[M] War in the Dirt - Imperials IC

[Azazeal849]

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CAMPAIGN 1

Spoiler: Haven 14th, Cam’s Lot Militia, Cadian 2451st - Baraspine 

Skaltine railhead, Hive Alda
Zero hour +8
Imperial objectives: Secure the railway station, eliminate Patriot AA

The air was toxic and dusty-hot; full of particulates that fled at the overpressure of explosions and the searing kiss of las-beams, only to regroup and surge forth again at the boomed order of every mortar strike and collapsing building. The air itself was a more furious opponent than the hive Divinatory Guard - and the Baraspini chosen were no pushovers. Hive Alda’s outer industrial district was as scarred and furrowed as a stubborn prize-fighter, and its dust-choked streets were littered with the smoking wrecks of knocked-out imperial vehicles.

Warmaster Caiser’s plan had been a simple one: shock and awe. Descending in their transports to their staging ground in the vast Allocthon crater, the main imperial force had watched a man-made cataclysm as the Navy set about battering down the hive’s void-shield dome. Gradually the stabs of return fire had fallen quiet, replaced by plumes of smoke as supporting drop forces assailed the ground lances and missile silos in the surrounding hills. When the shield finally fell with a screeching blast of light, it was the signal for the astra militarum to close its jaws on the hive from both above and below.

And that was where things had started to go wrong. When the first wave of Callisto Airborne swept into the hive, they met with much heavier ground fire than expected, and the few units who gained the spires reported that governor Vel-Cyvasse had already been evacuated downhive. For once, the tarot-readers of Baraspine’s soothsayers’ college must have been earning their pay. While the surviving airborne units fell back from the withering anti-air fire, it was left to the infantry and mechanised regiments to push up through the hive and secure the Kephistron Altis starport to prevent the governor’s escape. The first step towards that was to eliminate the AAA battery at the Skaltine railhead, and secure the transport hub so that supplies and men could be moved up for the next push.

Even that first step was proving difficult. The 1st company of the Haven 14th had lost four Chimeras already in the twisting streets, and one of their lieutenants to a bouncing bomb planted in the machine yard three blocks from the railhead. It had taken them an hour to drive the Divinatory Guard out of that machine yard, but the tenacious defenders had just dug in again across the next road. A company of Cam’s Lot militia had arrived in support - well armed by frateris standards, but their inexperience with real combat was showing as they hugged to cover in the face of the Patriot fire, looking uncertainly towards the samite-clad ecclesiarchy priestess who led them.

Hunkered down in a hab that had been half demolished by a basilisk shell, captain Minch was taking stock of the situation. The thoroughfare had been ploughed through by the wreckage of a downed Valkyrie, and several of the buildings had already been shivered to pieces by artillery. Poisonous air drawn down by the slope of the hive spires was blowing right into the teeth of the imperials, and taking the smoke with it. Lasfire spat from the upper floors of the habs opposite, and the first attempt to advance up the road between had been met by the jackhammer rattle of a heavy stubber.

As the last of the militia moved up past the hull-down Chimeras hanging back in the machine yard, Minch was surprised to hear the imperial watchword called out from somewhere to his right. As a sergeant shouted the return password and signalled for his squad to lower their lasguns, two figures scrambled out of the crashed Valkyrie and dashed into the cover of the imperial-held buildings, chased by bright threads of las. The figures turned out to be a commissar and his aide - the one a brown-skinned, cleanshaven man with angular features and the tail of a grey-white scar running from above his eyebrow to under the rim of his helmet, and the other a short pale woman with large, dark eyes. They both wore full-face armourglass masks against the hostile atmosphere, filter tubes snaking underneath their black, las-burned flak coats. They swiftly made their way over to Minch.

“Nice of you to join us captain.” the commissar said in dry Calixian gothic, the designated trade language of the crusade. He had to shout to make himself heard over the lasbeams tearing chunks out of the building front. “Commissar Schenke and adjutor Ephese.”

“Callisto 44th.” the adjutor chipped in, trotting up behind Schenke. “Though we seem to have lost them.”

Schenke shrugged a stocky Garda-pattern shotgun off a shoulder strap and into his hands. “I don’t suppose you have any meltaguns? There’s fewer men in the three-storey on the right.” He snapped an arm towards a grey hab-block, almost directly opposite where the Valkyrie has crashed. “Breach and clear, and we can take the rest in the flank.”

“We’ll need suppressing fire though.” the adjutor shouted, hunching her shoulders a moment before a krak missile whumped into the floor above them. She stood up again and waved her whole arm at the frateris militia. “Lots and lots of suppressing fire!”

No sooner had she spoken then there was a dreadful rattling, roaring sound familiar to any Guard veteran, as a squadron of Leman Russ tanks bearing Cadian decals rolled into the far end of the machine yard.

Commissar Schenke grinned toothily as he clapped a hand on his adjutant’s shoulder plate. “Hail to the Emperor. That enough suppressing fire for you?”

Spoiler: Legio Sirenia - Perinetus 

Arterial Two-Seven, approach to Ragnarov Forge
Day 156 of Perinetus civil war
Imperial objectives: Halt Patriot siege crawlers

The sky was the fuzzed grey of a pict-screen, tuned to a dead frequency. Acid rain drizzled down to turn the air muggy and oppressive as it continued its slow work of wearing the milestones along the roadside down to shapeless nubs. The arterial cut straight across the mining belt towards Ragnarov forge, with the murky river Javelis curving off to one side and quarries of strip-mined rock striping the other. Half a year ago Arterial Two-Seven had been the main import and export route for the forge; now it was a lance aimed at the heart of the sector’s industrial heartland.

The war on the southern continent was not going well for the mechanicus loyalists. Delzharian’s Patriot-aligned hereteks has broken the Ankylon defence line after three weeks of stalemate, and now the Patriot siege maniples were grinding up the arterial, hard on the heels of the retreating loyalists.

Swarming ahead of the Patriot advance were a battalion of skitarii, overflown by skull drone scouts and supported by heavy gun walkers. Behind them rolled two siege crawlers. They moved in a column, taking up all twelve lanes of the highway. They were squat and beetle-like with auspex feelers and lascannon spines, wreathed in the carapace sheen of void shields; part battering ram, part siege tower, part rolling fortress. The grind of metre-thick concrete splitting under their tracks was overlaid by the heartbeat thump of long-wave scanners, probing the road ahead for mines. Flanking them like an honour guard were six titans with holographic kill-pennants flickering in the corrosive rain - two Reavers standing close and four Warhounds outriding.

While the retreating skitarii regrouped, first line of defence fell to a covering force of several forge-guard legions, bolstered by the newly arrived Vostroyan 117th and the combined arms of the legio Sirenia. Most of the defenders had already taken what cover they could, for fear of Patriot airstrikes. The enemy had had air superiority over the southern sectors for the last month, though missile batteries within the forge provided some semblance of protection. Patriot artillery had spent the last hour flattening all of the steel mills along the riverside, along with all the nearby mining buildings in an attempt to deny the Imperials cover or a staging point. The shells were still falling sporadically as the advancing siege crawlers marked out targets.

Only the Sirenia titans could stand in the open without fear, leaving their supporting troops to choose between the bombed out strip-mines, the natural rolls of the land and the attendant risk of discovery by enemy skull drones, or submerging themselves in the sludgy Javelis river that twisted out past the forge and along the highway.

Princeps Zoerrin monitored the deployment through her titan’s augers, almost as closely as magos Ankari, overall commander of the loyalist forces in the southern theatre, was watching her. She could feel the former weaponsmith’s sensor-link to the titan ticking softly at the back of her mind - unobtrusive, but attendant.

“The enemy vanguard is moving into your sector, range three kilometres.” The magos still used her flesh-voice; a sharp contralto that was suited to barking orders over the vox connection, but was now beginning to betray the strain of 189 consecutive hours of combat operations. “Engage at your discretion, but preservation of the forge spirits is imperative. The avatars of the machine god walk with you, sisters. Further retreat is not an option.”

[dakkagor]

+Engage at your discretion, but preservation of the forge spirits is imperative. The avatars of the machine god walk with you, sisters. Further retreat is not an option.+

"I make no promises, Magos. They have my engines outnumbered two to one." Zoerrin growled as she watched the inloaded holographic map. "Factoring in my supporting arms, its a fair fight. I despise fair fights."

She didn't wait for Ankari's response, switching over to her battlegroup comms. Five hundred metres behind her, sheltering in a quarry, where her scouts. Scattered amongst her skitarii where the knights of House Calyx. Her Skitarii were themselves dug in for the moment in scattered trenches, foxholes and craters. A defensive posture. But the highway was clear. Without cover, the few abandoned vehicles provided scant defence against the awesome storm of force bearing down on them, and behind them, Ragnarov itself.

Six titans She was receiving no noospheric, RFID or IFF signatures confirming their allegiance. These would be brother and sister titans, bound by oaths of loyalty to the traitor Delzharian. The acid rain had muted proud heraldic colours and stripped purity seals from hulls. They fight anonymously to hide their shame. Or they no longer believe in the heraldry they once wore.

Two of the forerunning Warhounds were equipped with brutal anti-infantry weapons. Inferno cannon and mega-bolters hung low from weapon limbs. The reavers were equipped for long range, bombardment combat. The two remaining warhounds carried engine slaying weapon limbs, turbo lasers and plasma blast cannons.

Prime objective: Destroy siege crawlers. Secondary objective: Check advance of enemy forces into the defences so that retreating forces can reconstitute. Tertiary objective: preserve our own forces for long term combat. Prime objective and secondary objective conflict with Tertiary objective

The range continued to click down. She had the beginnings of a plan.

"All units, this is Princeps Hange Zoerrin. Micropulse orders to follow."

+++++

Hector Rho shuddered as the missive of the angel of the Omnissiah filtered into his specifically mutilated brain. His orders were clear, and he disseminated them to the component units of his force. As one unit, five thousand skitarii rose from cover and advanced into the quarry district, the six knights of House Calyx moving at half stride to keep exact pace. Already, flakk cannon equipped Onagers opened fire, the missile pods shooting down skull-drones as they approached the van of the enemy forces.

To his mind, Princep Zoerrins plan was brilliant. She would force an infantry engagement at close range with the smaller force of skitarii in the van, with the quarries providing cover from direct engine attack. With the Warhounds held back, they could pounce on individual enemy engines as they hunted out the skitarii and the knights supporting them. He estimated less than 50% casualties for his units, and began configuring his formations to optimise his long range support for engine hunting and spreading out his units to minimise damage from long range fire. This would reduce casualties to less than 37% total, and give his Onagers and Kataphrons more time to address individual Warhounds as they closed for optimal engagement. He further laced his front with several units of Sicarian infiltrators, who loped ahead of his infantry force to make best use of the dilapidated and ruined quarry infrastructure. This plan put the holy engines at minimal risk, and in praise of this decision and the chance to be martyred for the dogmatic creed of Mars and Macarro, he began to cant binharic psalms that were quickly re-transmitted and repeated by all the skitarii under his command. He would meet death gladly, and kill as many of the heretics as possible.

+++++

"I repeat. You are to advance to the edge of the river and provide fire support. No more, no less, until the order is given."

Glorious Harmathoe, the Dark Eyed, watched the Vostrayan officers converse in hushed tones they thought she couldn't hear. She rolled her fingers along the haft of her transonic glaive, the long weapon resting on its butt as she pretended not to hear the mere mortals insult her and her two bodyguards. She knew why she was here. Princeps Zoerrin needed the humans to cooperate and follow her orders. And she couldn't technically pull seniority, despite being the ranking Mechanicus commander. The Vostrayans were an allied force, not subordinate.

"We do not understand these orders." One of the officers, a man with a bushy beard, had broken off and now faced off against her. Opposed to another human, this broad chested, thick set and hirsute male would make an intimidating conversational opponent, especially factoring in the pistol and sabre at his belt that he obviously knew how to use. Harmathoe's head of height, heavily muscled frame and intimidating array of inbuilt weapons and armour rather took the wind out of his sails. He coughed, and met her gaze again. "With our chimera, we can advance quickly and hold the enemy in place for your Titans to administer the kills."

Harmathoe shook her head. "You would be flayed apart before you could reach effective weapons range. And the warhounds outmanoeuvre you. When you advance, you can use the river and blind barrage to advance quickly and safely, and then attack the stalled flanks of the siege engines, then retreat across the river. The titans and skitarii will be unlikely to pursue across such an obstacle. My princeps does you a great honour by allowing your regiment the kill."

The officer stroked his beard, and nodded. "I see. Like a boxer. Block with one forearm, strike with the other fist. But how will she stall those great beasts?"

Harmothoe allowed herself a smile. "Get your men into position, and you can find out."

+++++

+Target grid set.+

+Confirmed.+

+Give me limb control. Steerswoman, watch the concrete and give me a controlled and steady quarter advance.+

+Steady quarter aye+

Ragnarov was at her back. She tapped into the artillery of the forgeguard, simple tube launchers like basilisks and medusas, and gave them her fire plan and instructed them to wait for her signal.

Sicut Sanguis Rosa stepped onto arterial, facing down the crawling siege engines. The Titans advancing with them immediately tensed, weapon limbs twitching up for a lock even though both sides where beyond effective range. It was like a face off between underhive gunslingers, except this time only one gunslinger had stepped out onto the main street to face a whole gang of hoodlums.

She waited, fingers on the trigger, for the siege engines to advance. At the right moment, she'd drop the road in front of them into a quarry and the bottom of the Javelis, and halt their advance. Then the real fighting would begin.

The massive crawlers filled her auspex like mobile hive stacks. The titans next to them were of a scale to remind her of helots on a feudal world pulling wagons.

The moment came.

"Fire fire fire!" She yelled, and pulled the trigger. Behind her, the forge guard artillery created a sheet of flame that filled the horizon. Almost immediately, Delzharians artillery opened up in response, getting the first punch in an a full scale artillery duel that stretched across 15 kilometres.

But at this, knife point moment, that didn't matter. The shells, and Sicut Sanguis Rosa own fire fell a mere dozen metres from the front of the lead siege crawler. The arterial vanished in a rising wall of flame, earth and torn ferrocrete, and gunshot cracks louder than storm thunder spoke of the terrible infrastructure damage about to occur as buttresses failed and exploded in showers of steel reinforced structure.

With a final, groaning roar, half of the arterial dropped into quarry working Delta-118 and threw up clouds of pulverised rockcrete and dust. The lead siege crawler, its voids flickering from stray shells, ground to a halt, its front track pods overhanging the sudden chasm.

In truth, Hange knew it was a temporary solution. If the machine pushed forwards, slowly, it would be able to grind its way across the obstacle.

But in combat? Effectively immobilised. And with the sucking bed of the Javelis on one side, and the bombed out quarries on the other, the siege crawlers were boxed in on three sides.

+All artillery engage in counterbattery operations. Skitarii, House Calyx, engage at will!+

With a sonorous roar from her war horn, she advanced at half stride, locked the reaver on the left, and opened fire.

Now the real fight would begin.

[Derpnaster]

Less than a day in and they were already ground to a halt in an abandoned machine yard, smoke made the air thick, and nigh unbreathable, and they'd already lost some machines in the tight streets. Now to make matters worse those bloody militia were stuck hugging cover and not even able to make a push.

Thankfully Gustav Minch and his men had already been through this kind of combat before. Cytheria VIII had given Haven experience in tight quarters and dust storms. Gustav and his men wore respirator masks with goggles better suited to the iron deserts of their home world, their Kakki uniforms blended with the dust of their Ocher flak armor, with only the silver pauldrons retaining anything like their original colors. Their Mk 855 MOD 2 lasguns were well adapted, Short, full auto, with an advanced cooling system hidden under the handguards, Haven squads could hold their own, but only for so long.

Then the Commie and his lackey showed up.
"We got melta, but we'll need some time to get them up. We can get grenade launchers on site now and we got a breach capable squad."
Minch flipped switch on his vox.
"Jens we're breaching, third floor, bring demo charges, Mk 103's permitted, We'll open up with a grenade barrage and a volley from Sentinel squad 2's autocannons. "
The brief crackle of static voice acknolwedged the orders and Minch turned to the Commie.
"We got what you need sir, Squad 1 will breach, squad two will follow up, I can give you cover from our walkers and chimeras."

[Jarms48]

“Second platoon, take the left. Third platoon, take the right. First platoon, with me.” Captain Jannet Antheia ordered.

"On it." Lieutenant Ennius of 2nd platoon returned.
"Rodger, Captain." Came the dull reply of 3rd platoon Lieutenant Marcellus.

With that the company split up. The 3 tanks of second platoon applied their tillers, halted and pivoted left. Before moving to secure the further most sections of the machine yard. Third platoon was up next, they pivoted right and moved towards the adjoining road.

They had to button down. Captain Antheia sat in her commanders seat, her eyes moving through each of her cupola's vision blocks. Cities weren't friends to tankers, full of snipers and concealed weapons. That meant no stubber and less vision. The situation was shit, everything was all too familiar it reminded her of the worse parts of the Telfus campaign.

"Gunner, heavy stubber position in the hab block. Loader, HE round." Antheia barked. The Marines weren't here to bail them out this time. It was up to her and her company. They'd come up from the reserves as soon as they got word the advance had stalled. Everything rested on her shoulders, the Guardsmen's lives outsides depended on their success.

Pity grabbed a shell from the ready rack, threw it into the breach and closed it.
"Breach up!"

Antheia could feel the turret platform turning. Consus had engaged the traverse. His head was placed against the gun sight, his left hand on the gear and right hand on the trigger.
"Shot out!"

My Fair Lady jerked as their battle cannon fired. Antheia watched as the 120mm smoothbore struck home. There was a cloud of dust and flame. The stubber had fallen silent.

"Keep it up." Antheia said. She reached over to her vox and flicked the dial to company frequency.
"1st platoon, ahead slow. Bring the Exterminator up first. I want that hab block full of autocannon sized holes."

"Aye, ma'am." Squawked the reply.

Manifesto came next. 1st platoons Exterminator roared to life. It's tracks kicking up rocks and dust. It came besides them, its hull lascannon sizzling the air as it fired. Manifesto's gun elevated upwards and its gunner let loose.

"Breach up!" Pity yelled. After sending another HE round home.
"Shot out!" Consus replied, as he pulled the trigger.

My Fair Lady rocked again, their next shot striking the upper levels of the hab block. Sending a mixture of rockcrete and defenders flying. Fausta opened up with My Fair Lady's own heavy bolter. Antheia closed her eyes and sighed, she was glad to be enclosed in armour than be trapped out there with the PBG's (Poor Bloody Guardsmen). She shook her head, there was no time to spare. She flipped the dial of her vox to the local channels.

"This is Captain Antheia, call your targets and use us as cover if you need to. We're close to the objective don't fail Him now." Antheia encouraged.

[Jarms48]

“Second platoon, take the left. Third platoon, take the right. First platoon, with me.” Captain Jannet Antheia ordered.

"On it." Lieutenant Ennius of 2nd platoon returned. Before flicking his tanks vox to platoon frequency. "You heard the Captain, we're going our separate ways. Looks like 1st platoon is going to have the glory of advancing down that road. We're going to attempt an outflank, proceed around the machine yard and drag some of those militia boys with us for support."

Mailbox RTS (Return to Sender) went first. Some of the nearby Militia broke from their cover to take refuge behind the tank as it advanced.

"Careful Mailbox, we've got friendlies." Ennius warned, his eyes monitoring the situation through his cupola.

The crew of Mailbox RTS reduced speed and took the corner as it passed a burnt out Chimera. It traversed right, onto a service road. Behind it Mighty Brazier 2nd platoons Exterminator was doing the same.

"We got incoming!" Barbara, Mailbox RTS's TC called over the vox.

A krak missile struck the upper glacis of Mailbox RTS blowing off sections of its ad-doc track armour. Mighty Brazier was the first to act, its autocannon opened. Streaking lines of autocannon fire across multiple levels of the building. Another missile hit the turret cheek of Mailbox RTS as the battle tank brought its gun to bear.

"Now we know what killed that Chimera. Alerius, high explosive." Commanded Barbara.

Mailbox RTS's battle cannon fired. There was a loud shutter and groan, as a floor of the apartment block gave way under the force of the impact.

"That's why we're called Return to Sender." Quipped Barbara.

[Cfavano]

She almost looked out of place. Gwendolyn strode with grace, and calm movements. Butterflies of light flitted about her, a minor psychic phenomenon that followed her, but with such might as hers, it was to be expected, and it was harmless. Her armor and the toxic environment did little to hinder her natural beauty as her outer coverings blew about in the breeze. Whenever she approached crouching n terrifie militimen, their faces lit up an their fear disappeared. Underneath her mask, she was smiling.

Multilaser fire cracked an would have hit her, had her rosarius not activated an cause the bolts to harmlessly strike its blessed force-field. This caused her to take cover and her Crusader bodyguards to curse silently and form near her, using their shield to give her more cover. Her eyes flashed with anger as she spotted where it was coming from, a window midway up the hab block in front of them. Spotting a ground-truck that had likely been abandoned before the fighting began, she called upon her psychic might and reached out with her hand in a grasping movement. The truck creaked as it was raised slightly off the ground in her mental grip. Butterflies flitted around her more furiously as with a howl of rage and a movement of her arm she flung the truck at the offending party, the multi-ton vehicle smashed into the building, and the impact caused its fuel tanks to explode, an tore a horrid and burning gash in the already peppered hab block. After this display of might, she took a moment to realign her mind and calm down.

She took the vox from her vox officer and delivered a message to her forces. "My children, the poor, lost souls in that hab block have just tried to take my life, show them what happens to those who threaten our family." This really whipped them into shape as how dare they try an shoot a holy maiden. Using tanks as cover, and under the guide of other priests and their squad commanders, half the company moved up, while the other half laid down suppressing fire with their lasguns. This was supported by the addition of weapons teams who had finished setting up in several well-covered places and the crack of heavy bolter fire rang out toward the smoulderng hab block.

[Azazeal849]

Spoiler: Haven 14th, Cam’s Lot Militia, Cadian 2451st - Baraspine 

On the left the tanks moved up, a knot of frateris crouching behind. An autocannon shell spanged off the tank’s hull, tumbled, and took the head off a militiaman. Mailbox’s cannon boomed in reply, and another hab wall sloughed away in a shower of rockrete. The Russ had undergone comparatively little design evolution throughout the imperium’s history. Heretics would tell you that was because the ad mech had lost its ability to innovate. Russ commanders would tell you it was because those mean motherfrakkers had pretty much been built right the first time.

My Fair Lady’s second shot tore pinwheeling slivers of rebar from the building front, and spewed rockrete dust down into the road.

“Go go go!” commissar Schenke yelled, and the two squads of Haven infantry dashed across the street while their comrades’ frag and smoke grenades arced overhead. They flattened themselves against the hab front, amid the cratered remains of an atrium. Schenke took a step back and emptied his Garda automatic through the first-floor windows.

“On your mark, sergeant!” the commissar deferred generously as he stooped to reload.

Jens waved forward the demo carrier, who slung the shaped charge against the wall and engaged the grav clamp. A red light began to flash, and the Guardsmen hunched aside with hands over their ears as the wall disintegrated in a roaring blast.

“Let’s go, check your corners!”

Lasrifles cracked and flashed as the Haven men stormed the building. Dull man-shapes reeling back from the sudden explosion of the exterior wall jerked and went down. As they moved up the corridor, a line of las-blasts punched through the plaster wall, cutting over the man directly behind Jens. The sergeant barged left, shouldering down a door and unleashing full auto on the room beyond. He had a momentary impression of an urban-camo flak coat and an iron gas mask with an Imperial Tarot card etched into it, before the Baraspini soldier dropped with his lasgun spraying holes in the ceiling.

The Haven squad moved up, double-tapping the fallen defenders with sharp cracks of their lasguns. Beyond a smashed window, they saw Mighty Brazier grinding past with autocannons thumping. A krak missile fireworked down from above and struck the tank just behind the turret. The tank lurched to a halt as smoke from the damaged engine began to fill the crew compartment.

“Missile launcher still active upstairs!” Schenke warned, shouting over his shoulder as three Haven guardsmen immediately took up position by the windows to cover the stopped tank. His aide was already at the stairwell with Jens’ second squad.

“Wait!” the adjutant suddenly yelped, pinwheeling back. A moment later, a frag grenade came bouncing down the stairs. The woman simply scooped it up and tossed it back before throwing herself flat, and there was a teeth-jarring thump as the frag detonated.

“Come on, then!” she urged, and sprang up with laspistol in hand.

When the guardsmen followed, they could see that the Haven Chimeras had already done their work. Daylight shone through dozens of holes blasted through the walls and window-frames, and bodies and broken glass littered the floor. They only found three more Baraspini - two they flushed out with a grenade, and the third went down as he tried to drop the wounded comrade he was dragging and grope for his lasgun. The rest of the block was quickly cleared, and the Haven men began shooting down into the adjacent buildings in support of their comrades.

“Cadian armour.” the vox operator relayed, “Watch your fire, we’re on the second floor!”

“Understood.” the response crackled, fuzzed by the rumble of a tank engine. “Shifting fire.”

Encouraged by the Haven charge and their Lady’s words, the frateris launched their own frontal attack. The blackened wreck of the truck still blocked the road, tilted on its fractured rear axle. They clambered past it and charged the terraced habs. A few grenades arced from the windows and scythed down the first men to reach the buildings, but most of the surviving defenders couldn’t even stand up to their fire points, so fierce was the suppressing fire from the Haven guardsmen. What little they could muster wasn’t enough to stop the Cam’s Lot attackers, whose blood was up as they reached the outer walls and began to batter their way in through doors and windows.

Inside a Baraspini defender appeared with his hands up and caught a lasbolt to the face, sending his iron mask and half his skull scattering away before the attackers could process what he was doing. Further in the resistance was stiffer as shouting militiamen went almost hand-to-hand with the few surviving Divinatory Guardsmen, crunching over fallen family picts and scrambling over furniture that had been shot to matchwood. Numbers told, and the attackers regrouped at the bottom of the stairwell. Taking point up the stairs with his crackling storm-shield, a crusader went down cursing as a grenade cut him over at the ankles. Clambering over his wounded comrade, a second crusader gained the landing and crushed a war-mask with a punch of his shield. The rest of the defence folded soon after.

“Captain.” the TC of Manifesto voxed to My Fair Lady as the Cadian armour rolled forward. “Infantry report the buildings are clear, and we have eyes on the railhead.”

Smoke was already rising from the train depot, but the Baraspini defenders had turned it into a fortress. Makeshift barricades were stacked across the entrance roads, and squads of Divinatory Guard were using abandoned railcars as pillboxes. Hull down across the rail tracks was one of the Hydras that had been giving the Imperial airborne units grief, and it immediately tracked round and let rip with its quad autocannons. Maximum Precision, leading the advance, was forced to hurriedly throw its tracks into reverse as explosive shells ripped off its hull weapon and blinded its imagers with sparking impacts. Hunkering down, the Cadian tanks were able to vox back the enemy dispositions to the Chimeras and infantry moving up behind them. Guardsmen and militia went to ground as threads of burning lasfire began to spit their way. Picking out heavy weapon emplacements was harder this time - the gunners seemed to be holding their fire.

Midnight and its platoon rolled to a stop on the right flank, the lead tank hugging a smoke-blackened church. A sudden thwak-boom rent the air, as an armour-piercing shell cored through both walls at the corner of the church and then did the same to the tank behind. Aboard Midnight, lieutenant Marcellus felt a thunderbolt of pain and looked down to see the mangled remnants of his left foot. The loader below him was screaming that the driver was dead, while a choking sound announced the gunner coughing his life out red over the tank’s targeting instruments.

Vanquisher. Marcellus thought, his head spinning as he groped for the vox caster. Only a frakking Vanquisher shell could do that…

Spoiler: Legio Sirenia - Perinetus 

The honour guard of enemy engines began to unfold, spreading out to either side in response to Sicut Sanguis Rosa’s bold appearance. The six engines stalked forward, but cagily - hanging behind the screen of their skitarii. They clearly sensed a ploy, but not what it might be. At the back of her mind, Hange felt the ticking maser-locks of both Reavers’ missile pods.

Dust clouds fogged the riverbank as the Vostroyans moved into position, and among the quarries threads of las began to flash back and forth as Rho’s skitarii engaged. The heavy thrums of the siege crawlers’ locators fuzzed through the conflicting targeter streams, and the Patriot artillery began to fire again in earnest. Rubble and red mist began to erupt among the rear echelons of Rho’s skitarii, though only two salvoes landed before they became too closely engaged with the Patriots’ own tech-guard. Beyond the Javelis river circular dust-impacts began to pancake more insistently; several Sentinels veered and crashed over, but only direct impacts troubled the enclosed Chimeras. The Vostroyans held their nerve and rolled into position, leaving three of their IFVs smoking or flipped over by heavy shells.

Rho’s infantry were now heavily engaged, but the fire from the Patriot side began to fall off and flash in criss-crossing directions as the infiltrators made themselves felt, carving through sensor-scrambled victims. Zoerrin’s co-ordinated artillery strike shook the ground and brought the siege crawlers to a grinding halt, as well as forcing the distant Patriot artillery to shift their aim towards counter-battery fire.

The leading crawler let out a thwarted blare of war horns, and began to lash out sporadically with its lascannons at the extreme left of Rho’s position. Shield impacts were already flaring as the two Warhounds on the Patriot left traded fire with a gunline of Onagers. The enemy war-gods were letting out crackles of frustrated battle-cant, clearly wishing to engage with more equal enemies even as explosions mushroomed from Rho’s battle line.

“Hold!” the Vostroyan commander snarled into his vox as the Chimeras reached the river bank and began to lay down clouds of hot smoke from their launchers. The Warhound pair guarding the immobilised siege crawlers’ right flank were pressed close by the sweep of the river, and needed to be drawn off before his mechanised units could engage with success. He didn’t know the princeps that the hulking (female!) cyborg served, but after the well-timed artillery strike he trusted them to give his men their opening.

Sicut Sanguis Rosa advanced up the sundered arterial, driving clear of a raking furrow of turbolaser fire from a flanking Warhound. Smoke trails cross-hatched as Rosa’s volley of missiles met those of both enemy Reavers. Decoy flares cast burning angel wings around the titans as rockets either veered off or struck home. The enemy Reaver halted to steady itself as its shields imploded, and Hange felt a spike of pain and a brief moment of vertigo as Rosa’s own voids collapsed, the second wave of missiles striking home to send armour plates spalling off the god-machine’s arms and torso. Her steersman planted Rosa’s foot back hard as the titan rocked, and Hange heard the black-hearted old engine hissing in anger at the back of her mind.

[dakkagor]

+Moderati, three from the box! Get me shields now, divert power from limbs, give me steerage control+

Hange could taste coppery blood and could feel bruises under her tunic. Her joints ached. That last salvo had hurt her more than she would willingly admit. She needed to open up the range again.

She plunged off the road and to her right, three missiles shaking her super structure as they tore free and raced towards the shieldless reaver. One caught on a wisp of re-cohered shields. The other two carved great craters from the reavers carapace. Armour plates fell shattered and the enemy titan sounded its warhorn in rage. The other one stalked forwards, raising its weapon limbs in mock salute before dropping them for a kill shot.

+I need those shields! Reset already!+

The tech priestess canted that she was trying, chest sector right had failed explosively and it was interfering with the reset. Hange wept in pain as a turbo laser beam swept over her shoulders, a wash of blistering heat translated via the MIU. She rotated the titans torso and screamed for the tech priestess to get the left side only up as she turned her machine side on.

+Missile launcher disabled!+ Her moderati canted, fear tinging her voice.

The fields snapped up. A brace of cannon shells fell against the shields, but they held. She fed as much reactor power as she dared into the field emitters and continued to zigzag right.

+Give me the volcano cannon!+

She swung the long weapon up and locked it on the battered enemy reaver. It had advanced and followed its intact comrade, keeping the range while firing its left arm gatling blaster. Its shields were still down, still fighting to re-cohere, the two carapace hits had clearly damaged its own shield projectors.

She dropped the targeting reticule over its acid rain blistered torso and fired.

+++++

Glorious Harmathoe watched, eyes narrowed, as the engine duel continued up and down the highway. Hange Zoerrin was a crack pilot with a crack crew, and a superlative tactician. But even she could not fight two equal weight engines and win. She offered a silent prayer to the Omnissiah and turned her attention to the river. Nearby, chimera autocannons fired at the distant siege crawlers and warhounds, who stubbornly remained lurking in the shadow of their charges. Tracer shells created a fine tracer of lights as the elevated heavy weapons lobbed shells into the distance. Above, the roof of the world rippled and pulsed as the artillery argued. She was processing the tacticae feeds from Rho, who, diligent as ever, was broadcasting a blow by blow accounting as his forces overwhelmed the enemy ground units and got chewed up in turn by two warhounds.

It was now that the battle would be decided.

+++++

Hector Rho slammed his helmeted head into an enemy skitarii, sending it reeling before a close range plasma pistol shot cored out its torso and dropped it as a collection of smoking limbs into the ankle deep muck. The combat in quarry Alpha-118 was fraught, brutal and one sided. The enemy skitarii were outnumbered and lacking coordination. Even as he hacked his wide bladed power sword through the neck of another enemy, Hector was running the numbers. He had the enemy infantry on the ropes, with a solid 3-1 kill ratio in his favour across this narrow front. But the enemy engines. . . as if summoned by that line of thought, a bellow echoed through the quarry. Looming over his skitarii like an angry graven idol was a warhound, its shields crackling. For a moment a hush fell over the quarry as both sides paused to identify the engine.

Hector Rho squirted a scatter order a second before it fired.

Liquid, sizzling flame poured from one limb, tinged white. Hector Rho thought he caught the smell of phosphex. Delzharian was an innovator, and that innovation might have extended to the engines in his employ. Skitarii melted and burned, turned to stumbling torches or cooked to nothing but twisted wires. The vulcan mega bolter tore into a squad of kataphrons traversing to fire, tearing the combat servitors to pieces in a hail of explosive shots.

At last, Hector Rho was facing his death. He raised his sword in challenge to the great engine of his demise. The warhound turned to face him, identifying him as the leader of the skitarii, and he could feel the cold, contemptuous regard of the princeps in his cockpit, staring down at the insect he was about to crush. The vulcan mega bolter centered on him and his honour guard, and started to spin up.

Explosions rocked across the engines voids, which explosively failed. The warhound turned its head and the weapon turned away, and Hector Rho exulted that today was his day to serve, rather than die.

+++++

Levvi Straub raced towards the engine massacring the skitarii.

"Keep it pinned."

Anna and Pietr canted non-verbal confirmations, their knights crossing each other even as they slammed more battlecannon shells and missiles into the warhound at full pace. This was Levvi's kill. He lined up the graviton singularity cannon on the beasts rain washed carapace, and fired. The distortion effect tore into the plating and ripped cooling vents clear. Lighting arced from overtaxed voids. The vulcan came round and Levvi snapped his ion flare field into place. A relic of a gilded age of human technology, few of the massive reactive rounds got through to patter from his forest green armour. He reached the edge of the quarry and slid down the muck, firing his graviton cannon again. This time the blast caught and compressed the engines right hip. Coolant lines tore free, hydraulics shattered. The warhound had been breaking away and nearly toppled as it did so, but its steersman was skilled, correcting the fall in a scream of overtaxed gyros. Prevented from fleeing, it turned its inferno cannon on him. Heat washed through the field an clung to his Knight, and he could feel phosphex bite into his carapace. Levvi fired his laser lance in reply, and the white beam punched into the upgraded weapon, carving it away in a plume of fire that drenched a half dozen enemy skitarii and burned them to less than ash.

Then he hit, full tilt. His shoulder carapace crunched into the underside of the warhound even as his lance carved into the weakened right leg. With a roar of metal, the Titan stumbled backwards, the right leg shearing away. It slammed into the quarry floor and threw out a cascade of slurry as it settled into the waterlogged earth.

Breathing hard, Levvi approached the downed titan with caution, placing his laser lances muzzle against its cockpit.

+Yield and live.+ He canted simply over an open channel. There was a series of dull bangs, and the titans heads shot clear, skidding across the quarry.

+engine kill+ He canted over the open channel. Rho and his skitarii roared their approval.

+++++

The other warhound had been harassing the skitarii on the extreme right of the fight. Like its disabled brother, its inferno cannon reeked of phosphex. Its vulcan mega bolter was also modified, its ammunition laced with radium rounds like the skitarii it hunted. Where it walked, death was lingering in its footsteps.

For Hinzer, Ackerman and Venato, this was proving a tough fight. Wary, it was circling and strafing like a hunting bird, not letting the knights pin it in place. Venato's Cerastus Acheron was an infantry murdering machine, and its chainfist would carve through the Warhound. It knew this, and therefore kept its distance. Hinzer, in a Knight Crusader, was keeping the Warhounds shields down, but little else with his battlecannon and his gatling cannon. Slower than the other knights, he was doing little else but harassing the larger machine and sending fire into the occasional enemy skitarii their fight stepped over.
Ackerman in her Errant was probably their best chance at a kill. She had already charred a deep wound in the Warhounds carapace, but she had paid for that privilege with a torrent of fire that had near crippled her. For now, she added shots from her ironstorm missiles to Hinzers occasional infantry bullying.

+anytime you are ready ladies+ Erin canted over the vox.

There was a mocking burp of static in response. Erin cursed. The enemy engine was pumping out massive interference.

+++++

The fight turned. Glorious Harmathoe watched as the warhounds burned in at top speed to relieve the pressure on Rosa. Hector Rho, always diligent, always eager, marshaled his skitarii and left the knights to root out the last infantry elements. He now pushed his forces with zeal, cutting left and towards the stalled out siege crawlers, driving the remnant infantry strengths before him.

[Jarms48]

Midnight and its platoon rolled to a stop on the right flank, the lead tank hugging a smoke-blackened church. A sudden thwak-boom rent the air, as an armour-piercing shell cored through both walls at the corner of the church and then did the same to the tank behind. Aboard Midnight, lieutenant Marcellus felt a thunderbolt of pain and looked down to see the mangled remnants of his left foot. The loader below him was screaming that the driver was dead, while a choking sound announced the gunner coughing his life out red over the tank’s targeting instruments.

Vanquisher. Marcellus thought, his head spinning as he groped for the vox caster. Only a frakking Vanquisher shell could do that…

Marcellus, 3rd Platoon, 2nd Company:
Michael was dead and Uwe was on his way out too. Veterans of Telfus, hardened bastards the both of them. Tears began to swell at his eyes, Marcellus didn't think he could still cry, he thought that well had run dry long ago. Was it the pain or the suffering, he couldn't tell, but he knew what he had to do. With so little time remaining, another round was coming their way the enemy hadn't confirmed their kill.

That was a Vanquisher of all things. If they could load a one-twenty round from the ready rack in 9 - 10 seconds. Then surely a Vanquisher with its longer breech, heavier cartridge and cramped ergonomics meant a return shot had to be at least double that. He couldn't speak for enemy crews loading skill, but their gunner got them with their first shot. That bastard must be good.

Nine. He began counting, assuming the worst possible scenario.

He gritted his teeth and fought through the pain, he couldn't pass out now. Not while Dieter and Peter still had a chance at living. His left hand hit the smoke discharger. He could hear the smoke pots outside make their little thuds as they popped out of their banks.

"Bail out!" He yelled. His vision was getting hazy and he could feel the wetness stream down his cheeks.

Eight.

Dieter and Peter looked at him. Dieter bemused, as if he didn't know what he was seeing. Marcellus was sure the man had never seen him cry over all these years. They knew him as a cold man, someone who barely showed his emotions.

"Get the fuck out now!" He bellowed again. "Tell the rest of the platoon to back up. Let them know we're up against a Vanquisher."

Seven.

Marcellus pulled his laspistol out of his holster and placed it against Uwe's head. The lieutenant shut his eyes, he didn't want to see what he was about to do.

"I failed you, you didn't deserve this. You were better than this. Let the Emperor know that." Marcellus said, before he squeezed the trigger and put Uwe out of his misery.

Six.

Peter had already thrown open the hull gunners hatch and clambered out into the smoke cloud. Dieter took for the escape hatch on the floor and began crawling on his back to relative safety behind the tank. Marcellus couldn't let them down. He'd already lost two of them, he wouldn't lose another. With the rest of his strength he threw open the commanders hatch on his cupola.

He stood one legged on his chair, his body leaning against the armour. He grasped the heavy stubber with both hands, he fumbled for the bolt and racked it.

Five.

He opened up. Red sparks of tracer fire lit up through the smoke as he sprayed rounds in the enemies direction. He didn't care if he hit anyone, this was a last act of defiance, to give Peter and Dieter some suppression as they made a retreat.

Four.

Behind him, Peter and Dieter had split up. They were both on their feet, each of them running to a separate tank of their platoon. Peter had disappeared behind Moxie, he went for the infantry telephone. Dieter had done similar, sprinting behind Matchlock the platoons Exterminator.

Three.

"You bastards! They didn't deserve to die, not to you!" He didn't know what he was saying. The pain was becoming too much. It was becoming hard to stand. He wanted to rest. He wanted to close his eyes and give up.

Two.

Moxie and Matchlock went into full reverse. Moxie's turret had already traversed towards the bored hole through the church. Its battle cannon roared. A smoke shell replied through the gap and stuck towards the rebel positions.

"Seems like Wilhelm is trying to blind them. He was always a smart man." Marcellus said to himself. Reminiscing, a small blood stained smile coming over his lips.

One.

"Looks like the clocks struck Midnight." He laughed, before a blood churning cough took over him. "I guess I was right, they can't reload as fast as us. I'm living on borrowed time."

He could try to escape, he could drag himself out of Midnight and take refuge against the church wall, but there was no point. He failed his men, he'd broke down in front of them. There was only him and the stubber now. Then the rattling of the gun stopped as its belt ran dry.

"I guess it's just me..." He sighed, before slumping over onto the turret roof.

Peter, 3rd Platoon, 2nd Company:
He'd taken refuge behind Moxie, his body pressed up against the armour. He flung open the rear stowage box and pulled off the receiver of the infantry telephone.

"Corporal Muller to Moxie, last orders from Lieutenant Marcellus. There's a Vanquisher in the rail yard, he wants us to back the fuck up. In those words, I'll stay out here with the foot mobiles and spot." Relayed Peter.

"Rodger Corporal, we'll get on the horn to the Captain. She'll need to hear about this." Replied Sergeant Wilhelm.

Peter threw back the receiver and made his way to Dieter. Adrenaline had taken over and by now they both had their laspistols in hand. How long had it been now? Seconds, minutes, hours? It felt like an eternity. The two tankers covered their ears as Moxie fired and they watched as the platoon reversed into safety. Seconds later there was another bang. Their eyes went back to Midnight who's flank had now been pierced and there was black smoke brewing out of the open cupola.

"Lieutenant!" Peter called out. He was about to run for it, he could see Marcellus' body laying lifeless out of the hatch, but Dieter had grabbed him by the shoulders.

"It's too late he's gone!" Dieter screamed, before forcing them onto the ground. "Midnight's going to cook off!"

[Azazeal849]

Spoiler: Legio Sirenia - Perinetus 

A booming explosion shuddered out across the quarries. One moment, the Rosa had been duelling against two grinning enemy Reavers; the next, there was only one enemy, the second having vanished in a hellish fireball. Long streamers of flame launched skyward, turning red and then black as they peeled apart and arced over.

+Engine kill! Engine kill!+

Around Hector Rho, the skitarii who were not directly engaged with the remnants of the enemy tech-guard paused to raise their weapons over their heads and emit a primal, thunderous roar in praise of their god-machine. Even the enemy Reaver seemed stunned, lurching drunkenly sideways as its sister engine detonated. Having seen the god-machines walk across a hundred battlefields, Rho knew it to be a hasty manoeuvre intended to steer clear of radiation and shrapnel; it was still pleasing however to imagine the false god staggered and driven back by his soldiers’ declaration of faith.

The Patriots’ remaining skitarii fought on grimly, lidless eyes fixed on their opponents as they were ground inexorably backwards. Rho’s forward tactical projections calculated almost total annihilation of the enemy force; a 100% casualty rate which could have been reduced to 85% if their rear elements had begun to withdraw under covering fire. The apparent logical error started to make sense when the artillery began to fall again, bursting along the frontline and flattening Loyalist and Patriot squads alike. Knowing they were about to be overrun, the enemy tribune was attempting to fix Rho’s forces in place and use their own locator beacons as artillery targets.

It was the duty of all skitarii to lay down their lives for the prophets and their god-machines. But the Patriot gods were already dying.

The second Warhound on Rho’s flank had darted back and then strafed sideways, attempting to reach the ejected cockpit of its packmate, but Straub’s knights had formed up and were lashing its shields with concerted gunfire. Bleeding smoke, the Warhound was forced to retreat, spitting a fan of plasma bolts into the ground as it went. The crescent of explosions chained off in a makeshift screen of hot smoke and electromagnetic flux, and the Warhound hazed away on Straub’s sensors as it sought shelter in the interlocking quarries.

The other two Warhounds had wisely hung back, close to the stalled siege crawlers. The Vostroyan armoured infantry had, equally wisely, held position on the other side of the Javelis; hull-down in broken ground and craters, harassing the much larger Patriot units with seeker missiles and bursts of long-range multi-las. The crawlers and their guardians fired back with punches of laser light, but they were like predators swatting at wasps, and their shields were already flashing with strain.

The stalemate ended with the explosion of the Patriot Reaver, forcing the engine-killer Warhound to peel away and guard the remaining Reaver from the lurking Knights. The Vostroyans took their chance, leaving their disembarked heavy weapon squads to keep firing while the armoured infantry surged forward. Chimeras roared from their covered positions, spalling off fumus canisters and squirting fuel into their exhaust manifolds until the whole eastern bank was choked with rolling smoke. The Warhound’s megabolter opened up, swinging back and forth across the smokescreen and staining it orange and black with vehicle explosions. The Vostroyans struck back tenfold.

One crawler’s shields failed with a lightning flash, and then the other’s. By the time the Chimeras were thrashing and churning across the river, the flank of the leading crawler was already aflame, fire-ghosts dancing in the window arches that had once held defensive lascannons, auspex blisters and devotional statuary.

As its supporting guns fell silent, the outnumbered Warhound changed tactics. Shield-stripped and stippled with craters from multilaser blasts, it was attempting to use the smoke bleeding from the nearby crawler as cover. Vostroyan IFVs clawing up the western bank cooked off or flipped over, return fire slackening as they fought to recalibrate their heat-scopes.

A squadron of Sentinels broke the deadlock, powering ahead of the stalled Chimeras to hook round the Warhound’s flank. The titan’s megabolter ratcheted into life, sweeping two of the walkers out of existence. The third crabbed sideways, lascannon flaring. The threads of blue light connected with the Warhound’s ankle joint, blasting through the armour plate and blowing out the gravitic compensator behind. The ground sank away under the titan’s leg as it abruptly felt the walker's full, megatonne weight, and suddenly the god-machine was falling, going down with a shrieking crash.

The Vostroyan commander stared open-mouthed as he jumped from the rear ramp of his Chimera, the vehicle’s engine snarling as it chewed away up the riverbank.

“Titan down!” he exulted into his handheld vox. As his squad went to ground beside him, he groped for the shoulder-guard of the nearest trooper. “You, get me the name of that Sentinel pilot!”

On the shell-cratered arterial, the surviving Patriot Reaver faced down the engine that had killed its sister. A hostile glare of auspex locks fizzed back and forth through the air. Rosa was limping; its enemy hunched like a wolf with hackles raised. The Patriot titan dipped a salute with its gun arms, this time in earnest, and broke into a loping run. Missiles thumped from its dorsal launcher like burning darts. The Warhound stalked close behind; jackal-rabid, with jammer code hissing from its vox casters.