in a perfectly uniform fashion. Their helms were now black rather than rich blue, though Tiberius himself hadn't quite been able to let go of his sergeant markings and kept a bold red stripe across the helm. Still, it was more than she'd expected.
"Squad Tiberius ready for deployment, Captain," Tiberius said as she pulled up in front of him.
"No you aren't," she answered. "If you were ready, you'd be in the transport already."

It had meant to be a playful jab, but she could sense Tiberius had not taken it that way. "Squad! Mount up!"

Cyda sighed, "Tiberius, a moment."

She dismounted and stood before the larger Marine. He was so utterly alien to her and the rest of the Chapter; the Primaris dwarfed them all, and their wargear was alien to them. But more than that, their minds were alien. They wore the colours, they wore the triskellion, they ate and trained with them, and soon they'd fight with them. Yet many, Cyda included, doubted whether they'd ever truly be Supernovas.
She removed her helm and looked up at him. Tiberius likewise bared his head. He looked so very young to her, like an un-blooded Novitae about to enter his first battle. Still, if his story was to be believed, he'd been made a sergeant with the blessing of a Primarch. Who was she to argue with that?
"Until the breaking of the world," she said.

"Until the dying of the stars," Tiberius answered, having learned the battle-cant during transit to the warzone.

"To our last breath."

"To our dying day."

"By sword and shot."

"By blood and steel."

"We are His wrath!"

"We are their death."

"We are the Novr Aestra!"

"We are the Novr Aestra." Tiberius echoed, albeit without the fire of his Captain.

Cyda beat her chest plate in salute, and Tiberius mirrored the gesture. "Now prove yourselves worthy of those words," she said. After a pause she smiled and added, "oh, and if your squad kills more Orks than mine, there'll be hell to pay."

Tiberius nodded solemnly. Cyda sighed inwardly, "that's what we call a joke, Tiberius. Look it up when you get the chance."

"Aye Captain," he answered, straight faced. "Permission to join my squad."

"You have it," Cyda confirmed. Then he mounted her bike and rode to join her squad at the head of the forming column. "Emperor give that boy a sense of humour!"

[Machine God]

Females!

[Wargamer]

Part Two:

The Chapter column pushed north without incident, passing through into Ork territory before dawn and spending most of the day following a snaking path through the occupied lands. Whenever the auspex of the vanguard caught sight of an enemy patrol or convoy the Astartes would halt and seek cover. The Eighth took this reasonably well, especially as a large portion of their Company strength were made up of Ironforged, but the other Companies were unhappy and grumbled their displeasure at every opportunity. The entire Chapter force was a taught chain: sergeants holding back their squads; captains holding back their sergeants; Dyus holding back the captains. Hour by hour, mile by mile, that tension was growing. When he finally let go, the Chapter would smash forth like water through a burst dam. It would be glorious to see.

 

At long last, the strike force came upon a small township a few miles south of their objective. The place had nothing of value; it existed because it was equidistant between two other, more important settlements. It had a bar, a general store, an inn and a smattering of other basic structures, almost all of which were built along the main road. The Orks had come through and stripped it of everything worth taking. The Astartes pulled their Rhinos, Predators and artillery tanks into a large, awning covered lot that had once housed Goliaths, Land Crawlers and other civilian vehicles. The bikes they stowed wherever was convenient, and they took to the buildings to wait for nightfall.

 

The scene would likely have seemed eerie to a passing visitor. Once they found their stations the Astartes became motionless and, to the outsider, were apparently silent. They talked privately over vox, bemoaning the waiting, but they did nothing that might give away their position to prying Orks. Night brought the Chapter relief. They returned to their vehicles and rode into a blood red sunset, and journey's end brought them at last to the Ork stronghold.

Dyus and his fellow Ironforged surveyed the fortress from a safe distance, noting and recording weapon positions, watchtowers, bastions in the wall and other key features. It was, to his disappointment, a well-built fortress. The walls would take considerable damage before they fell, and the longer they spent outside the greater the losses would be. Inside, in close quarters where artillery could not be used and numbers could not be brought to bear, his Astartes had a clear advantage. The question was how to get there.

 

Xeran, his patience spent, crawled up beside his Chapter Master and nodded to the main entrance. "Why not smash the front gate down? A couple of demolition charges would make short work of it."

"And how many would we lose planting those charges?" Dyus asked.

"We are not afraid to die. If it is our time, it is our time."

Dyus waved away the statement. "You of all people should know the Orks are not stupid. They will..." the Chapter Master trailed off. He recalled Toxr's reports, and mention of a side entrance. A smaller, weaker gate on the opposite side. "You are right, Xeran. We should attack the gate. But first we need a feint."

He conveyed his plan to the Chapter. It was simple and direct, a plan that gave them the swift release they sought. Normally, Dyus would have been more patient, but he knew the moment battle was joined he and his men would be racing against the clock to destroy the base before reinforcements arrived.

 

The opening barrage came just before midnight. Predator tanks, hull down and firing from extreme range began to tear the barbican apart with volleys of auto-cannon shells. Moments later, Whirlwind missiles plunged down from above, striking towers and blowing open the shanty-like buildings just behind the curtain wall. At once, klaxons began to wail and the Orks scrambled to respond in kind. Rusted howitzers of irregular shape and calibre were aimed and fired, yet before the shells could fall the Astartes tanks had withdrawn. The Orks blasted empty ground for several minutes to no avail, only to be hit again as the tanks rolled forward once more to repeat the harassment.

 

As the fourth volley fell a Vindicator shell smashed into the rear gates. The Orks had dropped a crude portcullis that kept the entrance barred, but the sheer concussive force splintered the inner door bars in a shower of wood and metal. A second shell hit seconds later and blew one door clean off its hinges, hurling the multi-ton barrier down the street and crushing several Orks who had gathered there.

 

Rhinos raced forward, but the Orks had clearly been expecting them. They launched their Stormboys over the wall, only to be met with salvos of heavy fire from dug-in Marines waiting for that very reaction. Another volley of Vindicator shells brought the entire gatehouse down, blocking the opening with rubble. One last volley hurled that rubble skyward in all directions. The Astartes poured into the breach, but were driven back almost immediately by the sheer weight of fire hurled through the gap. Mega-armoured Nobs stomped forward, crushing the remnants of their gate into he dirt and strafing the fields beyond with big-shootas. In their wake came hundreds of Boys, all streaming into the field to clash with the retreating Astartes. High explosive shells fell amongst them, but the Orks were so numerous that the holes were filled mere seconds after the blast, the new waves trampling the dead and wounded in their eagerness to join the fight.

 

"Nyel to Master Dyus! I think the Orks have taken the bait!"

 

Two heartbeats separated Nyel's call and the bow-wave of heat that flooded the main street beyond the primary gate. What few Orks had been left there were flash-boiled by the thermal shockwave, or else crippled by the rain of liquid metal that followed. As the smoke cleared it revealed the main gate was all but gone, burned through with melta-charges to create a hole eight feet high and thirty across. The Ork Nob left to guard the gate survived both the heat and the metal rain. He rose from the ground, blistered and scarred, to see the warriors in blue and black surging through the breach. He let out a pained cry of alarm, summoning Orks from the walls and surrounding buildings. The Ironforged leading the charge swept the breach with flamers and burned every last Ork alive.

Whirlwind fire, carefully ranged, began to plunge into the Ork settlement once more. The Ironforged were through and fanning left into the buildings. Dyus followed with Cyda and Xeran close at hand.

"Orders, Master?" Xeran growled, like a mastiff with the scent of blood.

Dyus a hand above his head, fingers splayed, and clenched his fist. That was the moment the dam broke.

 

The Supernovas tore through the Ork settlement. Greenskins came to meet them and were repulsed, causing the Marines to counter-charge into the buildings themselves. As each structure was cleared, the Marines would smash down doors or blast holes in the walls to push into the alleys and buildings behind. On open ground they would form into firing lines without a word being spoken and hurl volley after volley of bolter fire into the Orks. In buildings they would draw their swords and pistols, invoking the war-prayer of their homeworld and gleefully spilling blood in the Emperor's name. Yet there was a sort of order to the apparent chaos; no squad ever pushed too far, sensing when to halt to avoid being over-stretched. As the vanguard became bogged down and were passed by the next rank they would turn outward, denying ground and allowing the Marines behind to continue the push toward the centre of the fort, and the Gargant that waited there. The rearmost squads, with mechanical efficiency, would sheath their blood-drenched blades and begin and orderly withdrawal, firing as they went and trusting that their Brothers would cover them as they rejoined the main column. That trust was not once broken.

 

Dyus marched into a cobbled town square ringed by workshops, foundries and other places where Ork "craftsmanship" was practiced. He climbed into the flat-bed of an Ork truck whose crew had been liquefied by a thermal weapon and swung his heavy bolter toward the largest group of Orks. Traditionally, a Chapter Master favoured melee weapons, but Dyus was hardly a traditional Chapter Master. As much as he appreciated the need for hand to hand combat at times, he always felt war was best conducted from afar. He blink-clicked a rune on his HUD and the sight in his right eye shifted perspective to the optic sight just above the weapon's barrel. A second blink increased magnification, and he began to fire. The massive rounds struck the Ork gunline and blew each of them apart in turn, tearing off limbs and bursting torsos. He hardly had to aim at all, so numerous were the Orks rushing to save their manufacturing complex.

 

On the other side of the square, Cyda was knocked to the ground as a high explosive shell struck one of her Marines and vapourised him. She rose and sighted the tank that killed him, barking its exact coordinates into the vox. The Predator tanks behind, having finally toppled the gates and gained access to the city, began lobbing shells through the buildings toward their unseen target. The heavy fire brought a shack down on top of the Ork battlewagon and forced it to retreat, which inadvertently brought it into the line of fire of Xeran's squad. A krak missile found a gap in the hull armour and cooked off the magazine, destroying the tank and spraying out a wave of shrapnel that killed three dozen Orks advancing behind it.

 

As Cyda rose to her feet, a feral cry filled her ears. The iron gates to one of the worksheds burst open and the resident Mek, accompanied by a huge mob of large, well-armoured Orks charged toward her. Before she could ready her pistol to fire a volley of bolt shells struck the Ork line, and she was hauled to her feet by Tiberius.

"I owe you it seems," she said with a grin.

Tiberius did not acknowledge her; his attention was now entirely on the Orks. The Primaris Marines advanced as one, slamming round after round into the new foe. Yet the Orks charged on and were upon them in scant seconds. As one they drew their blades, long Tasalian swords gifted to them before the campaign began. Cyda couldn't help but smile at how strange the Chapter's cry of Taekar sounded in Tiberius' accent. She echoed the cry, as did her squad, and the Fifth counter-charged to aid their new brothers in arms.

 

From his vantage point, Dyus could see his men were losing momentum. The feint had won them much ground, but now the Orks had realised the deception they were returning to the fray. Reports from Nyel suggested the Eighth had taken minor casualties but had been forced to fall back well clear of the wall. Worse still, motorised mobs of Orks were engaging them in a running battle, preventing them from returning to the fray proper. This was denying Dyus a quarter of his force, and all of his siege cannons. He'd been relying on Vindicators for the urban clash.

 

A demi-squad of Ironforged joined him on the improvised firing platform. Two of them kicked out the bipods on their long-barreled bolters and swapped their magazines for their back-mounted belt feeds. The other two Marines, armed with flamers, compared fuel reserves and seemed unhappy with the findings. The sergeant stood patiently behind the truck, looking up at his Chapter Master.

"Take my post," Dyus said to him. The Marine nodded and stepped up as the belt-fed bolters opened up a withering hail of fire. Dyus reloaded his weapon and cycled his uplink through the captains and sergeants to get a better feel for the clash. The Marines were falling back into buildings or behind shot-riddled vehicles, abandoning the open ground. Surging waves of Orks came at them, breaking like waves as they tried to cross the courtyard and reach melee combat. Each time the Orks were slain or driven back, but there were always more Orks. Each surge reached a little further, each wave a little stronger. With Tiberius and his men leading the charge, the north side of the square had been taken. Dyus and his Ironforged had established a punishing corridor of fire down the south face, with elements of the Eighth ensuring that any Ork trying to use the alleys and buildings were trapped and butchered. That left the centre held, barely, by Xeran and his men. The Fourth were largely devoid of good cover and lacked the heavy weapons they needed to deny such a wide space. Worse still, Dyus suspected that simple mathematics were now actively working in the enemy's favour; there were more Orks left than bolt rounds.

 

There was a brief lull in the fighting, like the pressure change just before a storm breaking. The Astartes sensed it and quickly reloaded guns and readied grenades. Dyus spat a sharp order to Nyel, emphasising the urgency of his situation. The Ironforged squad behind him swapped their main feeds for magazines of Kraken rounds. In the centre of the courtyard, Xeran removed a linen-wrapped device from his back pouch and carefully removed the protective cover. It was a human skull, full of strange machinery where a brain should have been and a pair of long antennae protruding from a brass-edged cavity just above the left eye socket. He depressed one of the gilded teeth and set it down by his feet, where it chirruped and purred away it itself.

 

Across the courtyard, the sound of the Orks changed. They went from a baying, brawling mob to a single beast with a thousand mouths all open as one, all drawing breath as one.

 

The Ork Waaagh! sounded. The last battle had begun.

[Beta galactosidase]

Great, it's something toothy, it's something to chew on. These are good things, by the way.

[Wargamer]

Part Three:

 

There was a secret about Orks that many men took to their graves; they only appeared to be stupid.

 

Between Dyus, the Ironforged and the Eighth, the south side of the square had the most raw firepower. Against this seemingly insurmountable obstacle the Orks threw Dreadnoughts, Kans and troops armed with ad-hoc shields to soak up the small arms fire while heavy gunners behind opened up on the Astartes positions. The torrent of hard rounds, rockets, grenades and energy bolts left half of Dyus' contingent dead or wounded in the opening minutes of the battle and effectively pinned down almost the entire Eighth Company. The important exception were the Ironforged, who refused to be pinned.

 

Chain-bolters loaded with Kraken rounds punched through the shield-bearers and crippled the lighter walkers with ease. Meltagunners and flamer troops charged into the open to close on the larger machines and ignite them, leaving burning husks that blocked the Orks' line of sight with their wreckage and the choking black smoke. At great cost, the Ironforged halted the mechanised assault, allowing the Eighth to rejoin the fight proper. Although hopelessly outgunned, the advanced auto-senses of the Astartes were not so easily blinded as the naked eye, and the Orks soon began to die to incoming fire they simply could not retaliate against.

 

The north flank faced relatively light assaults in the opening moments; a token effort by burnas to drive the Astartes back. Sergeant Sigir and his men were given the dangerous task of holding the far side of the workshops, which as predicted came under heavy assault. Sigir and his men fought a violent melee against the numerically superior Orks, but gave no ground.

 

Had this been all the Orks thrown at them, the Fifth would likely have turned the tide of the battle easily. However, as the main Ork assault began hundred of Gretchin, driven into a wild frenzy, poured through every nook and cranny to overwhelm the Astartes. They were weak foes, posing no real challenge, but their sheer numbers and drug-fuelled ferocity meant the Fifth simply could not ignore them. Stormboyz joined the fray from above while ever more waves of Orks crashed against Sigir's thin blue line. The Fifth was completely pinned down and unable to lend its firepower against the main body of the Orks.

 

This was why, after a brief but intense exchange of bullets and grenades, the Ork charge against the Fourth was able to cross the courtyard and smash into their lines.

 

The efforts to halt the charge were nothing less than heroic. The assault was led by three Orks in Mega-armour; titanic beasts that were almost twice the height of a Corvus-clad Marine. The death of the first would later be attributed to a fluke; by some miracle a bolt round hit a loose plate and deflected down behind the Ork's helm and struck a fuel line. The Nob slowed, then came to a complete halt. His muffled howls of anger became screams of agony as the fuel ignited and he burned alive inside his armour.

The second Nob fell just ten feet from the closest Supernovan. It had taken the combined firepower of every plasma-weapon in the Company to stop the beast.

The third Nob perished as the Predators rolled into the square and drew a bead. Their 76mm main guns put eight rounds into the beast in three seconds, all hitting the centre mass. The fifth round inflicted the mortal wound, but through a combination of willpower and sheer momentum the dead Ork continued to charge. It finally fell onto the stone parapet Squad Vesal were using as cover, demolishing most of it.

 

The sheer amount of firepower needed to drop the Ork champions allowed fast swathes of the horde to reach the Astartes line untouched. Hundreds of Orks, the biggest and strongest of the horde, engaged in close quarters and quickly tried to encircle the Company. Perhaps, had fate not placed the Fourth in the centre of the line they would have succeeded. Years before, Xeran had stood his ground against an army of hundreds of Orks with but a single squad and triumphed. Now he showed that tenacity again, and it was mirrored by his Company. The Fourth continued to fire at targets scant inches from their gun-barrels, knowing that to break the endless wall of fire would be the end of them. Novitae used their masters as cover from Ork bullets or the shrapnel of point-blank grenades. Squads Rayn and Orxad, despite being directly in the line of fire of the Predators, ordered the tanks to lay down indiscriminate fire. The squads threw themselves to the ground and continued to engage, knowing now that to do anything but keep shooting would mean their deaths - by the enemy or their own forces.

 

Where the Orks were strongest, at the tip of the green spear, Xeran fought in violent hand to hand combat. His bolter was long spent and he'd no hope of reloading; instead, he'd used it as equal parts shield and club. His power sword flashed and flared as it met armour and flesh, parting both with equal ease. On his right, the Qwaythian Berserker Mohr fought with a chain-axe passed down from the days of the Great Crusade. The bare-headed warrior showed no emotion as he killed, seemingly unaware of the Ork blood that coated his armour and flesh. On Xeran's left, the Company Champion, Mytal fought with a two-handed Thunder Hammer, annihilating everything that came within reach of the weapon. Behind them, the rest of the squad supported with bolt rounds and melta blasts. The squad fought as a single organism; as Mytal was left exposed by a full-force swing, Xeran would thrust his blade into the throat of the Ork that sought to exploit the opening. As he pulled his blade free, the Nob rushing him would find its legs blown off at the knees, leaving it helpless and easy prey for the Captain's return stroke. As Mohr was knocked off-balance by a rushing Ork, a melta-blast turned the alien to ash, giving him the space to recover and attack once more.
 

Somehow, the Fourth held on for several minutes against a horde that should have overwhelmed them. But their luck could not hold forever. Though they killed dozens for every Marine that fell, each lost warrior made it easier for the Orks to gain ground on the next. Soon the line was broken, devolving into isolated squads trying to fight in every direction at once. The lead Predator covering the fight detonated just as Dyus and the Eighth began to gain the upper hand. No-one would ever know what killed it. That loss of firepower allowed the Orks to finally reach Rayd and Orxad, who fought to the last man, never giving an inch of ground.

 

Dyus ordered his Ironforged to provide support while the Eighth kept the flank held, but with the losses suffered their firepower felt almost inconsequential. Seeing the battle going poorly, Cyda formed a defensive line around Squad Tiberius, buying them enough time to break away and counter-attack toward the Fourth. Up until that point, the Primaris had seemed invincible; that illusion was shattered as an Ork Nob armed with a tankhammer struck Brother Bethor in the chest, blasting chunks of his remains across friend and foe alike. Tiberius and the rest of the squad avenged their lost comrade, and then again a dozen times over.

 

Suddenly, the central battle was lost in a cloud of boiled blood and vapourised body parts. Before the grizzly cloud could clear Orks began to die, torn apart by a withering hail of mass-reactive shells. Five Terminators advanced through the blood-mist produced by their teleportation, taking advantage of their sudden arrival to reap a terrible toll on the Greenskins. Xeran bellowed the order to charge and the remnants of his company obeyed. The Fourth surged forward as the Orks recoiled, spreading fear and confusion through their ranks. With their best forces committed, and now largely destroyed, the battle had reached the tipping point as Dyus had hoped.

 

He scanned the Ork lines, one eye seeing through his gun-sight as it trained along at head height, the other anxiously fixed on his ammunition counter. He found his prey as it emerged from a Dreadnought maintenance bay; an Ork as massive as the armoured walkers now burning in the square. The Warboss.

 

The Chapter Master let fly with his final rounds, joined by every Marine able to lend their fire. The surviving Predator joined the fray, and despite the risk Dyus voxed the Ork's position to the Whirlwind batteries. the Warboss, and every Ork around him were lost to smoke and fire as the rest of the army either fled or died trying. The head had been severed; the body died with it.

 

As the smoke cleared, to the amazement of the Astartes, the Warboss remained standing. One arm was blown clean off and several heavy rounds had punched straight through the giant alien's torso, yet it still lived. It staggered drunkenly toward them, trying to shoot with its missing arm. The Astartes held fire for a moment, if only to marvel at the spectacle of it.
"You've got to hand it to him, he's got spirit." Mytal chuckled. Then, after a quick glance to Dyus to gain his approval, the champion brought the hammer down and blew the Warboss' skull apart. The echoes of the killing blow rang out long and loud over the square as the body fell. It did not hit the ground; there was no room to do so, such was the number of corpses strewn about.

 

Apothecaries began to tend to the wounded while the Eighth and Fifth made sure the Orks were in no condition to rally. Dyus took in the losses, outwardly calm but feeling each loss keenly. Less than half is force were still able to fight, and more besides would have to be abandoned to help evacuate the dead and wounded.

"Captain Nyel? Are you receiving?"

"Approaching the main gate now, Master," Nyel replied.

"Move with haste," Dyus said. "I need you to recover our fallen. What remains of my contingent will advance. The day is won, but we still have a Gargant to destroy."

[Wargamer]

Part Four

 

The advance on the Gargant was met with only a token resistance. The Orks had lost the will to fight and now seemed more interested in getting out of the city with whatever loot they could carry. As much as Dyus wished to hunt them all down, he knew the priority had to be the Gargant.

 

At the belly of the beast, Dyus ordered the Chapter to fan out and hold in case of counter-attack. He left his heavy weapon behind and led a team of half a dozen Ironforged into the half-built machine. Between them, the strike force was laden with enough explosives and melta charges to destroy the machine twice over. Dyus wanted to make sure nothing of value to the Orks remained.

 

The last stand of the Meks was unremarkable and over before it truly began. They were young and scrawny, left behind by their mentors who had either died in the fighting or long since fled. The Ironforged set to work planting charges at key points throughout the structure, all the while listening for any hint of trouble outside or in.

"Yous Boyz did good gettin' dis far. Saw it all, I did. You stomped my ladz good an' 'ard!" the voice came from everywhere at once, tinny and harsh. The Astartes paused in their work for a moment to check for any sign of attack, but when none was found they resumed.

"I see what you'z doin'," the disembodied voice continued, "Gonna' slag my Garg eh? Gonna blow me ta' Gork'n'Mork? You could at least have da good mannaz ta kill me face ta face!"

"Ignore it," Dyus ordered.

"Dat's right, ignore me! Ignore away... Dyus of da Supernovas!"

Once more the Astartes paused in their task. The unseen Ork chuckled away at them through the Gargant's tannoy system. "Oooh! How'd I know your name eh? Dat's a headscratcha' fer sure! Come up 'ere all by yerself an' I might just tell ya. No tricks, dat's a promise."

Dyus looked at his men. He knew their objections before he made them. "Plant the charges and extract. Give me ten minutes with the creature. If you don't hear from me, destroy the Gargant."

 

The bridge of the Gargant was left unlocked. Dyus pushed the rusting door open with his foot, bolt pistol held ready to fire as the chamber beyond was revealed. It was a relatively small bridge, entirely dominated by an ornate brass throne upon which an Ork Warboss sat. The creature was giant, possibly the largest Ork Dyus had ever seen, and it seemed to be hard-wired into the throne. Most of its body was hidden by crude leather clothing, and what remained exposed was almost all crude cybernetics. Yet in its ironclad skull a single blood-red eye survived. That eye was fixed on Dyus as he entered.

"Heh... nice ta' see you again, ya' git!" the Warboss laughed. Its voice had a harsh, synthetic quality to it, as if it were a poor quality recording.
"Am I supposed to know you, Ork?" Dyus asked.

The Warboss' eye glinted in the dim bridge lights. "My name is Razgnob Da Unstoppable."

"I know of you. My Chapter has crossed your path before. Each time you've evaded us." He raised the bolt pistol and aimed at the Ork's skull. "I will be happy to rectify that oversight."

The Warboss laughed at the threat, "Dat's just rude me ol' mate! Still, it wouldn't be da' first time ya' shot me in da' face! I remember you as a Yoof. I was a Yoof too. I jumped ya' in some woods on Flakblagga's World. Wouldn't stuck ya' good if you hadn't been so squirmy! Dat's where I lost my eye. Dat was the first time I ever lost. Dat was the last time I ever lost."

 

Later, Dyus would wonder why he'd indulged the Ork so long. At that moment he should have pulled the trigger and walked away, yet instead he pointed to the Ork's augmented body with his pistol and said, "looks to me like you've lost quite a bit."

The old Ork laughed so loud it shook the rust off the ceiling. "Good one! Nah mate, I never lost. Won every time, but I have t'admit dere was a steep price for winnin' sometimes. Still, price we pay for bein' Da Boss, yeah? Looked to me like you was bossin' your Beakies around down dere. What's your title den?"

"Chapter Master," Dyus answered.

"Good title, as Beakie ones go. I'd have gone wiv 'Dyus Da Dakkinator' if it were me."

"Is there a reason we are talking? I am rather busy trying to blow up your Gargant."

Another booming laugh filled the room, "Just wanted to say well done," the Ork answered cheerfully. "Never lost to anyone but you. Dat's somefink speshul. Always wanted ta meet you again. Went huntin' for your blue Beakies lots of times hopin' I'd catch you. Thought I 'ad you once but it turned out to be some git named Cats All Sick On Us. Fun fight, but not what I was afta'. I wanted you."

 

Dyus raised his pistol once more, expecting the Ork to lunge at him. No such attack came. He realised, in some strange way, he pitied the creature. Here was a beast that lived only for war, rendered immobile by age and injury and wired to his half-built war machine in a crude approximation of an Astartes Dreadnought. Had the work finished he would have strode across the world as a god of war, bringing death and ruin to all. Now, thanks to Dyus and his men, he couldn't lift a finger to protect himself.

"You were a worthy opponent, Ork. My Chapter will recall our victory here with pride."

"Very nice of you," the Warboss answered. "Must feel like a Warboss yourself eh? The way your lot behave. Other Beakies are all propa' like, but yours..."

"It's like herding Orks," Dyus agreed. "With one important difference."

 

The bolt shot was deafening in the confined space. "Orks can be defeated. We cannot."

 

 

Bits of the Gargant were still falling to earth when the Astartes rearguard reached the nameless town once more. A triage station had been set up there while Nyel conducted a few seek and destroy missions, making sure no motorised forces remained to give chase. Dyus would have liked to make a speedy retreat, but the Terminators were slowing him down. Thankfully, it seemed the Imperial Guard had done their duty well. Toxr reported a successful raid on an Ork airfield, and after some deliberation Dyus approved an aerial extraction.

 

Captain Cyda found herself in the company of Tiberius. She had come to say farewell to the dead. The Fifth had suffered the least casualties, but also had the least to lose. For her, every Battle Brother was irreplaceable. Perhaps doubly so in the case of the sad lumps of flesh and broken ceramite that represented all they'd scraped up of Brother Bethor.

"They recovered his progenoid," she said for want of anything else to say.

"Then he will live on,"Tiberius replied.

After a pause, Cyda added, "the Chapter Cult teaches that the souls of the dead go to Holy Terra. There we gather at the Eternity Gate, to stand beside the Emperor in eternity."

"Warrior cults typically believe their dead will return in the end of days, when the Emperor walks among us again."

Cyda nodded. "Some in the Chapter believe that. Are you trying to say we're going to come back as Primaris Marines?"

Tiberius shrugged, "I was simply making an observation."

"Well don't observe that too loudly."

Feeling there was nothing left to say, she turned her attention to the other bodies.

"One last matter, Captain. I have reviewed your performance today and found you inadequate. I will be informing Master Dyus of my recommendation that you be replaced as Fifth Captain."

Cyda span on her heels, anger boiling up inside her. She was about to tear into the Marine when a flash of insight struck and cooled her tongue. "Tiberius, was that supposed to be a joke?"

After an awkward pause, Tiberius nodded.

"Well, there's hope for you yet. Now do me a favour; no more jokes until we're back on Tasal. For your own sake."

"Yes, Captain," Tiberius replied.

 

Xeran was waiting in a field just outside of town. A Goliath covered in Ork glyphs, badly burned and warped by concussive impact, was wedged nose first into the ground just beside the designated landing strip. A group of twenty Marines, the remaining Ironforged among them, were stood in a circle around the curious vehicle in contemplative silence. As Dyus approached, the circle widened for him and he joined the almost meditative experience.

Finally, after a minute or so, Xeran broached the question. "Too much explosives?"

To the awe of his men, Dyus cracked a smile. "My good Captain, there is no such thing as too much explosives."

As if waiting for this very moment, an Ork Deffkopta whistled through the sky and bounced off the roof of the town fuelling station. It flipped end over end and hit the ground, rotors down, before skidding to a halt eight paces from the circle of Marines. A brief pause later, it caught fire.

"Although I have been wrong before," Dyus conceded.

 

The Marines burst into a fit of laughter, and were still laughing when the transports arrived to take them home.