One step to the abyss

The Angora System | Helier Imperial World

Day Five of the Siege

Amidst countless gorges and cliffs, the grey hulk of an ancient fortress stood on a vast plateau. The grey of the huge stones and the steel beams that held up the mighty walls gave the structure a sombre appearance that transported its occupants back hundreds of years to the time of its construction.

It was the first building to be constructed by humans in this world. For many years, while the walls and domes were erected to protect the inhabitants from the planet's wrath, the defenders paid for every day they lived with their blood, under constant attack from wild animals intent on driving outsiders from their territories. But with the great fortress towering majestically over the surrounding countryside, they were able to show who was now the Master of the world. Mankind cleansed the world mile by mile at the cost of hundreds of lives. Years later, with huge skyscrapers and spires rising into the sky as a testament to their steadfastness and will, the ancient fortress, forgotten, continued its quiet service... Until recently.

From orbit, it seemed the planet was in flames, so much of the land drowned in war. An unexpected enemy had descended from the skies, and the System Fleet was powerless against his armadas. Now the wreckage of many ships added to the landscape of burned fields and forests that had once been breathtakingly beautiful. The majestic spires had been reduced to stone piles, burying their inhabitants. Huge ships moved slowly across the planet's surface, removing the last sources of life.

This was the scene Legate Barselius had been watching for the past week when he stepped outside his headquarters for a few minutes. The week in which his Legion had been in constant battle had taken the lives of many soldiers and replaced them with images of terrible battles, horrible mechanical creatures and ashes falling from the sky. Even now, the sight of rising columns of smoke haunted his soul, a constant reminder of the dead.

However, it was time to go back, and the officer threw out his cigarette and took a brisk step backwards. The small door leading to the open area where the Legate now stood opened, letting the man into the room. Covering his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside, the Legate walked a few metres and found himself in a rather cramped elevator shaft connecting several dozen floors. Once he had chosen the right room, he leaned against the wall and stared at the image floating behind the glass. The fortress's interior was vast, and each level served a specific purpose.

There was an ammunition depot where massive lifts and mechanisms lifted shells to the gun turrets. In recent times, these weapons had been the only thing keeping the Reapers from finally destroying their garrison, for their power was truly colossal, and the wreckage of more than one ship littered the nearby valleys.

Even now, dozens of Adepts maintained the cannons and counted the ammunition. It was safe to say that everything here rested on these people.

Next came countless barracks and warehouses filled with the Legion's equipment. There was everything the army needed. Thousands of rifles and spare parts for them, workshops to maintain the equipment and armour kits. Vast food and water supplies are mined from the planet's bowels and collected at special stations. All of this was automated and required minimal human intervention. However, soldiers from the supply unit still moved between the racks, preparing supplies for distribution. The only thing that spoilt the impression was the state of the fortress, which needed to be maintained in a combat-ready condition. Many corridors had collapsed or were in poor condition. Many systems were inoperable and needed repair, which was being done by all available personnel. However, it was impossible to restore the structure to its original condition. Finally, the lift stopped, and the Commander was taken down to the only underground level, with a command post and storage for any remaining equipment. Due to the small amount of fuel left, it was rarely used and mostly as a stationary weapon in a specific area.

After walking through the hangars and past the guards, Varselius entered a room filled with various screens and projectors showing information about the battles on the planet. Here, too, was the entire senior officer corps, whose officers commanded the 'junior' forts scattered around the fortress. They were all connected by underground tunnels that moved garrison units, brought in supplies and brought out troops for missions when necessary. Now they were all gathered around a holographic table, discussing the situation at length.

He handed the cloak to the aide-de-camp, nodded to the officer on duty at the entrance and made his way to the hall's centre. Everyone in the headquarters immediately turned in his direction and saluted him, punching themselves in the chest. Having waited for permission, the men returned to their duties, and the Legate approached the officers.

- Gentlemen. - After greeting those present, the Legate approached the projector, stepping over several large cables stretched across the floor and leaning his hands on the edge. - What have we got today?

His question was interrupted by the muffled sound of an explosion and the floor shaking. The eyes of those present turned to the ceiling, where plaster began to fall. But there was no continuation of the explosion.

- The last Commander had been shot this morning. - The centurion, wearing the insignia of the Legion's security, shook the plaster particles from his uniform. - As per your orders.

- Well... - the Legatus passed a weary hand over his face. The last few days had been hard on everyone, and it showed in the pale and haggard faces of the besieged. - Any orders from Terra?

-Today... - the guard unbuttoned the top button of his coat and pulled a sealed package from his inner pocket before handing it to the Commander. - You have been appointed the new Commander and Commander of all Heliir's defences.

The Legate's uncomprehending gaze slowly rose to the speaker:

- I thought Procurator Cronus would be the new Commander. - The rest of the centurions also looked at the representative of the SB. - Shouldn't he take command?

- I have information to that effect. - The Centurion checked the data on his wrist communicator. - Intelligence reports that the Procurator's shuttle was shot down over enemy territory three hours ago. A detachment sent out found no survivors.

- That's it? - The package wasn't even opened; it was placed on one of the tables. - We would have retained the supreme Commander...

- If only, sir. Look... - he turned to the projector and zoomed in on a projection of the area a hundred kilometres from the fortress. The whole plain was now filled with markings of enemy vehicles, among which a dozen large ones stood out, showing the main ships of the invaders. - Today, the radars picked up another horde of machines. It is moving towards us from the north and will approach the fifth and sixth forts by midday.

- How bad was it? - The garrison had fought off attacks before, there were large groups of machines backed by Reapers, but they were usually destroyed in advance, preventing them from approaching the fortifications. The horde was about ten times larger than usual and could cause much trouble.

- Too bad, we don't know if the forts can repel this attack this time. - The centurion folded his arms across his chest. - We do not understand the reason for their behaviour. Our mainland still has large defences, but they've turned their ships over to us, ignoring them...

- Now, we must concern ourselves with repelling the attack. - Varselius began drumming nervously on the edge of the table. - What about defence systems?

This time the Master, the fortress's chief adept, stepped forward. In his hands was a well-worn book, its pages yellowed with time. He placed it on the table, opened it and gently ran his hand over it. The first page showed a diagram of the room. Still, the condition of the pages made it difficult to make out anything specific.

- We were able to reconstruct the charging mechanisms and power transfer systems. However, only some power lines have been restored; they run quite deep, so repairs will take another week or so.

- We're stuck with emergency lighting; it's not fatal. What else? - He wanted to ask something else, but his eye fell on a book. - And what's that?

- This? - The Adept picked up the book. - We found it in the archives. It is the work of Master Gress, who arrived in the colony in 560 AD. It describes the hidden chambers of the fortress and the machinations within.

- Is there anything we should know about? - The eyes of those present converged on the pages of the book. - We could strengthen the defences by activating these mechanisms...

- That is impossible. - Suddenly, as if to cut her off, the Magister said. There seemed to be an extra metal in his voice, making it even more frightening and lifeless. - This is an architect; we need the knowledge and the equipment to get close to it. Repairing it is out of the question; this technology is from the First Wave of Expansion; we'll just destroy it like this.

- Damn it! - The Legate angrily slammed his desk, causing the image to distort momentarily. - At least there's one good thing today! This won't hurt our chances of surviving tomorrow! - The Legate stepped away from the table, clasped his hands behind his back and paced nervously. The prevailing silence, which no one dared break, was occasionally interrupted by the humming of computers. The first minute passed, the second, the third. Suddenly Varselius stopped and began to massage his temples. Repeating the movement, the Legate stepped to the hall's centre. Having calmed his nerves, he turned to the officers:

- Well, is there anything?

One of the tactical officers pulled out a clipboard and began to report:

- We are in contact with other strongholds, but none have the strength to break through to us. They are under siege, and no telling how long it will last. We have no allied units near us... - He was interrupted by the Legatus, who took two steps across the table and jabbed his finger at the map.

- Reisser's armoured corps should have arrived yesterday! And where are they?!

- Sir, we assume that Reisser is trapped in these ravines... - The Tactician has marked several areas on the map. - Enemy units have already been spotted there, and he may be fighting there now.

- Or already dead. - Sent the guard.

- Let's hope not. - The Commander leans back on the table. - He's supposed to deliver fuel. Without it, I can't move the equipment into battle; it'll just stand there!

- Sir, there is still an Aurelius corps; it is not far away and may arrive soon...

- Aurelius is not coming. He has clear orders to defend the spaceport so that we can at least evacuate... - the speaking officer was abruptly silenced. - What about the fleet? Is communication with them stable?

- Yes, but the situation is grim. - This time, it was the chief communicator of the fortress who reported. - The fleet is still holding and controlling our orbital sector but is gradually sinking under the enemy's onslaught. Our transporter is fine and can pick us up when we retreat.

- That's something. - Varselius then paused for a few minutes to study the map, studying the area from which the horde had come. - We have to deal with this problem now. Otherwise, we risk losing everything. Azrius! - The Master turned his gaze to the Summoner. - What can the Order field attack?

-The Legions of Ferro are ready to advance, but we need a large, open area for maximum effect. There we can deploy our units at full strength. - With another glance at the map, the command staff quickly found a suitable plain in the enemy's path.

- This is where we will meet them. Does the battery's attack zone cover the plain?

- Yes, sir. The guns will be able to work at the request of the advanced troops. But we need time to prepare them for firing.

-You will have it. We'll move out while the garrison from the forts assemble in the fort and begin to fortify the defences. All right, let's not waste any time; get moving!

The legions of the Order moved slowly through the gorge, out onto the plain. Hundreds of thousands of steel soldiers marched forward in perfect formation. Driven by the will of their partially organic commanders, the machines followed orders mindlessly, ready to rush into the searing heat of the worst battle and show the entire observable universe what Imperial Engineering produces in the Order's deepest laboratories, far below the surface of the Vault Worlds. The main force, the very thing that made up humanity's countless warriors, were humanoid cyborgs carrying an impressive arsenal for a wide range of tasks. Their production is so cheap and efficient that casualties among them can run into the millions, and the doctrine of the Order considers this perfectly acceptable. But this versatile robot is one of many things humanity's best minds can deploy.

Heavy platforms have entered the battlefield in small units, carrying energy cannons or other heavy weapons to suit the commanders' objectives. Occasionally, machines carrying antennas and other transmitting devices would appear. They transmitted orders to surrounding units, synchronising their work and allowing them to find the best tactical solutions.

In the distance were the mighty Colossi, of which only a few were left in the Order's arsenal on this planet. But this did not prevent them from becoming the weapon whose power the followers most hoped for and which was destined to play a major role.

Auxiliary units are also worth mentioning, as they contribute just as much and sometimes more. Various mobile artillery systems, repair modules, support vehicles and so on exist. All of this formed the basis of the firepower of the Order's troops, allowing them to wage war on a par with the Imperial Legions. And now, all that power was being marshalled on vast fields and prepared to meet the enemy. The Order's commanders, sending vast armies into battle at the command of their minds, watched the battle from afar through thousands of cameras and sensors. Powerful communication systems towering into the sky transmitted their will to every mechanism on this plain...

Towards the imperial columns, sweeping away everything in their path, be it the ruins of buildings, surviving humans or animals, came countless hordes of alien machines. They bore no resemblance to anything familiar to humans, which was logical, for the creators of the alien creatures had nothing in common with organic life. The concept of beauty had long since been abandoned in favour of maximum efficiency and effectiveness. Here now, emitting sounds abhorrent to humans, the hordes of machines charged forward, eager to reach the last defenders and tear at their flesh.

Their variety was staggering. There were mutilated, horribly disfigured humans who had lost their form and were now just part of a sea of steel and machines built in the image of long-gone races that had fallen thousands of years before. All this was accompanied by huge ships that moved slowly, step by step, on huge manipulators, majestically towards the Imperial positions.

And so two countless armies met in battle. Two unimaginable forces clashed - an order built over centuries, bringing peace and life to distant worlds. Built and adapted by millions, it was a testament to the true power of organic life. And against it stood chaos, something created only to crush and destroy, bringing with it an imagined salvation. Countless and disorderly hordes had honed their ability to kill to an absolute.

Heavy Imperial cannons roared, charging batteries and spewing deadly energy into the enemy masses. Heavy machinery roared forward, preparing to crush the enemies of humanity. The cannonade of thousands of cannons served as a marching tune for the endless lines of small bots. And when they were hundreds of metres apart, the emitters flashed, sending death at breakneck speed towards the avalanche.

The shots mowed down the creatures by the hundreds, by the thousands, but they were unaware of it, and soon the machines were locked in a melee, tearing each other to pieces. The Reapers' cannons roared with a rumble, and scarlet beams struck the Imperial ranks, leaving deep gashes where they struck. Mass accelerators also rained fire down on the Order's troops, destroying equipment and reducing the Legion's numbers. The Colossi tried to fight back, firing their cannons continuously at the ships. However, even dropping one to the ground had little effect, as the firepower was incomparable. Soon several of their hulls were in flames, unable to withstand a volley of enemy cannons. This incident greatly alarmed the commanders:

- We need firepower, or we'll lose ground fast! - Connecting to the command interface, their thoughts synchronised into a single cluster, making words meaningless. - Master, we must contact the fortress.

- Confirmed, we've already lost 47% of our heavy equipment. - Put the Colossus commander in charge.

- I hear you. - The Master, who was the cluster's centre, began to give orders to the younger brothers. - Set up a communication channel to me with the Legatus and make sure the connection is stable...

-... taking heavy casualties and requesting an artillery barrage. - the Master's hologram broadcast from the centre of the room.

- I hear you; we're doing our best. - Once the hologram was gone, the Legate turned to the Adept beside him. - Communication with the higher levels working?

- We connected to the ancient communication system that runs through the floors of the fortress. - The adept placed a small steel box on the table. The eyes of those present focused on the strange object.

- What is it? - The officer approached the device and examined it.

- A field telephone connected to a cable that cannot be jammed by any jamming system. We found this system in an abandoned communication post.

- Oh, Emperor... - As soon as the Legate opened the lid, a cloud of dust erupted from inside and settled on the table almost immediately. - Does it work at all?

- Yes, we've managed to hook everything up and establish a communications link. You can now contact any point in the fortress.

- Get me a link to the artillery battery. - Varselius stepped aside to let the mechanic get to the device. He began carefully typing, turning the knobs, and finally picked up the receiver and handed it to the Legatus. Picking it up, he looked at the wire running from it to the phone box and put it to his ear.

- Mark, can you hear me...? Yes, an art strike is required at the given coordinates... Are you ready? 467, 789... Yes, the whole quadrant... If you fire, I'll contact them... yes... Stand down. - The Commander has put the receiver back on. - Let's fire the salvo and then get me in touch with the fighters.

- You got it...

The huge barrels of the cannons turned slowly, obeying the will of the gunners, while deep inside the fortress, hundreds of men loaded a shell onto a special belt that carried it straight to the gun. When the mighty machines had loaded them into the guns and the machines had finished calculating the trajectory, the chief gunner ordered a volley. The roar of the guns, an avalanche of rocks and avalanches, and the projectiles hurtling at forbidding speed into the distance.

The striding ship turned to direct its beam at another group of Order troops when suddenly its hull was pierced by something at tremendous speed, and a moment later, it exploded. Torn from the inside out, the hull disintegrated into hundreds of pieces scattered across the battlefield. Meanwhile, the shells continued to fall, tearing through the enemy ranks or destroying the Reapers. One by one, the ships fell, scattering in clouds of debris. The victory was once again in the hands of the Empire.

The hope of victory was shattered by the roar of a new Reaper falling from the sky. Finding the outgoing signals of the HQ machines, it covered their position with several volleys. The shield withstood the first few rounds, but soon the already dwindling power was completely drained, and the shot simply incinerated what was left of the troops' headquarters. The uncommanded machines paused for a moment, trying to detect the signal, then, activating the algorithms embedded in them, launched a final, furious attack, striking terrible blows but without command, no longer a threat to the advancing hordes, while new and new ships, falling from orbit and immediately entering the battle, incinerated the forces of the Order...

- Sir, we have lost the right fort! - A young officer, his face smeared with blood and a wound on his arm, quickly approached the Legate. - No one survived...

- I hear you. - Varselius' face showed no emotion. A day when they make the last stand of their lives. The Legion ship was shot down last night, and the fleet retreats from the system. The last ships with civilians tried to break into orbit and rescue at least a few. Hordes of machines were piling up the walls of the fortress, trying to get the weakened defenders out. He even had to shoot some panicked men, undermining the already low morale. - Tell the men to retreat to the central hall, and we'll meet them there. - Waiting for the officer to leave, he went to the designated area. Soon the few who had survived the minute-to-minute battles with the creatures and still had a weapon in their hands began to gather there.

As soon as the last soldier was inside, the doors closed behind him, the locks snapping shut. A few centurions lined the sides of the gallery that led to the pedestal with the Legion's banner. As the Legatus approached, those present stretched to their full height, even the wounded, who were in agony from hell. As he walked among them, the man looked at their weary faces. Life was in them, but it was hard to call them human. Many were in a terrible state of decay, and some lacked weapons. What to say? Of their thousands, a measly hundred were left, those who envied the dead.

Reaching the end of the line, Barselius paused beside the young standard-bearer, a rifle in his hands. He glanced at him and motioned for him to follow. As he climbed the pedestal, the Legate approached the banner. At that moment, explosions and a faint mechanical roar could be heard outside the door. Immediately, something slammed into it, causing little damage. He grabbed the shaft and pulled it from its mount with a single roar. Looking at it with trepidation, the Commander slowly handed it to the bowed standard-bearer. The latter gently took it in both hands and slid it into the special mountings on the armour, lifting it above him. They then dismounted and walked along the doors. Each soldier knelt before the standard as he faced the others, paying his respects to those who had fought before him in the Legion and fallen many years before.

Reaching the end of the line, the Commander turned to the soldiers. Almost immediately, the soldiers formed a monolithic wall opposite the only door and gazed devoutly at their Commander.

- Brothers! - The Legatus scanned the faces of those present. - I will not tell you that we must hold out until rescued. I will not lie to you and reassure you with empty promises. Our ship is blown up, and there is no way to get out of here alive... - In the eyes of the soldiers, the spark of hope that had kept them alive faded with each word. - But I believe that every one of my warriors, every man who could survive all this! Who has not trembled at the power of these horrors! That you do not fear such an end. - There were whispers in the ranks and interest in the eyes of some. - You who stand here are the true warriors of the Emperor! Our fathers fought among the stars and died far from home, but none regretted their lives. And without dishonouring humanity, you shall die to the glory of the Lord! - there was a murmur of agreement in the ranks. - Will you go to the last battle I shall lead you? - The shouts of joy from dozens of soldiers warmed frozen hearts and filled them with rage. - Let's show them how the Imperial Legion dies! - The roar of hundreds of warriors filled the hall, dulling the fear and driving the rational to march to their deaths.

Satisfied with the result, the Legatus drew his ornate sword from its scabbard and turned towards the door shaking from the constant blows. At the same moment, dozens of men stood beside the Commander, their bayonets gleaming in the light of the lamps. The faces of the warriors were tinted with bloodthirsty smiles, and their gazes showed that these men had nothing left to lose. The lingering silence was shattered by a violent bang and the collapse of the doors. The rose dust was immediately broken by swift shadows, eager to kill the last of the humans.

With another roar, the legionnaires charged forward, clashing with the machines in a final battle. Pulses blazed, mowing down the fighting men, claws and swords clashing with armour and metal in the maimed flesh. The fury of the Imperial Guard was great. Still, within ten minutes, the few survivors had dwindled to a huddle around a banner that towered over a pile of dead defenders. Those who remained were reduced to beasts, their souls sold for the highest price. One by one, they fell, beaten or shot until the Legatus himself was left alive.

The Commander only had time to fire a few shots from his carbine before a creature crept up behind and pierced the man with a spike. Dropping his pistol from his weakened hands, the Legate slowly crawled down the standard shaft, trying to cover the pierced wound with his hand. As he fell to his knees, he felt the gradual onset of death. The techno creature, different in size and appearance, walked before him. He found the strength to look up and met the machine's gaze. The creature was in no hurry to finish off its wounded warrior, watching him die slowly. Finding the last cylinder in his pouch, the Legatus slowly held it to the creature. When the machine spotted it, the pin dropped silently, causing the grenade to his disgustingly. Varselius' victorious smile coincided with an explosion that engulfed the room. And at that moment, the last civilian ships took to the skies, carrying the last people off the doomed planet...