Post by nocreditneo on May 12, 2022 3:52:00 GMT
WHITEWHARF SYSTEM ZJR Platoon Commander, Chor Nochaaq They are on the move, comes the monotone drone of the Array operator. And have passed into the detection envelope of our local Halshanat arrays. Tactical data is updating. Beyond the hull of the machine, darkness - suffocating yet nascent - yields to blinding flashes of infantry fire. Along the first of the ridges occupied by Nochaaq's men, darkened spheres float in the soupy blackness, cresting only enough for their night-tinged forms to be made out momentarily by discerning Justicar spotters; minutely larger than fists, they chatter with beams against what they detect, and are joined by sporadic sharpshooter potshots from the few concealed marksmen of the platoon. Don't like how many they are. Don't like the positions they're in, Nochaaq responds. But at least we do have some friendly support now. His displays flicker as if in agreement, showing arrived Carnaithian assets and the shadowy mass signatures of men on far slopes scurrying about like so many bison, ready to commit to the stampede. His eyes scan the field yet again and his chosen avenues of withdrawal, then they fall towards the pilot, hushed in concentration, while his concerned mind forges words from thought: how are we holding? still able to maintain? The pilot nods slowly. Damage is more than we can repair here but I think the right adjustments are in order. We have no access to either of our entropic lances and still can't make top speed. I'll keep that in mind, Nochaaq says. Guess that means we should avoid getting caught. Will need to keep an eye on our position. Going to ne- Vyrnash, the Array operator interjects, and Atka in contact.
Indicators along Nochaaq's flank betray the positions of the platoons in question; as the advanced guard of the neighbouring companies, they are similar in complement and accoutrement and have their own light artillery and drone systems deployed where need be. Nevertheless, the vast host readying before them extends past their flanks entirely, cementing the need for mobility in Nochaaq's mind. Alright, he says, turning to the pilot, keep us low and out of the line.
Then with alacritous intent mortars rain from afar. Cascading in sheets upon the first of the ridges, each impact rattles the earth - so thunderous and swift - and flash across Nochaaq's feed in variegated hues of gold and red and blue, and in the opening moments, eliminate two of his light artillery positions. The automated guns clatter down the hillside to the waiting valley depths, and fade from brilliant turquoise to black before Nochaaq's gaze, while the lazy Whitewharf sky takes on their mournful chorus of sooty tears. By His Trident! Nochaaq spits, if they wish to throw batteries at us, we will throw them right back! Are we yet in receipt of company Array reserves? Tasi, nam-Chelnar, the Array operator confirms, we are currently serving as primary node and should have enough to provide point coverage, but only limited offensive contribution. Nochaaq leans back in his seat. Good, he says, shift our probes to the flank and fire over the hills. nam-Nochaaq Chelnar? We are still receiving reports of anti-air fire. Yes, Nochaaq nods. Have them hug the ground. They only need to expose themselves momentarily. The Array operator casts his superior an unseen, questioning, glance. Alright, he says after a brief pause, deploying. As Nochaaq's quartet of probes speed to their target zone and Chrühov duel with their counterparts, heavier elements rush into position further behind the line. Senaq's priority, even before setting foot in Stakesby, is securing portions of a road that leads through the mountains linking it with the recently-felled city of Malts. Notably, the battalion and brigade level artillery formations, sifting through reams of sensor data, narrow their focus in preparation for being called upon.
—--
VANDAR 2 "Incoming armour," grunted Guivre, and Ancalagon nodded. "Mnementh, get up there." The dragon with the firework device set off up the hill, dropping to his stomach before the crest and crawling up beside Lop and Guivre. He slid the strange weapon forward, erecting a bipod and settling his grip, saying nothing. Guivre took another peek at the incoming IFVs, waiting for them to round a low crest and pass a gentle depression to their left that lay directly in front of his position. If Mnementh could stop the lead IFV, the others would be forced to drop into the depression or else pull back and find another way around, since to their right was a short but steep bluff. He glanced at Lop. "Get ready." he said, unhelpfully. After a moment's pause, Mnementh fired. His weapon emitted a strange noise, a rumbling, synthesized buzzing, and spewed forth a multicoloured, iridescent beam that lanced at the side of the lead IFV, strafing it back and forth. It was a graviton lance, designed not to destroy but rather disable, increasing the elasticity of molecules in its path so that they warped and expanded by a small fraction, killing biological proteins and deforming mechanical components. Guivre held his fire, his sniper rifle far better suited to dismounts once they emerged.... --
-- MALTS No enemy counterattack materialised on the ground as the 4th battalion struggled to extricate its equipment from the downed lander. The enemy, however, had clearly spotted them and a barrage of drone munitions began a steady, withering storm of fire against the downed craft. The whole precarious structure groaned and shuddered under the attack, whilst around it the 4th battalion's point-defense systems struggled to protect the dismounts and the marines scattered for cover. Major Andersen cursed. There was no way they would be able to right the ship or set up engineering to find any other kind of solution, so they were left with only one option. "Just use the hardlight fields and jump the vehicles. Anything that doesn't make it we leave behind, just get them moving!" he called into his comlink, his normally muted and considered voice showing a hint of frustration that in other officers would still be considered blasé. After a few moments, the first tank attempted it. A light Balm AFV skidded over the upturned edge of the hangar bay, arcing through the air silently before its bathymetric hardlight drive fired up again, a cloud of pink light boiling underneath it as it fell like a meteor to the ground. There was a hiss, a boom and a crunch as it landed, bouncing off the gravel and veering slightly before coming to a stop. A lieutenant bellowed, waving at it to keep moving and clear the space as another followed....
—--
VANDAR 1 Hendrik’s assault was reaching its culminating point. The attack itself was relatively textbook in nature, and its simplicity had paid dividends. By the time the defenders were able to rally, the assault squad led by Hendrik and Runn had already broken through their defensive perimeter. The disoriented Justicars had suffered greatly at their hands, while Hendrik had at most suffered one fatality to a grenade placed on the hill and another wounded by a concussive round. Runn’s assault squad was negotiating the last stretch of divots and washes, no more that fifty meters from where they needed to be for minimum needed effects with their sapper charge. Even though they were underneath the bore of the massive golden gun that remained, the terrain they were traversing prevented them from seeing immediate threats until it was right in their faces. Occasionally his squad found entrenched defenders as they bounded ahead, engaging in chaotic close-quarters-battle. An egregious static sound assaulted Hendrik’s ear as he took cover in his next piece of dead space. His display showed him a message highlighted in red, denoting an error in his squad’s internal systems.
RUNN – AUD. MALF.
Hendrik looked to his flank, knowing Runn’s team should be keeping up along his right side. He was right; he saw Runn waving him down from afar, armor scuffed and helmet damaged, but otherwise fine. Before he could form any response, a tan cloud of particulate forcefully burst and encapsulated Runn’s entire team. Hendrik’s eyes widened, able to watch the subsequent explosion of white light through his adaptive optics that reduced his team leader to a haze of powder in the wind. In a flash, Runn and his troops were gone. Hendrik said nothing, relying on his muscle memory to continue forging ahead. Only then did he see the Desolator levelling a car-sized decadizing cannon in two hands; still smoking at the bore from punctuating Runn’s life.
Jurgen and Ishta’s squads had performed their tasks to a razor margin, confusing the defenders at the size of their force and direction of attack. Most of the defenders were massing to the southeast to meet Jurgen’s wall of fire as Hendrik had left all of his heavy guns there. Likewise, Ishta was using the Justicar’s own playbook to draw another element in a chase. This saved Hendrik from needing to punch through vehicle support; most of which were smoldering husks from the initial volleys of rockets. Even so, the anti-orbital battery was still thundering away towards the heavens, and Hendrik was facing down a gilded behemoth; his last ordeal before silencing the battery for once and for all. -
VANDAR 2 – NORTHEAST STAKESBY MOUNTAINS They were outmanned and outgunned by far; Pavo clamored up the hill as his new friends smartly seized the initiative. Loose rocks and slate broke and tossed under his feet as he stepped up forcefully, seamlessly transitioning to a crawl as he came to the crest. At the bottom of the hill, Roth had lifted the now-unconscious double amputee onto his shoulders once more. He began trotting along to the north, running through the low ground towards the next piece of key terrain. He intended to ferry his casualties one at a time, as far north as he could get them as Pavo and company conducted whatever plan of action they’d devised. The lustrous beamed raked through the foremost Justicar hovercraft, rending small parts of the composite metal like paper tossed in a fire. Once a part of the prow slowly furled into itself, the hover drive pathetically sputtered out and clumsily sat the armored vehicle onto the ground. The left blast door had warped in such a way that the emergency release malfunctioned and jammed it a quarter of the way open. The right door’s emergency release, however, forced itself open in a rearward motion, allowing its many dismounts to pour out and scatter. In the distance, they could see many golden figures disappearing by whatever scraps of cover they could find, whether it was large rocks or scraps of the Redleg. “Dismounts. Squad sized. Reading five hundred out,” Lop announced, spotting and marking the Justicar riflemen in his optic and transmitting live details to his compatriots. He nodded to Mnementh, probably just as unhelpful with the redundant information. -
The Soris transport skiffs had reason enough to maintain wide dispersion, the rest of the formation zippering outwards in their staggered column to cover their flanks. It was evident they had not expected resistance, denoted by their lack of direction or return fire. Anticipating the development of an ambush, the Justicar vehicles sprung to life after a few short moments. The next vehicle in line began speeding through their killzone, the blue field underneath the gold-plated craft intensifying brightly and kicking up dust as they blazed towards them. The other three moved towards the left edge of the valley, away from the bluff and trying to mask their route with the scattered debris. The riflemen were hugging the deck, but since the Justicars had no indication of the attitude of their assailants, they simply remained hunkered with the odd few exposed to observation and fire from the Ash Banner and Raider marksmen. “Bodkin, Vandar-2. Attack heading, 190, left shoulder, left egress. Got four hover, northbound and fast,” Pavo said, uncertainty evident in his voice as he watched their attackers draw near, and fast too. “I’m inbound. Can’t see your target, I’m too low. Will have to acquire on the pass.” Pavo thought carefully, gritting his teeth as he considered his options. Would he risk Bodkin to make some low and hasty passes? If she couldn’t fly high and account for air defense over the left ridge, was it worth the effects? He shook his head, “Bodkin, Pavo. Abort, Abort. It’s too hot.” “Not your call. Still on course, check my panels,” Bodkin responded over their tac net, not missing a beat. -
SKRIMISHERS – EAST STAKESBY MOUNTAIN “Ten kilometers?” Sokari repeated, bemusement clear. “I suppose it cannot be helped; they must be tired from the ride to Stakesby.” “Our units to the east of the pass are in heavy contact; they are becoming unable to sustain an effective rate of fire. Airspace coverage nominal,” The individual sallied into the communication array interjected. “If only I had a relief force able to respond in a timely manner,” Sokari dryly remarked, moving on before any of his subordinates could chew on the statement. “Vena. Send you Pasabi to augment and secure those grenadiers.” The main body of the Justicar’s armored formation were in a staggered column making movement towards the mouth of the main pass, taking special care to not unmask for the enemy’s direct fire. While the Pordish orbs were able to take precise fires at handfuls of observers, they were not excited to see what types of anti-armor weapons could strike the hovercraft from defilade. Stalling their advance momentarily was a well-placed artillery round, the creeping adjustments having brought one munition into a lucky direct hit. Without stopping their movement, the hovercraft simply worked around the flaming husk of pale armor as well as a couple more damaged and malfunctioning vehicles on the side. At their assault position, the vehicles staged in a security posture, waiting for the order to begin their breakthrough. While the grenadiers tied up the skirmishers on the series of ridges over, the hovercraft could blast through the perimeter and work to encircle the enemy force in bounds. If the numerous tanks could break the line, their foe would be in quite a decisive position. -
“Conditions are almost set,” They all heard the transmission from the commander of the Cekara tanks, “Awaiting your co-“ “Reinforcements! More landers made it past our interceptors, unknown size,” The communications operator interjected, “Forces moving quickly to reinforce, towards the isolated end.” “I want the air coverage pushed forward. Vena, push your force ahead and take the next ridge. Force their hand,” Sokari fired off. And so his pieces began to move; the skies above were a storm of overhead detonations, being intercepted by a torrent of interdicting munitions. Every stray Pord round that made it through the stalwart coverage cost more lives, vehicles, and, more importantly, rates of fire. Reports of rearline raiders were flowing in at the same time; troops shortly discovering in their nonstandard optics several small objects whirring through their lines and striking their rear positions to good initial effects. The Justicars saw a small lapse in their own indirect fire as they repositioned, and security elements began chasing down what they ascertained were drone raiders. His plan banked on violence of action; his armor pushed through the critical pass by bounding echelons, moving fast and guns oriented to the north- a Pasabi of a dozen tanks broke off to harass the Carnaithians as they advanced as well as conduct a recon by fire. Overhead the grenadiers continued to exchange their barrage across the air above the valley, trying to plunge rounds on the occupied reverse crest. Vena’s own troopers began their attack, dismounting and racing to seize the next ridge on the isolated flank, to try and gain advantageous terrain before the joint attacking force could seize it for themselves.
OVER MALTS Baniti felt his thunderous cannon quake as it launched its two-stage warheads to his quarry. A sense of pride filled him as a series managed to strike true, blinding flashes causing the structure to molt away and shudder in its descent. The feeling was replaced by disappointment as he completed his first pass, his wingmen unable to complete the job. The landing craft still maintained overall integrity, and to his dismay, it would land before he had time to complete his return pass. His formation split into two, four fighters making wide arcs in opposite directions. “A new command,” He spoke, feeling the data transmitted to his framework and taking his primary attention off of the sky. He relayed to the rest of the strike craft to be redundant, “West of Malts, vulnerability in the line. We will strike before they can regroup.” Before he received an affirmative response, one of his accompanying fighters erupted violently into a fireball, chunks of the bident-shaped craft losing forward velocity and beginning their plummet to the surface. Instinctively, the remaining fighters dispersed far away from one another, shooting in vastly different directions. “How-?” His question answered itself as he realized the traces gaining on him weren’t a fluke; he had suspected the phantom dots trailing him were one of the hundreds of subversive drones harassing his arrays. In his predatory pursuit, he was someone else’s prey. “Don’t overshoot- gain position!” A pair of craft began a hasty climb- though it appear the Carnaithian strike craft already had height on them. Contrasting the allied fighters’ countermeasures, receptors along the Justicar hulls began to fade in a shroud of matte black, quickly enveloping them in a multi-spectrum cloak obscuring their figure and disorienting weapon tracking systems. Their goal in the initial engagement was simple- survive. -
BOMANI – GOVERNOR’S RESIDENCE Since his last tirade, Bomani was silent. He listened to his many commanders and elements at work, preparing to recall Sokari regardless of his success or failure. His fury had faded in favor of newfound clarity. With the majority of Imperial troops in the impassable darkness of Stakesby, he oversaw their entrenchment. “Ensure none of our guests are without escort. Terrible things happen in the dark.”
—--
WHITEWHARF SYSTEM ZJR Platoon Commander, Chor Nochaaq Skyreaching columns of smoke - more ashen than night's stifling veil - lift towards the distant heavens. With each passing moment more join their number, hurled forth from shell impacts against the slate, and the whistling of their originators (rounds burdened with frigid, groundward, intent) burrow through the night. Two spheres drift over the crown of a ridge. Beams pulse from them and disappear into the murk from which withering fire returns; the diminutive probes, more agile than stout, weave through the counterfire, but a near-miss hurries into the dirt near the lead, and the shockwave from the blast unravels the device. It sinks into the ground with a flash of spatial distortions while its companion explodes in a fireball, the anti-tank weaponry levied against it far more than enough to deal with its lightweight construction. Thus pressured so, a withdrawal begins across the myriad initial ridges. Sharpshooters and drones flow towards the next positions in the line and - despite casualties - leave only materiel, not men, as the Justicar accuracy improves on the heels of their landed shots.
The Array operator rubs his head. Forces withdrawing to the secondary ridgeline, he says. They have their wounded with them, but we are being pressured. He stares into the displays without glancing towards Nochaaq; a headache parades through his temples from the effort. This mortarfire is oppressive, Nochaaq scowls. Point defense can accomplish only so much, and where it fails, shells fall upon his positions. I hope Atka and Vyrnash are holding better. If they go, so too do my flanks. Our four probes have engaged, but they are being engaged themselves - the Array operator shifts the topic - how long will we maintain? One appears to have been eliminated despite its access to the company Array reserves. Maintain unti- Armour in the pass! Armour moving up through the pass! Nochaaq sees the markers on the displays, clearly denoted, and turns to the comms suite: nam-Ataq, Grazhnichelnar, we have armour moving against us. I can't hold as is. Ataq's hologram flickers and his beard quivers in the wind. He is visibly outside and not in a command vehicle. Armour in the valley?
Tasi, yes, armour in the valley! Nochaaq answers swiftly. I shall be overrun. Ataq motions off-screen, then - far calmer than Nochaaq - addresses the concern: no, not yet. Battalion and brigade artillery commanders have been preparing to assist. I believe they have their targets. We have your positions and the Carnaithian positions noted. Stay in the shade of the hills. We will manage, Nochaaq says. As the first Justicar tanks hover towards the Pordish line, the response is swift - though not overwhelmingly so; the lightest of the artillery formations - Torchüzhyn, Kalan, and others - lead the adjustment, walking their plunging fire gradually to the nearing columns. But well to their rear, in the staging grounds of the higher-level formations, other actors surge into motion. Beyond the defensive perimeters erected in support of the floating gun batteries, nam-Künaan type strike craft prowl the skylanes in active battle against incoming anti-air threats. Notably, however, these naval formations (bloodied but not winless) are joined by the attached skirmishing units organic to the artillery themselves, Halmelazh Nachchrühov, comprised of smaller yet swifter nam-Zoshnar type vehicles. In one such unit, a long-range decadizing shell tears though the nose of a nam-Zoshnar, coring it completely, and it plummets towards the dirt below. And in that moment, torrential currents of air crackle through the night as long-barreled RPDCs ascend to medium and high altitude stations in pursuit of positions with direct line-of-sight into the distant valleys where Nochaaq battles; putrid emerald fog drips from their gaping maws to mix with the meager clouds, then one fires - a shimmering fog-sheathed beam - then another, then three more, followed soon by the rest of the artillery in the group, and the glow from their heightening salvoes lingers over the horizon. They are set upon, then, by Justicar anti-air suites; a heavy piece from Haqnoot's Battery suffers their fury with protest; a string of rounds drives past the pickets and careens into its bow stabilizers, whereupon it shudders through the air column with concerning rapidity, but arrests its fall just above the foul dirt...
—--
VANDAR 2 Mnementh betrayed no satisfaction as the first skiff hit the deck, simply traversing the muzzle of his weapon to track the second skiff as it broke and accelerated, trying to rush through the ambush. He waited a moment to make sure he had a good bead, and as it turned slightly towards him he fired again, the beam aimed to rake the length of the skiff. Beside him, Guivre's finger curled around the trigger of the Kodiak, the common name given to the growling Wernham-Hogg marksman railgun. Rather than waste shots on moving targets as the Justicar dismounts scattered from their wrecked vehicle, he waited for them to settle down. As he had hoped, a few were exposed to his position. Once he fired, they would know where the allies were, but if he got it right he might be able to lure one or two more out before they managed to get into cover. He let his scope hover over a pair positioned almost perpendicular to him, his crosshairs resting on the right side of their heads as they scanned the hills to his right. Taking in a breath, he let it half out and then paused, opening fire on the furthest first before adjusting a fraction to send a round at the second soldier's torso. Immediately, not waiting to see the effect of his shots, he swang the gun left, aiming at the group he knew were in cover directly facing him. He didn't know how well-trained they were, but there was a chance the sudden impacts would prompt one or two to accidentally expose themselves as they looked back to see what had happened. Further down the hill, Ancalagon and Quinlong had a decision to make. Guivre had just warned them that a trio of skiffs had moved west, threatening to advance past the defenders' right flank, but at the same time Roth needed help moving casualties. They communed for a moment with in-helmet comms and then decided. _
"Lance, we are heading to that bluff to stop their flank movement. That should give you time to move the wounded. If you require assistance our designations are Ash-1 and Ash-4. Good luck." said Ancalagon brusquely, barely missing a beat as his HUD parsed Roth's Minevan patches and ascertained his rank with its unfamiliar nomenclature. Ancalagon and Quinlong turned to jog west behind the crest of the low bluffs. Away to the south the gunfire was picking up in intensity, but they could see the position of the enemy on their own HUDs, and they had time. Settling on a bluff that lay roughly athwart the enemy line of advance and commanded a view over a wide gully to their left that looked likely as a route up through the crest, Ancalagon braced his Kazedama rifle as Guivre shouldered hers and, from behind a rock, tossed a pair of remote-activation grenades onto the harder slope to their right, in case the Justicars refused to be drawn into the gully.
—--
SKIRMISH - EAST STAKESBY MOUNTAINS The vehicles were mostly scuffed; where those survived whose crews had been killed on descent, they were crewed by a pair of knights. They were primarily an infantry force, and this terrain was not the most convenient to move across for such a unit. Cracked blackstone glowed softly, reforming into stable forms in patterns that minimally affected the propulsive functionality of its presence. Of course, it was mostly there to keep the hovering assault tanks and IFV's airborne - the engine on their rear did most of the real work. "Enemy armor on ground-penetrating radar," the initially-calm voice of a scanner operator announced on the vehicle command network as the sharp doorstop-shaped craft roared over the rocky terrain. "Twelve all told. We're outgunned." "Then level the field. Troops to slow, guns to sprint. Engage at will." With as much speed as could be mustered across the valley between two ridges, the five Kopesh-model assault vehicles rocketed over the top, blackstone screeching as it - in conjuntion with conventional stabilizers along the hull - reoriented the front of the vehicles towards the incoming armor - immediately, "big fifties" began drumming armor-piercing rounds down the ravine, the spinal two hundred and fifty millimeter guns taking some time more to acquire specific firing solutions. Yet they did find them, the thundering reports of the high-caliber weapons echoing out simultaneously with the roar of the main engines providing recoil-cancelling thrust. Of course, the enemy had been sent with an objective - contact. As such, they were more prepared than may be hoped, and shots began coming in. Chemical laser nodes along the hulls of the Kopesh-class units began engaging the incoming rounds alongside burst spreads of countermeasure grenades, the IFVs following over the ridge once the first salvo had been loosed, their own fifty millimeter weaponry engaging at the same rate as their escort's turms.
OVER MALTS "They're cloaking!" Glare shouted over the comm-net, granted calmer than before per the combat stims being pumped into her synthetic blood. "Use your guns, don't shoot missiles without lock," Clubs advised as his fighter arced upwards into a loop to support the less experienced pilot. "If you see so much as a glimmer, try to hit it!" And so it was; the AI, working in conjunction with Glare's eyes via the neural link, did its best to project a search area, edge detection software and anomaly countermeasures working wonders - but the aiming was all on her. Tragically, her HUD was of course still present. She watched as their number three got splashed - the surviving close escorts for the transport moving to regroup and engage the now-stealthy hostile air on priority, but it didn't matter. They weren't her squadron. "FUCK!" she yelled at the red silhouette, squeezing the gun trigger at what she hoped was the enemy plane she was tailing; fifty-plus rounds of thirty millimeter shells speeding out from the engine cowling of her fighter.
—--
JAROS RELIEF COLUMN As the relief column closed with the fighting, the switchboard suddenly lit up with transmissions from the faltering Justicar position. Yargi squinted at the display for a few minutes, then started barking orders into the comm. Those Pordish bastards were trying to drive a line straight through the pass, and if they pulled it off, the Justicars would collapse or be driven back entirely. The eight heavy tanks of the column held the center position, as they climbed up into the pass. The light tanks swerved around then took the lead, scouting ahead for the Pords. Throughout the column, an atmosphere of tension and excitement held. Most expected an easy fight, with the attackers being swiftly driven back. In the command vehicle, Yargi had his own doubts.
—--
GOVERNOR’S RESIDENCE Parthan had seen many fights in his long decades, but none so doomed as the mass grave he strode across. There were no bodies buried in the pitch blackness of the courtyard that he walked, but the old man recognized in a few short hours that Stakesby would be a tomb to many thousands- that he and his men would be the chief residents. He grunted to himself. No battle is lost until it is lost; a lesson he had learned almost hundreds of times now. This lesson Parthan had gently reminded to his commanders throughout the city, after a handful of Centurions had demonstrated second thoughts about the current state of affairs. It pained him to put a few promising young leaders to the stake, but their replacements and subordinates had suddenly renewed their vigor in the face of dire odds. The integrated optics of his helmet allowed him a shadowy field of view in his immediate area, the same as his many legionnaires throughout the city, thanks to the enhancements from Justicar engineers. It saved him from waddling around in the dark with arms outstretched, instead able to enter the shrapnel-ridden entrance of the Justicar headquarters with a confident strut. He navigated the corridors covered in the fungal creep that desecrated the Ingen architecture, delving into Bomani’s inner sanctum. Parthan held his tongue at the alien foundations that assaulted his sensibilities. His eyes fell upon the hulk in golden armor that he’d come for, ensnared in machinery and sprawling organic growth that spiderwebbed across the walls and out of the room in massive veins. “So you’ve arrived.” Bomani spoke first, his voice echoing throughout the dark chamber. “We’re ready to hold this city for a year,” Parthan shot back with a deliberate overconfidence, though his flat delivery betrayed him, “Given enough food and ammunition.” -
“Ah. Even after losing so many men in such a short time,” Bomani haughtily remarked, “Your conviction and trust in your soldiers is inspiring.” Parthan clenched his jaw; he was not angry, but annoyed that he needed to entertain an arrogant bastard to survive. He continued, tone nothing but professional as he refused to acknowledge the remark, “My men have turned this city into a deathtrap. They’ll have to choose to breach through at a crawl and climb walls of their own dead, or vaporize it.” “Then we must await our counterparts. If the troops we sent to the north can delay in the mountains long enough, we can strike one last critical blow.” Parthan let out another gravelly grunt. “If.” He turned, his loose coat and cape swinging aside as he marched out. The old imperial resolved to not spend any unnecessary time with the patronizing fungus, instead to join his legions where they needed him the most. In a labyrinth of pulse mines, misdirecting traps, mobile reaction forces, and hard points of professional troops, his enemies would not soon forget what it meant to share the field of battle with the Legions of Jaros. -
VANDAR 1 – With Runn dead and his assault team scattered, Hendrik stood alone before the Desolator. While the battle on the summit raged on around them, the giant turned his attention to the Minevan. Hendrik fired and ran, the red beam from his weapon fizzling out on the heavy ablatives covering half-foot-thick armor. The only thing saving him from the burst and flash of the next decadizing warhead was a burning Justicar vehicle he dove behind. He shot looks around, desperately trying to find anything to edge his fight. His breathing grew ragged and rapid as his lungs burned for oxygen. His heart raced, hearing the throb in his ears alongside torrents of spirited radio chatter. His display told him his weapon was still relatively topped-off and reminded him of his slew of grenades. Without hesitating, he took one frag from his chest, primed it, and tossed it over the cover with a forceful grunt. He drew a second, repeating the process before the first had even gone off. The subsequent pair of close explosions rumbled in his chest and rattled his teeth, gritting hard. Hesitating for a moment, he produced a third item: a chaff and flare charge. He thumbed the arming switch hesitantly, knowing full well that even if he put the Desolator in the blind, everyone in the depression would be in a free for all. “This, or get turned into air,” Hendrik muttered. Hendrik looked to the clear blue sky above, drawing a single deep breath. Oh, how he longed for his next freefall. With another grunt, he lobbed the charge over the top and steeled his nerves. -
The charge was heard over the cacophony of fires with a distinctive airy crack. Its physical effects were immediate. Thick grey smoke engulfed the immediate area, billowing out the whole way back to Hendrik in moments. The cloud was filled with shimmering golden particulate that danced around, distracting the eyes. Hendrik could see dozens of system errors pile up to obstruct his view before turning to nothing, and his visor was rendered a simple piece of hardened glass. No feeds of information. No communications rang in his ear. No enhanced optics. Just the sound of his own breath and a muffled battle outside. Hendrik vaulted out of cover, having lost his Lancer energy rifle for a weighty Watchman revolver; he would need a strong solid projectile to punch through the soft points of the armor, especially given that the GDLs were going to be much less effective in the haze. He saw the silhouette of the Desolator before him, and to his pride, the silhouettes of his Raiders with similar reactions were upon it as well. The towering brute swung its gun to defend itself, now little more than an unwieldy club. For every Minevan smacked away, another seized an opportunity to send a point blank shot or plunge a monofilament blade through armor and joints. A string of grenades tearing a line through his smoke reminded Hendrik of the time-sensitive manner of his gamble. Another Raider was struck dead before the Desolator was brought to its knees, the damage to its lower body too much to bear its own weight. Hendrik darted forward as a pair of Raiders tried their best to hold the thrashing Desolator steady. With a grunt of effort, he leapt up, latched on to its chest plate with one hand, and used his other to put five slugs through the soft point of its helmet. -
The Desolator fell backwards with a heavy crash, shattering rock underneath it. Hendrik used the momentum of the fall to jump on and run ahead, his objective free before him. He produced the Tactical Implosion Charge from his back, and promptly armed the manual killswitch. Not knowing if his soldiers followed, he disappeared into the darkness of the orbital defense compound.
VANDAR 2 – NORTHEAST STAKESBY MOUNTAINS The weary medic thanked Ancalong with a curt nod, his own HUD corroborating the information that the Ash Banner provided aptly. As the Ingen warriors moved towards their fight, Roth took off in the opposite direction in a steady run. In short time, he disappeared into the terrain, only reappearing after several minutes in the same steady pace to lift the next casualty away. His muscles and joints, however assisted by the functions of his suit, still burned in agony under the feat of endurance. Atop the hill, Lop was conservative with his ammunition, opting to spot for the proactive shooter abreast to him. He watched the Justicar troopers being dispatched one after the next, desperately scrambling and shuffling to cover as they tried to orient themselves to the direction of their ambush. “Good hits,” The Minevan marksman called out to Guivre, appreciating his handiwork. The image in his scope was smooth in his steady hands, traversing and highlighting their quarry in red outlines about and behind the cover they could scrape. One Justicar unmasked from cover, waving and pointing to rally the others. Lop wasted no time to fire a clear beam from his rifle, the powerful beam melting through the would-be leader center mass. The rest, under the joint fire of those atop the hill, were now tightly buttoned down in cover and acutely aware of their attackers. “They have our position.” The Justicar riflemen with their concussive weapons did not take the risk of shooting nor maneuvering around; they were pinned by effective shooters and they knew it. -
The axis of advance of the trio of skiffs was a more pressing matter to Pavo, who was talking on the inbound strike craft. He put his conversation on hold to monitor the pair of Ash Banner warriors move into their hasty ambush position- averting his gaze only after seeing they took the perfect position to block. The wide draw they were approaching was going to bring them into terrain that would directly threaten the Minevans and Ingen fighters, and they were coming up quickly with tight dispersion. “Inbound. One-nine-zero.” Pavo sprung up as Bodkin announced her incoming pass. His brow furrowed, brain working hard to organize all the information before he spat it out. “Continue, my left shoulder. Three tanks southeast, moving northwest, guns only, danger close-” -
To their north, the groaning of a strike craft could be heard muffled by the hilltops. It wasn’t until Bodkin cleared the next ridge over that the screaming of its engines dominated their valley, zooming low and riding the terrain. Dust and debris was violently tossed in Bodkin’s wake as the large Minevan strike fighter made its final approach. “Guns only, left egress!” Pavo cried out, buffeted by a blast of dust and rocks. Less than a hundred meters off the deck, Bodkin made her attack approach along the long axis of the column of skiffs and skewered them with autocannons. The attack run was a violent handful of seconds, before the Broadhead performed its narrow left turn as Pavo had directed. “Being tracked,” Bodkin declared over the net, “Breaking north before a lock; that was fast!” Pavo watched as the strike craft gracefully finished its northward arc, before leveling out and blasting forward with a mighty flash of its thrusters. Only when the Minevan fighter had disappeared did he realized he’d been holding his breath, exhaling deeply in relief. “Panels looking good, Bodkin. Wave off for now.” From their bluff, Ancalong and Quinlong could see the middle vehicle had taken a catastrophic hit, bursting wide open in a remarkable eruption of touched-off grenade, scrap metal, and spare limbs. The lead skiff had broke resolve once again, opting to hit max speed to clear their assumed kill zone, only stopping once the terrain had cornered them to the harsher gully the pair had trapped. The skiff in the rear had taken a hit to its face, coming to a graceful halt still hovering above the beaten path. The blast doors in the rear forcefully opened rearwards, and out flowed twenty Justicar riflemen at the ready. The Justicar troops were resolved, actively searching for their enemies not knowing how close they truly were. -
SKIRMISHERS – EAST STAKESBY MOUNTAINS Sokari watched patiently as his battlespace only seemed to grow more and more complicated. What he surmised of his known enemy here was that they valued their ability to create standoff and delay more than anything. This was shown to him by his anti-air batteries constantly on the verge of being overwhelming by blankets of artillery and other deep-striking assets, and the lack of decisive effects that his own artillery held. There was a long silence in his command vehicle, as the assortment of leaders watched the holographic display of the battle for the mountain pass develop in real time. The Pordish weapons were delaying him quite effectively by the looks of the real-time reconnaissance. “They are desperate to not let the infantry in a threatening range. That is our first priority.” A couple perplexed noises resounded from the command skiff’s dim troop compartment, and Sokari shot around a wary look. Another look at the map showed the most recent development; the Imperial commander had dedicated all of his assets to run the mountain pass altogether and bypass the Pordish delaying position altogether. “What are they doing?!” “Where is their commander? Why has he not-“ Sokari slammed a plated fist to the deck where he was kneeling, commanding everyone’s attention. He shot icy looks to his subordinates one by one, before patiently continuing. “It matters not. Is it a poor choice? Daft? Irrelevant. It is a bold maneuver- and we will capitalize. The infantry will take the next ridge and prepare for close combat as they try to stop all of that armor. Ensure the anti-air artillery maintains coverage until they are upon the enemy.” -
In the mountain pass, the Justicar armor allowed the Imperial units to overtake them entirely, choosing to act as a reserve and stay in defilade. As the furthest vanguard of the Justicar lines, the anti-air coverage was the least potent in and around the pass. The Pordish weapons yielded good effects, the occasional munition slipping through the coverage to conduct a top-down kill on the tanks. The Imperial armor frayed into a series of staggered columns, maintaining speed and doing their best to circumnavigate the fresh flaming husks of their comrades. -
The Justicar grenadiers continued their rapid rate of fire, lobbing low-angle explosives into the defilade that the Pords occupied. The losses from the precision weapons, unfortunately, were beginning to pile up and the initial indication of a waning rate of fire were appearing. The Justicar infantry that was advancing to the next ridge was officially under a timer; either they made it to the next ridge- and then flood into the Pordish position- or both they and the grenadiers would be utterly destroyed. The first surviving soldiers of Vena’s Infantry Pasabi occupied the isolated ridge that flanked the Pordish position- if they were able to consolidate, Vena would be able to lead his men into an assault close combat with the sharpshooters picking them off from the very next ridge. This was the deciding point- The skies above were a glimmering shower of incoming and outgoing artillery with anti-air platforms intercepting hundreds of munitions a minute on both sides. Imperial armor were making steady progress through the pass and Vena’s Infantry were moments away from mounting a direct assault. Would Nochaaq be able to weather it. All was going well- until Sokari received reports of a new factor. “They’ve been reinforced- Carnaithian armor engaging units in the pass!” It was the first time Sokari had lost his cool, in the form of a short growl of frustration. “Tell Vena to assault now!” -
The Imperial armor was almost a misnomer- their fighting vehicles were not remarkably resilient and began being chewed up by the direct fire of the newcomers. Ammo stores detonated, hover drives disabled, crew abandoned their wrecks if they were lucky enough to not be touched off by explosives. The entire front third of the Imperial column was effectively destroyed in short order, causing a momentary halt in the rearward vehicles as commanders desperately tried to rally. Some emboldened tanks began returning fire with their cannons, rounds carrying loads of bright plasma to violently react with whatever home it could find. The Justicar infantry that seized the hill did not hesitate- although for lack of a complete force. Vena’s Pasabi had only consolidated with two hundred troopers out of its full three-hundred-seventy-six strong formation, but regardless under cover of grenades they began their assault. Groups of dispersed Justicars crested the top of the ridge and descending down the draw, moving as fast as they could muster towards the next ridge that bore their prey. -
OVER MALTS – The bident-shaped strike craft that housed the Justicars performed evasive maneuvers as best as they could, losing another pair of their ample craft to the short, sporadic burst of fast guns. Those that were struck saw their dark shrouds slowly dissipate, only replaced by flames as they careened to the planet’s surface. One craft plummeted only to disappear in the dark shroud covering Stakesby. Baniti turned in a sharp arc as streams of rounds chased after him from a pair of Carnaithian rivals, both only missing by the narrowest of margins before finally relenting. A quick read of the sensor showed the Carnaithian craft having gained position on many of his wingmen; something he needed to change, fast. “Shake your tail- Vionu, pull out, there are two on you!” Under stressors that would maim conventional organic pilots, the Justicar bidents began performing vertical and diagonal loops at such a degree that truly tested the rigidity of the materials housing them. Some were able to shake their pursuers, others faced more persistent foes. The Justicar craft, unable to engage their guided weaponry through their cloaking, attempted to control their speed as their returned fire with two-stage decadizing warheads, filling the skies with massive plumes of particulate before sparkles of flares ignited the plumes in tandem. -
The dogfighting intensified, but along the crest of the Stakesby Mountains there was a disturbance. A visible shockwave could be seen far and wide from the land and the sky, in a small bowl between a series of its highest peaks. For all within sight, a small flash and a black cloud rose above the mountain’s summit to contrast the vast blue skies, albeit petit: a tactical nuclear weapon. Moments later, a diminutive green light appeared high above, abreast the same detonation. It gently coasted through the sky, lingering for all who knew what it meant- for the landers, one of the primary anti-orbital batteries was destroyed. From the far western range of the mountains, above the untraversable terrain, a looming figure emerged from its hideaway. Little by little, the gilded figure of the Criminal Vindication, the Justicar warship that had survived its reentry, unmasked from behind the mountain range. Its engines bellowed, shaking the world below as it hoisted itself up for the entirety of the coastal region to see. The green flare fired into the sky had gone out, now replaced by the dim glow that began to emanate from the frigate’s top deck. Its spinal battery was preparing to fire, and the Criminal Vindication was menacingly facing the east.
—--
VANDAR 2 Guivre whuffed appreciatively as the Minevan potted a Justicar with a clean shot. A beam weapon, it traced a clear line directly to the enemy position, but they had already spotted the sharpshooters and taken effective cover. He tipped his rifle to one side, ejecting the magazine and placing it carefully on the turf before drawing another from his belt. "See those three behind that lip of dirt? Be prepared for them to break to our left." Taking a second to aim, he opened fire again. This time the effect was much more dramatic. The turf to the defenders' left hand burst into the sky with a boom, the explosive round sending chunks of earth flying as it bit into the Justicars' cover. He fired again, hitting another chunk of lip and tumbling it back over the defenders a second time, holding his fire to see if that had flushed anyone out. Beside him, Mnementh's bulky weapon waited hungrily, the gemstones that formed the 'eyes' of the ornate muzzle glinting beneath the dirt Mnementh had smeared on them. Elsewhere Ancalagon and Quinlong watched as a fast-moving Minevan fighter roared in overhead, strafing the enemy convoy before peeling away and goosing it into the distance. It was an impressive run, and even to the dragons the sight of friendly air support came with a burst of emotion. Two of the enemy skiffs were down, one destroyed and the other spilling dismounts as they abandoned it, with only the lead vehicle now rushing towards them. It did not deviate, coming straight towards the unmined gully between them, but that was just fine. Hidden either side of it, they armed grenades, setting the fuse to one and a half seconds as they waited for the skiff to approach, but it stopped just at the foot of the gully, clearly expecting a trap. Ancalagon flashed hand signals to Quinlong and she nodded, repeating them in paraphrase to be clear. Even secure comms could betray their position. _
They stood simultaneously, Ancalagon hurling his like a skimmed stone at the underbelly of the skiff's prow, whilst Quinlong's arced with an extended fuse to land a few feet behind the skiff. They ducked back into cover immediately, Ancalagon drawing a second grenade and readying it to throw into the gully. After the explosions, Quinlong stole a tiny glance to see the effect of their attack... MALTS Major Andersen had just about shaken his battalion into order. The enemy's ground presence was largely dispersed, having clearly elected to fall back and hold Stakesby, and the 31st Icebear was preparing to advance west. They had taken heavier losses than ideal, several hundred marines already dead or wounded and on their way back to the fleet above, but the beachhead was secure and no longer threatened, meaning they could now take the initiative and march on Stakesby itself. Overhead, Carnaithian fast attack craft duelled the Justicars for air superiority, whilst in the distance booms of thunder and flares of light showed where the hardy Pords were struggling atop the mountain peaks for supremacy. The way thus cleared by their allies, the Jade Marine Corps could punch clean through to the heart of the enemy and break them. The first warning Andersen got of the Criminal Vindication was in fact an urgent call from regiment command ordering all units to seek cover. They had been warned by the IJN above, who had watched in dismay as the enemy ship had surgedb ack to life and risen back into the fray, facing east. Who the giant vessel was targeting was unknown, but the sheer firepower it presented was terrifying, incomprehensible to the average foot slogger. -
ABOARD THE IJN MAKO Mitsuyoshi watched with concern as the Criminal Vindication reared up, threatening to engulf the advancing allies. "I should be down there." he said, half to himself, turning to leave the bridge. Commodore Nighthorse noticed him going and called out in frustration, but she couldn't spare the time to argue with him, returning her attention to the enemy frigate with a cry of frustration.
—--
SKIRMISH - EAST STAKESBY MOUNTAINS Plasma rounds screamed in towards the monolithic hovering war machines as their main guns reloaded, violently reacting with composite armor and dense blackstone alike as autocannons down-geared their fire rate after the initial ambush, now methodically drilling bursts of fifty-millimeter shells into each light vehicle. Glass-like blackstone violently, explosively shattered on the front arcs of the assault tanks, the work of the shattered pieces being transferred to increased workload on the rearmost elements as material began to slowly flow out of internal reserves to repair the damaged area. The noses of the tanks nimbly maneuvered, the muzzles aiming for bunched-up light vehicles - and the whistling swarm of shot from massive two-hundred-fifty millimeter beehive rounds careened out of the gargantuan barrels. The vehicles continued their transition across the open, moving to link up with the Pordish force, the autocannons on the transports shifting in readiness to engage over the crest of the next hill. OVER MALTS "Capital ship present, pull off according to transmitted pattern," Clubs' compressed chest managed to utter as he transmitted a mutually-defensive extraction formation that would prevent too many losses but permit the aircraft to disengage from one another - Glare practiced her namesake as the order came in as another two of their own faltered, disintegrating into powder as the Justicar weapon made its mark. She fired another burst at the shimmer in front of her in anger, only to be caught off guard as the AI core behind her took control and pulled up and away from the chase, towards the now-circling fighters that were maintaining standoff at the egress route. "We had them!" She yelled into comms as the G-forces relented, a new battery of emotional suppressants threatening to knock her out in response. "It's not our fight any more. We don't have anti-ship."
—--
WHITEWHARF SYSTEM ZJR Platoon Commander, Chor Nochaaq Cool-still air drifts around Nochaaq's tactical map and joins with the suffocating silence whose reign the Array operator motions to end. Separation appears negligible, he says. They have occupied the ridge we ceded and are still bearing down on us. What might pass for an attempted grin, nigh imperceptible, routs Nochaaq's tired groundward scowl (or - at least - portions of; enough vestigial hints of the gesture remain to keep his expression decidedly neutral). The observation is self-evident and he chews upon it even while artilleryfire streaks overhead, their rhythmic clattering-like-whispers pounding against the night, the soft - no, loud - spoken register of distant and near duels. By His trident. Ataq, I needed those batteries. Appreciate the timing. And the armour support - he shifts his gaze to the Carnaithian force moving up to assist - we will fight from this ridge. We will fight from this ridge, he says and his voice lingers on the first three words, as if convincing himself of it. And then, they attack. From where the mortardeluge pours, Justicar infantry take the initiative, and are soon met by the same sharpshooters as before, though fewer in number than they once were; the remaining infantry-grade Array probes, no more than four now, support a pair of automated machinecannons - the last of the towed systems brought by hoverbike - anchoring the defense, and notably as they rush into range, these systems are joined by lighter arms: purple-tinged rift-pulse weaponry as the Chrühov infantry move to defend, rather than withdraw.
In that moment, however, a voice comes through on his tactical display accompanied by a surprising figure fading into visibility: Senaq Aglotach - Columnar space unsecure. Ready for potential hostile orbital fire.
—--
CRIMINAL VINDICATION The Bailiff was seated upon his golden throne, peering over the focused crew of his bridge to the majestic view before him. His ship glistened like a second shining sun rising over the mountains for all to see, and before him the bountiful coastline; nothing but prey for his vessel to decimate at his will. He considered, for a moment, the possibility of being taken by a capital gun from orbit and the veritable hornet’s nest he could see flooding the skies ahead of him. Putting him at ease was the knowledge that there was an orbital defense platform virtually an arm’s-length away. “It is confirmed,” Vaeus’ sensor technician announced, “Surface detonations. Battery Cyferes destroyed. Battery Vota is our only support.”
Bailiff Vaeus grunted, indifference clear. “It is fortunate that we shot those Minevan dogs out of the sky, then. Nothing will be able to stop our main battery in time,” He snapped his armor-plated fingers, pointing at another subordinate in the pit below, “Solution for Malts. Fire the Decadizing Cannon when ready.” “We sustained moderate damage on entry, honorable. Ancerium reserves depleting- allocating power from nonessential systems to remain afloat. The gun will need several minutes.” Vaeus crossed his arms. Now all he had to do was await his timer, and then serve as the reaper for thousands. “Very well.” -
SKIES Bodkin’s cockpit was effectively a closed casket; more or less an alcove with a seat to be fitted into laden with displays and switches. The pilot, herself, was flying with her eyes shut- given that the Broadhead was intended to be piloted primarily by Psionic Adepts and the sensor suite was outfitted as such. The curvature of the landscape she flew was a clear image in her own head, as well as the many facets of the fight around her from a plethora of reports- all the way from Pavo and the Ingen warriors laying their ambush to the dropship crews trying to salvage their trapped tanks. The most alarming report of all, however, was not the Pordish unit on the verge of close combat nor the remnants of Vandar 2 exchanging rounds with a mechanized force. Over the general allied network, intelligence reports from the navy above warned that a capital ship was now in the tactical situation- and its main gun was shaking dust. Bodkin was sailing north from the CAS run she had just made, beginning to break east in a lazy arc. The further east she got, the more altitude she was comfortable to maintain while sticking wide from reported dogfights and interceptor flights. With a gun meant to shred apart battleships, she wondered what it would do to something like an infantry regiment. “Pavo, you copied?” “Solid. Not great.” “Vandar 2’s objective was the battery that’s now guarding the frigate. Gonna be rough to hit it from orbit and interceptor waves are gonna shake us off. -
“I think I get it, Bodkin. Consider it done.” A click, and Bodkin toggled to the allied command network- injecting herself over important conversations and maneuvers as this was the broadest established net she could think of. Her drives were gunning it- she’d nearly reached the airspace over Malts in short order.
“Any station, Bodkin Flight- requesting flight to neutralize the Penance-class in contested airspace, need anti-ship. I will support- all available route to Alfa-Eight.”
She gave but a minute for responses; regardless of whether she pulled one wingman or a hundred, she had resolved to proceed. - - - - - -
The smug superiority washed over Baniti like a tidal wave as he watched the Carnaithian fighters break off- only slightly hampered as he took roll and assess his flight’s own grievous losses. It appeared that his opponents were all rallying into much-safer airspace, and to compound his situation he was definitely running short on ammunition. “Return to the ship and rearm. Once the Criminal Vindication flattens Malts we will return for the survivors.” The handful of golden bidents began their hasty withdrawal, some limping and lagging behind.
VANDAR 2
Lop hadn’t acknowledged the input initially, processing the information but remaining as still as a statue. His focus was immaculate, with not a single piece of his body wavering without his smooth, deliberate movements. Like a coiled snake, his finger gently wrapped the trigger and took the slack out a painstaking nanometer at a time.
Guivre’s assessment was correct. The explosive sundered the little cover the Justicar’s had, putting them into the open voluntarily or otherwise. Some were tossed out in the open just a foot- more than enough for Lop to bore a hole straight through one. Others had to make the decision on assuming the prone behind a 6-inch parapet or finding new cover. For all their best efforts, they were not covered or concealed enough to matter. The rest of the scouting force was entirely pinned, every head put down and weapon growing colder by the second. While the Ingen and Minevan gunners on the hill had their eyes downrange, the Justicars were as good as neutralized. “Good spot,” Lop thanked. -
The smartly placed explosives from Ancalagon and Quinlong rendered the judgement of the Justicar vehicle commander moot; while being trapped in the gully was anticipated and they had avoided being canalized into it, the force of the grenades gave little choice. The hoverpads were shredded by shrapnel and worn away from the extreme force and heat. It violently jerked forward, the skiff’s prominent prow falling first and embedding itself into the gully at a harsh angle. The vehicle and its weapons were intact, indicated by its grenade turrets that began to search and assess for their ambushers, but it was evident it was not going to be able to move anytime soon. The blast doors violently shot to the rear, showing a handful of Justicar Initiates trying to regain their footing and tumble out of the troop compartment. The dismounts of the rearmost skiff, after seeing the sudden and liberal use of explosives, smartly began to disperse their teams. The twenty-man element fractured into their staple five-man teams, moving to gain dispersion across the draw as to not get bunched up by a single grenade. They hadn’t located their ambushers, but the Ingen fighters could see the leader had gotten their bearings quickly. The dismounts from that rearmost vehicle were in a widely dispersed skirmishing line, and they were bounding in the direction of the bluff, covering a wide frontage in hopes of locating their assailants. -
Pavo was taking a knee amongst the pool of wounded, brow furrowed and teeth gnashing as he considered the odds. Unfortunately, even in his current debacle, it was time to either perform or for them and many others to die. The only issue was, to pull this off, they would have to cover a couple kilometers of ground and work through some heavy defenders. Gracious estimates didn’t seem to afford them much time, either. He left the wounded unattended, darting to where the closer engagement was taking place. The slate chipped under his feet at a stiff jog as he fitted his cracked helmet back on. He thought quickly, pulling the first idea that entered his head. “Ladies and gents, airspace is compromised by a capital ship. We have to sack this battery or everything east of Stakesby is as good as gone,” Pavo said through heavy breaths as he negotiated the terrain. He started with high steps, coming to a climb and finally a crawl before laying his eyes upon Ancalagon and Quinlong’s handiwork. He was positioned abreast of them, perpendicular to the direction of the convoy. “Save that skiff in the rear, we are gonna put it to better use.” Pavo readied his weapon, not favoring the three-versus-twenty gunfight… But he was a Minevan Raider, and supporting him was a legendary formation on their own in the form of the Ash Banner. The Justicars didn’t have a chance in hell.
SKIRMISHERS-INFANTRY ASSAULT ON PORDISH POSITION Vena watched ass his initiates shattered into a multitude of small units, all staggering and dispersing their formation as they sprinted as quickly as they could. This was it; Vena knew that they had all left their last piece of cover and in this assault only luck would save them from accurate rifle fire. His only counter assessment is that he had brought enough guns and his troopers were smart and fast enough to gain ground. Try as they might, their laborious climb up the smooth slate reverse slope inevitably slowed their advance. Vena stood alone, pausing to examine his teams nearing the crest of the ridge, and looking rearward to see a significant half of his force still climbing. All moved with purpose and without hesitation. He looked to the sky, still able to see the dancing of aircraft and the sheets of explosive ordnance being volleyed overhead in either direction. Just over the crest they were advancing towards, he could feel the terrible rumbling of explosives, seeing debris and smoke forcefully pluming. The closer Vena’s vanguard approached the crest, the deeper the grenadiers and artillery would creep into the assumed Pordish position.
Vena could no discern where the first shot had come from, but their momentous advance on the reverse slope of the ridge was met with a cavalcade of accurate rifle fire. The dense plates and ablative coating of the many Initiates could do little to prevent being warped and perforated, as the defenders cut down the majority of the vanguard in mere seconds. Automatic weapons from the Pordish position cut down a number of teams in droves, leaving piles of golden armor as smoldering husks. -
The Justicar Bailiff felt new life surge into him, raising his maul high above. With inhuman speed, he charged up the crest and rallied several pinned teams. His Pasabi witnessing him move with vigor inspired them in kind, a hundred Initiates clamoring over the bodies of the dozens already dead to bring the fight to the Pords. Regardless of high spirits and dedication, it was an infantry assault over open ground to seize an elevated position from disciplined defenders. The Justicars paid as such, with handfuls of fighters dying every second to accurate fire from the rift-pulse rifles. It was the sheer quantity of men that allowed them to gain their foothold, signified by the first five-man team succeeding the crest and offering gratuitous bursts from their grenade rifles. Next was Vena himself, who strode with the speed and intent of a predator, hoping to use his monstrous hammer to make an example of the first rifleman he could find.
SKIRMISHERS - SOKARI
Sokari watched the battlespace develop intently, notably more silent than before. For all of their technology and observers, he knew the chaos and confusion of Vena’s assault would be undiscernible until the outcome was resolute. Unfortunately, it appeared that the defenders were being reinforced and Sokari’s own reinforcements were not faring as well as he had hoped. “If Vena fails, we must withdraw. They have successfully delayed us.” The was no disagreement or even comment among his staff; all eyes were on Vena’s advancement. The further silence from the anti-orbital batteries to their north further indicated to him that the Pords had likely completed their objectives, which would make his mission a failure regardless. Before Sokari resolved to on his own, it appeared Bomani was contacting him first. The voice was present only among the minds of those present, transmitted directly to the command staff through the mycological network connecting them. “I see you have failed to complete your mission,” Bomani remarked without hesitation. Sokari hesitated to protest, but the Judge continued before Sokari could interject, “You will withdraw your Phari and return to Stakesby, immediately.” “I am about to displace them, my Judge. My soldiers are in close combat with the enemy now, and our Jaros reinforcements are stuck fighting in the pass-“ “Then they shall serve penance for your failure. Let the Imperials fulfill their purpose. Leave them.” Sokari was speechless. He was not favorable of their tactical situation, but to use the volunteers as simple fodder? It was cruel and unserved, for they bore the sentence and punishment for his Phari’s failure. “It will be done.”
—--
SKIRMISH - EAST STAKESBY MOUNTAINS Hell had come down to the mountains. Or at least, Yargi mused, that's what it must've looked like outside. While a decently sized force on its own, the Jaros armor contingent was faltering against the opposition, especially as the Carnaithians pushed harder. The light tanks that made up the bulk of their numbers and screening force had been thoroughly mauled, and the heavier assets were now coming under fire. Frowning, he checked the comms again. They were holding their position for now, but those Void-bedamned foxes were going to overrun them if the Justicars didn't get their asses in gear. Matters weren't helped by the fact that the gilded assholes they were supposed to be supporting were blatantly ignoring them and had been for almost ten minutes now. Shouts and cries of dismay crackled through the comms, and he checked the display, then paled and checked it again. The bastards were retreating! His men were dying and the fucking cowards were leaving them to die. Thunder rumbled on the heights and the display flickered and updated to reflect the infantry assault against the Pords. Snarling under his breath, he hesitated. Damned if he did, and damned if he didn't. It wasn't too late to withdraw back to Stakesby, although the effort would likely cost him the remainder of his light tanks. But without support, the grenadiers providing cover fire on the ridge would be overrun, and the enemy would have a clear road to the city and the defending Legions.
Glancing back and forth, he was jolted out of his frozen state as a series of explosions sounded outside, shaking the vehicle, and two more of his light tanks died in balls of fire. Sighing, he punched the comm for the entire deployment. Telling the men they were going to die was a tricky proposition, but if he framed it right, they'd be more accepting. "This is Centurion Yargi. This position is untenable, and the Justicars are withdrawing. I've received orders from command to cover their retreat. Hold your ground." --- Their fate decided, the Jaros vehicles began returning fire in earnest, several of the superheavies even pushing forward to bring secondary guns to bear on the Carnaithians as they fought to buy time for the grenadiers. And as the Jaros force advanced, more flashes of fire lit the narrow confines of the valley as tanks continued to die and thunder howled through the valley.
—--
VANDAR 2 Guivre took a beat, tracking his scope across the subdued Justicars. They were suppressed, but he lacked the equipment to capitalise on that. Usually the other Dragons would move and assault the enemy position for him, but they were elsewhere and he had no right to issue orders to the Minevans around him, nor was he familiar enough with their abilities to do so. Surprised at himself, he simply took the opportunity to reload. Ancalagon and Quinlong had their secondary grenades primed, but at the last moment Ancalagon warned Quinlong off. He had spotted Pavo taking position across the gully from them. Instead, he painted a spot for Quinlong and she quietly slipped back uphill. Once she was in position, he followed, less stealthily, and began taking rounds as he had hoped. The Justicars, professional soldiers, did not pile up into a bunch, but spread out across the bottom of the hill, some firing to keep the Dragons' heads down whilst others slipped from cover to cover in a rapid advance, seizing ground quickly as they sought to negate the advantaged posed by the high ground. The snarling dragon-muzzles of the two kazedama DMRs barked, spewing explosive quartz shells downhill in quick bursts, but even the heavy armour of the Dragons was not proof against the accurate and weighty fire of the Justicars and so their shots were limited, seizing opportunity when they could. The firefly grenades lay on the turf beside them, ready to throw - now they waited and hoped that Pavo would take the opportunity to lay into the enemy's rear, ready to seize the initiative the moment they heard his rifle begin to bark. -
OVERHEAD Captain Vera Bennike of the IJN Sea Room received the orders with a seeming impassivity, but her mind raced. The orders were to fire on the Justicar frigate that had resurfaced planetside with the huge spinal gun of the Odachi-class warship. Although the incredible speed of the graviton beam meant that she could strike almost immediately, and the large size of the target meant that accuracy was not a concern, but the graviton gun posed a different problem. It was prone to overpenetration, and if it plunged into the planet itself the expansion of molecules in its way could cause seismic activity at the impact zone. Ordering her signaller to alert the 31st Regiment, she painted the target and gave the weapons free signal. Even as the marines below moved again, scrambling to avoid structures that might collapse atop them or precipices they could be thrown from, the long and spindly artilleryship tweaked its prow with tiny blasts from thrusters along its flanks. Coruscating light rippled along the complex frame of the vessel, before a beam lanced out, hurtling down through the atmosphere to flail wildly across the Criminal Vindication's hull, even tiny shifts in the relative position and angle of the artilleryship resulting in the beam moving dozens of metres at the distant target, but the blast continued to roar down, wilting plants, stopping animals dead and cracking stone on the planets surface. The ground began to shake as tortured stone expanded, shuddering the planet's bones. 31ST REGIMENT Major Andersen crouched, using a hand to steady himself as the ground rumbled. The beam was like a bolt of magic from the realm of the gods, beautiful and coruscating, and even as his footing shook and his stomach roiled, he could not tear his eyes away from the glittering spectacle on the horizon. Around him his men yelled as they steadied themselves against the growing earthquakes....
—--
WHITEWHARF SYSTEM ZJR Skirmisher of nam-Porchüq's Squad, Kalaq Vachyn In the accurate and lessening rain of mortary, Kalaq Vachyn stays low in cover. Whistling shells and distant-near thuds ring out through the bleak darkness - rattling the earth with each new impact while warm and gray rocks roll down the hillside after being cast skyward by them; the detritus of their arrival patters against the defenders in somber sheets and Kalaq resents them. They're moving up! another Pord says (the squad's automatonist), a dark-haired Zhyssian wearing a white Melysh headband. I see them, Vachyn replies and he does; they come painted in his mind, rushing onward in loose fashion, and he brings his weapon to bear. Dull flashes of purple dressing the laughter-whir of rotary barrels saunter from his rifle to targets downrange and as the Justicars pour forth, the weight of their numbers grows apparent. He fires again and then twice more then scurries to a different vantage amidst the incoming fire. A muffled pop! rings out from the direction of the automatonist; Vachyn turns to see a light sentry, serving as PD, retraining to the crest. A handful of figures in gleaming armour stand silhouetted beyond it: one is more menacing than the rest. Shit, they're in the line! the automatonist yells; he fires a burst then is hit by a volley of grenade-rifle fire and is sent into the dirt; the smoky aura of his personal Arrays flicker into nothingness revealing shattered armour beneath. And Vachyn dives for cover, but does not see the automatonist crumple into a pile. Nevertheless, we're at half strength, he assumes briefly. We must hold here! nam-Porchüq orders through Vachyn's comms, they're in the line! Throw them back with melee if you have to! Vachyn sees nam-Porchüq advance under the cover of the light sentry and he moves up as well. Some paces away, the Justicar in golden armour spots the duo and raises his hammer to which Vachyn responds in kind with a single swift motion unsheathing his sword. The foglike charcoal-tint of his Arrays adjust alongside his intentions and he points to the Justicar as white snow drips from the edges of his blade... WHITEWHARF SYSTEM ZJR Platoon Commander, Chor Nochaaq As the Justicars descend upon his positions, his mind races; we should have gone to the next ridge, he laments, and fought them there. In the confusion of the struggle, he focuses on this thought - regardless of outcome, his Chrühov forces will be in no real shape to continue fighting - and he squints into the displays as if willing them to bend to his desire. And as he sits, acutely aware that Senaq's warning only exacerbates this issue, the Array operator breaks the silence: I am getting signatures of orbital fire, but they don't appear to be fro - he pauses momentarily as the realization settles in - it's the Ingenious! They're firing down towards the planet! Nochaaq's eyes shift to the area denoted on the displays. The region of the front in question is distant, and he hopes it is just distant enough to keep him out of line of the worst of its effects...
—--
ORBIT The interruption by bodkin was anything but ignored; commanders of the Imperial force met it with unspoken anger and unrivaled worry alike. Silence reigned for some moments before two different commanders responded - almost perfectly punctuated by the decadizing anti-orbital shells bursting in the void close by. "General Redkarr, launching three squadrons in support." "Captain Markiiel, Contributing my vessel. You will have the Tanto. Breaching atmosphere in T-minus three minutes." SKIRMISH - EAST STAKESBY MOUNTAINS "Ground penetrating radar shows their core force retreating! We only have to weather this assault!" "Unfortunately they seem to have noticed that too. Maintain stance." The fire only intensified from both sides as the Jaros force recommitted itself to the push; it was honorable, yes, but despite their namesake, the Knights were not keen on reciprocating the gesture. Their vehicles remained in the best defilade they could muster in the terrain, exposed in spite of its roughness. More hits impacted the tank analogues, one of them faltering and falling to the ground, gun unable to contribute another round, turret blazing in defiance. Its compatriots retargeted, now emphasizing focus on the heavier jaros vehicles in the rear as the autocannons continued to raze the screen; massive HESH munitions were brought to the breeches, fired at earliest opportunity. --//-- "Enemy infantry cresting the hill." "Infantry dismount, vehicles stay in cover. Engage in counterslope fire." Another set of fifty millimeter revolver guns roared to life, targeting the exposed infantry, streams of red tracer raking the crest of the hill in equal measures of airburst and impact modes. Not moments later, peppering streaks of railgun fire began to streak towards the assaulting grenadiers with great accuracy, black shields' gleam in the sun rivalling the muzzle flash of the weapons.
—--
VELKNA’S PLACKART – BRIDGE Janka was perplexed by the tactical situation, shown only by an open maw and stiff brow. Compared to the groundside command networks, the communications between naval assets were calm and clinical as the Sea Room announced her intent to fire with composure. He had done his due diligence and informed his peer commanders that striking so close to Stakesby could pose some issues later on. The Justicars entrenched deep as a standard practice, and if there were hundreds of thousands of captives, he was confident that they would be in the elaborate wetworks, mines, and caves below Stakesby and its mountains. Although, he did not protest, knowing that not striking in this bold manner could cost them the entirety of the Ingen 31st Regiment. What is it the Minevans say again? Eiwill’s eyes see your mark. Janka grunted. Crossing his arms behind the Celvian ‘SensOp’, he knew all he could do was await the Sea Room’s shot and BDA. New entrants on the bridge stole his attention; Serashee Krisra, who had slunk out of the bridge an hour before, flanked by a pair of Helldivers. His second-in-command was wearing scuffed armor decorated with ornate strips of cloth, a helmet tucked under her arm. Janka cocked his head. “We will go with the next wave,” Sera answered his question before he could even ask, blasé smile on her lips. Janka stammered for a moment, stepping from the Celvian to face the trio. After searching for his words, the Valkarian let loose his bewildered rant. “Into contested airspace, a capital gun about to dust the foothold, and an unreliable enemy situation, to do what, exactly?” -
Serashee did not flinch, nor her expression falter. “Surely you know, I must lead by example. Our conditional force was created by my petition. I have not cowered from the Justicars before, and I do not intend to begin.” “I won’t let you leave my ship,” Janka countered, unaffected by her garrulous diction that served to annoy him in ordinary circumstances. “You will,” Sera stated. Her group turned and left the bridge, the hiss and shut of the autodoors abbreviating their conversation before Janka could protest further. -
CRIMINAL VINDICATION There was no bickering or preparation before the gilded vessel ridden in monuments and cannons was lanced by the glistening beam. The pillar of light flashed down like lightning, changes in air density splitting a ring in the clouds. The accurate shot gored through the Criminal Vindication through its meatiest central portion, and passed through its keel to the mountain below. Vaeus could see from the rearward-placed bridge as the beam turned the golden ablative plates into a dull brass, before its mass violently shifted about and withered away. He grabbed the nearest support he could as distant rumbling travelled through the vessel. He didn’t need his panicked staff to list off damages to know that in a few minutes, his ship would be history. “We have lost our spinal gun! Sympathetic detonations in the central compartment, vital systems failing!” Groaning could be heard as parts of the ship bent and buckled. Vaeus could see hundreds of meters ahead of him that the Ingen was causing armor to buckle in and segments of the ship collapse. Unseen by him was the litany of damages inside the vessel, as entire chambers collapsed under their own weight, sprung explosions, or detached from the underbelly of the Criminal Vindication altogether to plummet to Whitewharf. Then the report came in that his ship was losing altitude. The Ancerium stores were struck, and he was sunk. Vaeus growled in frustration, death-gripping his seat. “What weapons remain?” -
“Capital weapons are destroyed or disabled, aside from the prow turret-“ “Do whatever you need to fire that gun!” Vaeus shouted his desperate command. “Reactors are failing, we may experience a chain reaction-“ “Find a target and fire the gun!” Vaeus interrupted for a final time. As the Criminal Vindication plunged from its wounds, its hull near the impact a glittering field of flames and explosions, the sizable concussive gun on its prow came to life and traversed. This was Vaeus’ final threat, musing that he was still, for at least a fleeting minute, the supreme authority on the coastline. -
OVERHEAD It was as good of a hit as the task force could have expected; danger-close as it was, due to relative firepower. The gunfights in the mountains north of Stakesby took a momentary pause in awe of the light from orbit. An instant later, the fighters didn’t need advanced sensors to realize the subsequent seismic activity. The solid ground ruptured and bent where the beam had struck, not carefully accounting for the expansive subterranean spaces below. The ridgeline above had cracked due to its rigidity, and once massive caverns began to collapse, the rolling hills violently rumbled for miles on end. Bodkin was fortunate enough to have a perfect view in her passing turn, sighing in relief as substitute for a cheer. Her silent celebration was interrupted with a pair of warnings. Ground scanners were reporting extreme seismic activity in the vicinity of Stakesby- another penetrating shot could very well bring the mountain down. The second: the Penance-class was effectively neutralized and steadily falling, but a single gun was fighting to stay alive. Her only relief was flattering, the lieutenant able to garner the attention of a general and the captain of a naval vessel. She’d expected a handful of mixed-role craft to form a patchwork and go. Instead, a whole naval vessel was taking the fight- denoted as her sensors detected its theatric entry into the atmosphere above. Were they taunting the crippling Justicar ship in orbit by reciprocating the maneuver? Bodkin’s professional demeanor was betrayed with a quiet chuckle of confidence. “Tango! Proceeding one-nine-one to intercept, keep the skies clear for you.” -
SKIRMISHERS – INFANTRY ASSAULT ON PORDISH POSITION In the assault, seconds wasted could mean the difference of a hundred men living or dying. The sparse handful of moments wasted in preparation were now costing the Justicars their stragglers as autocannons traversed perpendicular to their line of advance. Had they launched from the assault position just a minute sooner, Vena’s men would have flowed through their foothold they had created unopposed. Instead, twenty Justicar Initiates in the rear were blown to pieces in short order as high-caliber anti-material projectiles raked the position. Given the new development, Vena’s infantry had suffered the loss of nearly half of his 200 man Pasabi, claimed by the open ground marking the last hundred meters of maneuver. Even so, the foothold was secured, and Justicars were on the line in several positions. Had Vena known that he was just serving as a tool to cover his parent unit’s retreat, he may have not been filled with the same vigor. His communications were silent, but given the exhilaration of the assault and the swordsmen now challenging him, Vena would likely have not noticed he was being sentenced to die. Vena returned the challenging gesture, accepting Vachyn’s mark by readying his ornate hammer. The Pordish duo and the sentry were quick. Vena had committed to charge his opponent quickly, preventing the other rifleman from shooting him safely. He brought his maul down in a mighty overhead swing, Vachyn able to deftly backpedal out of harm’s way. Vena’s strikes were augmented by the hammer’s concussive shockwaves, each impact punctuated by a forceful blast. The Pord, on the other hand, was much more nimble than he. -
nam-Porchug and his sentry were able to dispatch the first Justicar team before they could achieve effective fires, the rift-pulse weapons rending armor largely unaffected by the ablative coating. His undoing would be the lack of relief as more and more grenade-riflemen crested the hilltop, in a volume a single pair of guns were not design to handle. The valiant hunter was showered in a volley of grenades, standing his ground. Vachyn, likewise had fought well. He’d managed to inflict a grievous wound to Vena’s arm through the shining plates of his armor, fresh smoke hissing as the fungus underneath smoldered away. Before the chrühov could recover for his next attack, however, Vena’s hammer struck him square in the chest. The subsequent impact and shockwave travelled through the soft tissue within his torso, and sent the swordsman tumbling through the air. Vena did not feel the pain of the wound until the systems of his suit promptly sealed and detached the wounded arm, limb landing on the slate with a thud. The maul wall still light in his one hand, resting it on his shoulder with ease. His riflemen rushed past him, darting from cover to cover. His local communications came to life as various elements latched into the Pordish perimeter, with one troubling addition: “They are being reinforced from the east!” Vena huffed. It must have been those Carnaithian landers. It did not change their plan; if they stopped or withdrew, they would die regardless. “Find the commanders, and exact what they wrought.” The skirmishers advanced as best they could, the losses they were experiencing from disciplined rifle fire and airburst munitions barely sustainable. The heart of the ridge was within arm’s reach. -
VANDAR 2 Pavo’s heart fluttered when he fully understood what he was about to do: draw fire from at most 20 explosive rifles. He was not a religious man, but his instincts drew him to mutter a short prayer. Perhaps Stedian, the sign of his birth, would bestow some more luck on him today. He hoped that he wasn’t out. His finger cradled the trigger. Just before he fired, he received an odd transmission. He understood the first bit before there was a tinge of interference; something about the frigate in their vicinity. Before he could ask for a repeat, a flash of light to their south plunged just behind the next mountain over. It was then that he realized their proximity to these objectives. They were well under ten kilometers from the impact of an orbital strike. First was the beam itself, drawing attention from all in the valley. Next was the light tremors, foreshadowing what was to come. Pavo looked around, seeing loose rocks tumble downhill and dust begin to kick up. The Justicars that were now exchanging fire gave a momentary reprieve. In spite of the shaking ground, he set his rifle to fully-automated and unleashed a cascading wave of red beams at the team closest to him. The Justicars, realizing they were now caught in a two-way ambush, split their element into two advances- one towards Pavo and the other towards Ancalong and Quinlong. By virtue of numbers and firepower, the Justicar’s opponent were outmanned and outgunned even with the Dragons’ and Raiders’ expert marksmanship. The odds were bleak. -
The tremors did not let up throughout the firefight- only intensifying. Deep rumbling could be heard and felt, even as the beam faded away. In the distance, the snipers on the ridge could see menacing cracks begin to ravage the slate, and continue spiderwebbing towards them. To Lops’ dismay, he watched as fissures began to split and sinkholes opened wide. The destruction was making its way to their position at a frightening pace, plumes of dust obscuring the pinned Justicars and threatening to do the same to them.
—--
ABOARD THE IJN MAKO Nighthorse's console lit up with battle damage assessment - the enemy frigate had taken catastrophic damage and was sinking fast. Reports showed that it still had lesser weaponry online, but the precision needed to hit that specific turret was beyond the vast artilleryship's capabilities at this range and through the filter of atmosphere, and so she ordered the Sea Room to cease fire, instead directing fighter and bomber wings to launch their assault in support of the Carnaithians and Pords. As the craft screamed away she considered the situation. The frigate still menaced the 31st Regiment, but at the very least the marines would not now be obliterated in a single cataclysmic blast, which was doubly important as Mitsuyoshi had just departed with a full company of his personal retinue, and would need all the help he could get... 31ST REGIMENT There were cheers across the comms chain as the enemy vessel began to list, pierced through by orbital fire, but regimental command cut it short, Colonel Dawnstar ordering a general dispersed advance. The combined risk of seismic activity and fire from the stricken enemy ship forced them to spread out into small units as they moved, relying on orbital satellite imagery and their own drone and airborne observation systems to give them advance warning of enemy ambushes or formations ready to oppose them. Andersen offered a silent prayer that the regiment was able to reform itself by the time it approached Stakesby proper, or else it would be caught in the same dilemma once faced by archers and hackbutters of old - whether to bunch up and make an easy target for ranged attacks, or spread out and leave themselves open to direct assault. All this raced through his mind as he climbed back inside his command vehicle and buttoned it down, the hum and roar of its bathymetric drive familiar and comforting as it glid towards the distant, dark city. _
VANDAR 2 As Pavo struck, the Dragons waited a beat, for that perfect moment in which the Justicars had become aware of their threat but had not yet begun to react to it, and then hurled their own grenades. The firefly grenades were a non-lethal weapon, a strange, firework-style device that looked like a tiny lantern. They thumped amid the Justicar positions and immediately began to spew out thick, billowing smoke, filled with sparking chaff, whilst simultaneously broadcasting nonsense electrical signals with the goal of ruining visuals, thermals and short-range communications for those in the target area. The Dragons sprang into this mess, firing their boosters to spring in one bound to within feet of the nearer group of Justicars. Their rifles slung, they instead raised both fists, which were tipped with glowing hardlight claws, and opened fire with their wrist-mounted weapons. Brutal flechette weapons, their kick was too powerful for normal physiology and even dangerous to the enhanced Dragons, necessitating their use only aboard the expensive exoskeletons worn by the Dragon Banner. They were point shooting, not needing to waste time acquiring a sight picture, simply dumping round after round at the shapes that emerged from the fog based on the last known positions of the Justicars. Deep inside the smoke cloud, they could not see the fissures, but they could feel them beneath their feet. They had not been planning to stop anyway, but the danger only hastened their assault as they pushed through the Justicar position to assault the rear of the group attacking Pavo.
—--
WHITEWHARF SYSTEM ZJR Platoon Commander, Chor Nochaaq The grim heights of Nochaaq's Ridge burn on the displays. All across the line Justicar infantrymen rush up the craggy slopes and into the Pordish defenses and one by one the stoney-weighted pleas from his squadleads batter his psyche as he eyes their holograms, sunken eyes to sunken eyes, as they vanish one after the other. We are being undone, Nochaaq says slowly, nam-Ataq Grazhnichelnar. How much longer do you need? I've lost half my force. I will have nobody if I stay here. He turns to his commander and notes he is no longer where he once was - And indeed, Ataq's hologram glistens in the lighting of a command vehicle, and the once windsurfing ends of his beard droop unperturbed and collected. We are nearly upon you now, he explains. Who is nearest? Nochaaq asks. The reply is swift: nam-Zhülnym. Nochaaq nods, then turns away from Ataq and the Pords of the company command council. A glance at his own displays confirms the placement - nam-Zhülnym (and the half-dozen squads assigned to him), whisking south with alarming haste, is only just outside of the battlezone. He then turns to glance back at the comms suite, but instead finds his face forcefully buried in the console. Controls aren't responding, we've lost buoyancy! the pilot interjects; the words spill across the comms as the machine plummets the handful of meters to the dirt below coughing, fitfully, black smoke to the sky... WHITEWHARF SYSTEM VRZ Battalion Commander, Tryna Pokyshak The enemy warship appears to have survived the Ingenious salvo, Tryna's tactical officer confirms. Reams of data flow past, however, the status of the offending warship is clear even without the specifics provided by the combat AIs. We should engage. There is no guarantee they will not recover. Bereft of hesitation, Tryna nods speaking: yes - engage it with the secondaries and adjust outputs and angles for firing towards the world. We don't need any extra carnage on the surface. Tasinehdao, the tactical officer responds. Along the hull of her flag, a pair of entropic lance batteries rotate into position; on the heels of swift targeting algorithm work, they fire at the stricken cruiser with invisible beams whose distortions shimmer through the darkness.
—--
SKIES The Tanto, fighters alongside, deployed its weapons the moment it was done penetrating the atmosphere. The corvette, utterly massive for the maneuver, turned and banked as if a fighter, continuing to dive towards the deck until it was a safe altitude. Its right cheek turret quickly layed its bore on the frigate above the mountains, its twin guns rapidly beginning their barrage. Even with their neutered velocity for atmospheric operations, the overpressure of ultrasonic railgun sabots thundered above the battlefield, one shot barely being fired before the last impacted its target area. The fighters darted straight towards the area Bodkin was in, keeping close eyes on their scanner suites after the engagement in these clouds earlier. The skies, as it turned out, would not be wholly surrendered. SKIRMISH - EAST STAKESBY MOUNTAINS Gunner crews, confident in the abilities of the tanks behind them, kept their focus on supporting their pordish allies on the next slope. To this end, as the hostiles closed, autocannon fire stopped - instead, high-caliber coaxial machine guns began raking the rocks or hosing down point targets alongside the railguns of their dismounts. The pords did not seem to be doing well, if the FLIR and radar returns of the scrappy terrain indicated accurately. But their assailants were definitely worse off.
—--
VANDAR 2 The initial exchange was uncertain as the Justicars tried to pinpoint their ambushers. The outmanned were served well by the destruction from over the mountain; had the grounds not spewed dust and soot, the Justicars would have been able to use their grenade rifles and bracket them with ease. Unfortunately, as the flash and chaff saturated their combat, the lack of visibility went both ways. In this moment, Pavo saw himself at a critical juncture.
The Dragons were assaulting through the Justicar’s advance, and he needed to support them- which he could not do if he couldn’t see and shoot his targets. Although, the closer he maneuvered, the closer he put himself between almost ten armored warriors who preferred to beat men with hammers rather than have a gunfight any day. He swallowed hard. It was now or never. Pavo leapt over the top and slid down the slate, getting low behind the next rock he could find and continuing his fire. With a cracked visor, jammed optics, and a thick haze, he couldn’t confirm the effects he was having- simply hoping he was putting his enemies down. In his chest, he could feel the rumble of grenades impacting closer and closer. He supposed there were worse ways to die. The Justicars on the Dragons’ end were at the ready with their weapons, but they were not truly prepared for the perfect storm that befell them. A shallow fissure split the element in tandem with a volley of flechettes mincing their armor. The Justicars had the numerical advantage, but the Dragons’ use of the fog of war, audacity, and tactical boldness would serve to level the field. Being so close, the remainder of the group produced their hammers in the haze. Despite their best efforts, they could not close the gap with their brutal implements before being shot dead into smoking husks. The Dragons’ half of the Justicars were giving away, and the side that Pavo was distracting were ripe for the taking… - - -
SKIRMISHERS – INFANTRY ASSAULT ON PORDISH POSITION The Justicar assault was costly- they had secured their foothold on the objective with just over a quarter of their original force. For the Pords, this meant that they were still remarkably outnumbered. To Vena, this told him that the gambit of his assault had truly paid off. Many Initiates had experienced the expert marksmanship and tactical cunning of the Pordish warriors firsthand. Vena arrogantly reflected that the Pordish commander had prepared their troops for war quite well- but they could never prepare for he and his Justicar. As pockets of sharpshooters ceded ground or became embroiled in the chaotic melee, Vena’s men seized the ground that they were ceded. “I have taken the north of the pass. It is over.” There was not a single voice that acknowledged him within his mind, and after a long minute of total silence, he began to take inventory of what was happening. His Initiates and their leaders were just upon the Pordish command position, and this fight was effectively over. Vena knew as well as any leader that war extended just beyond the little pocket he could see, and he was beginning to see the writing on the wall. There was no response to his call even when he repeated it. The steady flow of explosive saturation from the Grenadier Pasabis on the south ridge was gone. He could hear the exchanges in the pass below; more rounds coming in than going out. Vena had all but taken this hill, and he was alone in a sea of enemies. -
It was no matter. Vena set his worries aside with the bracing of his hammer. His quarry was before him; he eyed a downed hover vehicle that one of his men’s grenades had set upon the rocks. At vicious speed, he charged ahead, prepared to snuff out the first Pord he could find. There was one additional omen of his defeat that he had not seen until then. As he reached the precipice, the one-armed Bailiff watched as a new foe appeared. On the far end of the ridge and closing fast were hulks of dark steel, towering high and moving smartly. They were bounding and their shields couched incoming projectiles without worry. Vena watched as the handful in their vanguard leveled their wrists at his men, pronged blades firing slugs straight through them faster than he could comprehend. The hill was just within Vena’s grasp for a fleeting moment, when he was reveling in his melee with the Pords. Now, he hadn’t the manpower to continue the assault. It was his turn to hold this hill. Tightening his grip, Vena leapt into the fray with a mighty cry. - - -
CRIMINAL VINDICATION - BRIDGE Vaeus reveled in the silence, as his officers had resolved to inform him of damages no further. Whatever information they could tell him, he was able to see from bridge in the form of gaping scars and craters in his hull. At the very least, he would be able to fire his remaining turret and snuff out a few hundred marines, though at this point he know it made no difference. The stern was giving way first, making the Criminal Vindication’s prow begin to point towards the cloudy sky over Malts. He could see hundreds of dots in the sky, in the form of the remaining interceptors, fighters, and bombers that had redeployed for their final attacks. Certainly, some band of pilots were going to try and pull a fast one and strike his vessel- a whirlpool of dogfights would delay long enough. His arms were crossed in grim satisfaction- it was as perfect of a view that he could get in his predicament. It also served as a perfect view for him to see another mass burst from the clouds- another ship had pierced the atmosphere, mimicking his own dramatic maneuver from hours prior. This vessel was not cautious like he had been, instead opting to move in the same flourish as the swarm of small craft accompanying it, as best as a ship of its size could. Vaeus was not able to register what it was that destroyed the Criminal Vindication. A flurry of sabots and a cascade of distorted beams from on high eviscerated what was left of it in a simultaneous combination, marking the end of his existence in an instant. - - -
SKIES Unlike its sister ship that had plunged into the sea, the Criminal Vindication violently transformed into a radiant fireball, serving as a beacon to be seen from every man and woman along the coast and on high. Its remains were blasted forcefully to the west, the majority of its carcass and pieces landing far from Stakesby and along the unforgiving mountains. With their last respite in the sky gone, the Justicar fighters threw themselves boldly into their last fight to try and bloody the nose of the Tanto and teach the fresh pilots a lesson they would not soon forget.
—--
VANDAR 2 A giant warhammer came screaming at Ancalagon through the smoke. He twisted out of the way but it still caught him a glancing blow on his left shoulder, dislocating it and hurling him to the ground. Before he could react, Quinlong had lunged with her pure hardlight katana, the blade flickering into life even as it reached for the Justicar's stomach, a form of nukitsuke. The glowing green blade plunged through the golden armour and she hurled him to the ground without skipping a beat. She continued her attack, deactivating her blade and unslinging her rifle in one swift motion, dropping to one knee as she cleared the smoke. She acquired targets rapidly, firing tight bursts at the backs of the Justicars as the grenade and the smoke settled. Ancalagon strugged upright behind her, drawing his own rifle and bracing it across his shoulder with a sling. Firing from the hip he was not as accurate as he could have hoped, so he allowed a longer burst of vertical recoil to hose each target down. They needed to finish this quickly and seize the surviving skiff before the ground destabilised further around them.... WEST OF MALTS The 31st paused again, hunkering down as the cataclysmic spectacle of a spacegoing frigate crashing to earth shattered the horizon. Even at this distance, the earth trembled once again and the wind roared in the wake of a thundering boil of roaring explosions that seemed as if it would never end. Eventually the cacophony died down, leaving a vast wreckage billowing with smoke and flame that dominated the skyline ahead of them, even in the face of the wall of darkness that was occupied Stakesby. There were cheers as the Carnaithian warship and fighters roared overhead, the skies now clearly under allied control outside of a few surviving Justicar bident fighters. The regiment lurched forwards, now concerned primarily on the ground forces that lay ahead of them. _
BRIGANTUM AND PARK Ciri and Grace had rearmed following their successful action against the Justicar orbital platforms, and were now part of the fighter wing moving to provide air cover for the 31st. They swooped at a distance past the menacing Carnaithian ship, which their HUD informed them was the Tanto. "Looks like the Carnaithians did a thorough job," remarked Grace on their private comms, peering at the destroyed Criminal Vindication below them. "Not quite," replied Ciri, as the last few Justicar fighters popped up when they entered threat range. "I think we should help them out, they've earned a break anyway." "Sounds like a plan," chuckled Grace, marking their intention on her HUD. Moments later the indicator winked green as Fire Control approved their self-appointed fire mission. The pair of senjin fightercraft, like barbed arrowheads, banked to take position with the Carnaithians, preparing their long-range interceptor missiles to pick off the first Justicars that exposed themselves.
—--
WHITEWHARF SYSTEM ZJR Platoon Commander, Chor Nochaaq Acrid smoke wars against placidity in dark and scratching clouds, rolling aftward and foreways, through the dim pull-burdened interior of Nochaaq's command tank... As leaking through shattered chütyl plates - grasping waywardly in foul tendrils snaking into horrid eddies pulling once-floating devices to the floor or whisking them into lazy whirlpools - gravity speaks and speaks again. Normally buoyant and isolated from outside gravitics the stricken tank moans in the darkness, prisoner of the world's ghastly pull, shackled by the very force once ally now foe. nam-Nochaaq! nam-Nochaaq! come voices from beyond the hull, joined then by ringing banging attempts to pry the machine open. Unmoved by them the driver, slumped in his seat (head twisting to revelatory degrees), catches the platoon-lead’s gaze. Byntalglanchonen. nam-Sannachnarmoq, he says, we should have moved sooner. With a deliberate start he sits up into a hunching stand and braces against the side of the vehicle. For a moment he hesitates – steadying himself – but is met by the hand of a Chrühov pulsilier reaching inward from outside, and he grabs it and helps himself out and down to the slate below. He cues his communicator; the forms of the other Pords of the company command council materialize before him. My tank has been destroyed. I will be moving my command post further to the rear, he says dryly. Are you injured? Ataq asks. His eyes dart up and down Nochaaq’s ethereal form but only so much can be gleaned through the comms suite. Nochaaq nods slowly. I will manage, he replies, but must withdraw. Before Ataq responds, nam-Zhülnym interjects; we will reinforce you at the next ridgeline, then, he says.
A few mortar rounds sink into the dirt nearby, schwaping! into the night methodically and predictably, while nearby PD suites churn to keep pace. And Nochaaq nods once more. We will regroup there, he says, clarifying the command for his squad leads who receive it, then brings his attention back to the Pords before him, in particular the pulsilier now moving with much agitation, who speaks – upon seeing Nochaaq eye her – without being addressed: We have contacts coming in, she says, I’m seeing three or four dozen. Night-tinged beams (fading from opaque to clear) whine from the dying husks of a pair of Array probes. They drink the last of the power from the command tank’s stores then fall silent, their unlucky quarry now painted against the hillside by their final defiant salvoes; the Array operator, thus without central node, works to reconnect the probes with the company’s network, but so disconnected they will take time to reengage – Time not afforded to them; a barrage of grenade-rifle fire arcs through the choking smog into one of the probes and connects spectacularly; more durable than the infantry-grade probes swept aside above the first few ridges, it weathers the barrage but burns furiously – out of commission, yet steeped in rejection of gravity’s timeless entreaties. In the glow of the probe, Nochaaq scrambles to the far side of his downed tank. He kneels low in the dirt here, and after panning the terrain, he shakes his head slowly, mumbling to himself. We will be shot off our hoverbikes if we try that, he muses with a morbid grin. The tacit realization settles in for the other Pords, too, and Nochaaq glimpses the same dour repose repeated among them and admits that his own disposition isn’t too dissimilar. Yet one glimmer of hope trickles into his tactical feed – a glimmer distant but nearing swiftly; reinforcements and by their signatures heavy. And he just about feels them moving into range and ruminates on this thought for but a moment before a mighty war cry rings out, and he turns to the noise drawing pistol and sword into hand and sees, at the front of the Justicar charge, a one-armed assailant alighting with godclip towards his position. Give us until the Carnaithians, he says underbreath and as Vena clears the tank, Nochaaq fires and lunges forth to meet him.
—--
SKIRMISH - EAST STAKESBY MOUNTAINS They had been too late to save the Pords in their entirety. The battle here had been violently attritious, and little was left. As the majority of the IFVs fell back to support the knights' Kopeshi, their dismounts committed to a counterpush against the remaining justicars, dual-bladed glass brandished and damaged shields reforming after every hit. Ahead, however, laid a formidable foe. Bailiff Vena careened towards a squad of the knights through the haze, dangerously neglected by tactical awareness before his crashing into the sub-formation shattered the armor of one warrior, glass exploding into shards as his broken body crumpled atop the rocks. The rest barked their alarm in double-voices and changed stance to attack with blade from three directions - one taken out by a backswing of the officer's maul, snout violently torn from its natural position, jaw shattered. The golden carapace of the alien commander was scored by swing and strike, the remaining pair of this formation surprised by the skill of their enemy despite his lack of one arm. They struck simultaneously once more, one of them falling to yet another heavy blow by that great hammer...
—--
SKIES The Tanto continued its wide bank, escorting fighter squadrons speeding past as the shockwaves from the cheek railgun's shots echoed themselves into non-existence in the skies. "Hostile warship downed," a CIC officer reported, though the blaze through the windows and on the external camera feeds were enough to tell anyone within the ship that much. Cheering was minimal - certainly it was a heavier frame, but it was already crippled in the first place. That wasn't to say there was no pride in the crew, however. At the very least, the appreciation was well-felt as the Ingenious fighters formed up. "Captain! Hostile air inbound, fast! Escorts already moving to intercept!" Markiiel's gaze was torn from the blaze on the slopes and to the radar screen - already, the spinning triangles of high-velocity missiles were outbound to meet the enemy air, but signatures were already inbound - heading straight for the Tanto's starboard side. He didn't have to yell anything like "Brace!," of course, but it may have helped - decadizing autocannon rounds came into range and did their work. The railgun that felled the Criminal Vindication was, itself, reduced to particulate, ammunition feeder spewing the remainder of its shells into the skies below. The starboard laser emiiter met the same fate, the lens underneath reduced to a glorified disco ball as onboard systems attempted to engage the incoming hostiles. Impacts followed from bow to stern, eventually creeping to the vertical stabilizer at the wingtip. The ship threatened to list, countered by heavy trimming of control surfaces. Devoid of its laser on the attacking side, it was left to point-defense systems to assist the fighters - the naval weapon tracked and laid aim, quad hundred-millimeter revolver guns, spewing thousands of rounds a minute, fired into the furball with precise bursts as the ship attempted to get to a more advantageous track.
—--
SKIES
With the Criminal Vindication cast to dust, the Carnaithian Tanto usurped its place as lord of the sky. With nowhere to return to, the remaining Justicar aircraft contesting the airspace turned to do one thing; they would punish the attackers by bringing them to their shared grave. Flights of bident-shaped craft regrouped and followed their new attack heading- to dethrone the Tanto and remind this makeshift coalition that their victories would be hard-fought and short-lived. Baniti burned through the air as fast as his white-hot thrusters would carry him, even the slightest adjustments bringing him to perform massive cuts and banks. He had just gunned through the second wave of frantic interceptors and persistent drones, which he had sprinted and shot through as needed. His prize wasn’t to tangle with these individual fighters. His wingmen were doing so already, breaking course and circling back around to trade blows and dodge lightning-fast missiles. This dance among the Carnaithians and the freshly-arriving Ingen pilots was the work of the timid amateurs following him. Every craft that erupted into flames or pathetically petered out to plummet below, friend and foe alike, was fuel that carried him one meter closer. The Tanto was close now- just out of reach for his guns to surely drive a critical blow to its heart. A warning graced his mind- another flight of interceptors coming in hot: Carnaithian. The cursory work of the onboard systems showed him the interlopers were the same craft he was entangled with earlier. Now, they were surely trying to finish what they’d started. -
Baniti ignored them, even as their weapons went hot to rattle his craft with bores and gashes. His remaining wingmen were not as lucky, torn to pieces by the expert gunnery. Their revenge did not concern him; the damaged and waiting Tanto was just within his grasp. Just one string of decadizing slugs was all he need- But the Tanto was ready- the cascade of the Carnaithian revolving guns had beat Baniti to the draw. With him died their plight to return the favor. Some fought, some tried to run, but as the Justicar numbers dwindled, their inevitable loss accelerated. Not long after Baniti was snuffed out, the skies of Whitewharf fell silent.
-
VANDAR 2 As the fight develop, so too did the fissures in the earth under their feet. It was soon apparent that much of the ground to the north, among the shale and slate, was little more than a hollow shell of the passages and chambers below- most of which one could not see the bottom of. The hill they’d occupied was one of the few bastions in the gorge opening around them. It was the only thing that saved Pavo from the imminent crawl of grenade fire that was creeping up to his position. One moment, the shockwave from the detonations just outside the kill radius rattled his teeth as he fired away. The next, the small ensemble of gunners found themselves without ground, disappearing into the unseen depths. On the opposite end of the draw, the Jade warriors caught in their melee found themselves in the same predicament as Pavo- transitioning from a fight to clamoring for a grip and footing. The Justicars had fought hard, but the low ground of the draw had sealed their fate from the start. The grounded skiffs and surviving riflemen fell alongside the slate they once stood on. Pavo himself had been on the reverse slope, finding himself sliding down to his demise only to find a solid grip as his feet dangled weightlessly over oblivion. With a grunt of effort he pulled himself carefully to solid ground. He searched the other side of the draw for Ancalagon and Quinlong, relieved to see them on their own island of safety with the latter bracing the former. With his old mission out of grasp and the shape of the battlefield changed, the winded Pavo took stock. It seemed Stedian truly did favor him after all- he’d been given enough luck to last decades. “Roth… are you alright?” The static of the communication line betrayed the end of a coughing fit before the medic replied, “Yeah- as I’ll ever be. What the fuck was that?” -
“Nothing now,” Pavo replied, bear-crawling up the reverse slope with caution. One steady hand reached out at a time, as to not slip back to his dire strait. “Everyone stay in place. We’re going to call a lift out of here.” -
SKIRMISHERS – EAST STAKESBY MOUNTAINS Vena charged Nochaaq with glee, and his men followed. By all military measures, the Pordish unit had been destroyed- although the fighters and their spirit had remained. The Justicars would certainly hold the advantage in their forced melee. The ominous arrival of the blackstone knights, however, had sealed their fate. Vena felt the icy death from the wounds Nochaaq had inflicted during their exchange. The Bailiff cast the Pord aside with a mighty cry once he realized the warrior was too nimble to be caught by the lethal end of his hammer. Those near Nochaaq, however, were not as lucky. The mangled bodies were cast aside, clearing a direct line from the one-armed Bailiff to the sharply-armored dark knights. The Justicars would certainly hold the advantage in their forced melee- had it just been the small Pordish platoon. A quick glance to his flanks told Vena of he and his men’s imminent doom. “Warriors of blackstone!” The amplifiers of his armor delivered his message far and wide. “Your judgment- bear witness!” Vena left Nochaaq behind in his wild charge to meet the Carnaithians head-on. He fought in a manner befitting the wild animal of his helm, not bothering with defending himself as he exchanged blows. He was shot, stabbed, slashed, and bludgeoned by all in his reach. Their efforts did nothing to slow the cyclone of hammer blows that rent armor, snapped weapons, and twisted bodies. His units in the skirmish fought much in the same way; unable to defend themselves and lashing out against the inevitable. Vena fared the best out of them all- his Initiates paling in comparison to his skill and the Jaros armor unable to do anything but be shredded by the merciless Carnaithian armor on the ridgeline. Vena bore the weight of their failure on his shoulders, and his protest of retribution would be seen upon the corpses of Pords and Carnaithians he piled with his hammer. -
His fervent onslaught was stilled by the glass blades severing his remaining arm- and finally, a final blow to his breastplate inviting the light of the outside to combust his vital core. The Pordish platoon had succeeded in delaying the Justicars- the units to the north mopped up what anti-air and anti-orbital resistance remained. The price of their victory was masked in the smoky haze that consumed the hill; it was not just the dust from fire and bombs, but the smoldering remains of the Justicars within their armor brought to the light. Soon, all that remained were the golden husks of their armor, and the Pordish and the Carnaithian bodies they’d left in their wake. With the last of the Jaros forces in the valley destroyed, the eastern Stakesby Mountains too fell quiet. -
OUTSKIRTS OF STAKESBY The skies were open, the mountains quiet: all that remained was the dark sea of Stakesby before them. Within the city was a hive of defenders, but also those who were seeking their salvation and the bastard who had put them into bondage. The 31st continued the approach with only pockets of defenders delaying them. Now, the 31st wasn’t alone, supported by Minevan formations who’d made their groundfall as well. From the east they’d come, dwarfed by the murky dome draped over the hostile city. They’d forge within, either to save those innocent or mete out their own justice. -