Chapter 7 WAAAAGH!!
Hell's Reach burned. Once a major Imperial port city on the continent of Armageddon Secundus, it was now a brutal and bloody battlefield between the city's inhabitants, refugees from the fallen Hive Inferno, and the countless ork hordes of Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka.
To an outsider, it might have been unclear how the situation on Armageddon had become so dire. To understand, one must look to the recent past.
Thanks to the abysmal leadership of Planetary Governor Herman von Strab, who dismissed "yet another ork attack" as insignificant, Ghazghkull's armada successfully landed on the western continent, bypassed the jungle belt, and smashed into the nearest Imperial cities with a steel fist. The small planetary defense forces foolishly sent by von Strab were immediately annihilated by the overwhelming ork forces.
Unable to withstand the sudden assault, Armageddon Prime soon fell, its supply lines cut, and the orks flooded the hive's tunnels. In this dark hour, Commissar Sebastian Yarrick of the 252nd Steel Legion ordered the astropaths to send a desperate distress signal, earning von Strab's displeasure and exile to Hades Hive.
But it would be shortsighted to underestimate the "genius" of Imperial governors, for von Strab's bucket of "brilliant solutions for every occasion" was still full. The Planetary Governor was unconcerned about losing an entire continent, declaring that the orks could never cross the dense jungles separating them from Armageddon Secundus. Imagine his surprise when the ancient living weapons of endless war, cultivated by the Old Ones, easily traversed the jungles and descended upon the second continent.
Von Strab ordered Princeps Curtiz Mannheim to lead his Titans into battle against the ork armies. The Princeps had no choice but to obey, though he knew it was a suicide mission. The Titan Legion under Mannheim's command clashed with the orks near Hive Inferno.
Though the Princeps and his forces dealt a significant blow to the enemy, they could not stop them. Curtiz's Titan was crippled in the heat of battle, and the commander decided to ram the ork Gargants. Colliding with several, he activated the self-destruct systems, causing a massive explosion that sent thousands of greenskins and several Gargants to their doom.
If the situation had been dire before the fall of the Steel Legion, it now spiraled straight into hell. Imperial forces retreated in disarray, pursued by the jubilant ork hordes.
The xenos reveled in tearing apart the human world and savoring its suffering.
When the Season of Storms reached its peak and the seas literally boiled, the orks turned their attention to Hive Inferno. The city's inhabitants decided to surrender without a fight and began a perilous trek to other hives. Tens of thousands of refugees trudged across the inhospitable, toxic wastelands, dying from the harsh conditions or falling victim to the Speed Freeks, who relentlessly harassed the fleeing columns.
As Ghazghkull's hordes advanced triumphantly southward, they split their forces, heading for Hades Hive and Hell's Reach.
It was to Hell's Reach that most of the refugees fled, desperate to board ships and cross the Ocean of Storms to escape the doomed continent. But the orks on their heels had no intention of letting the "weak humies" go so easily.
Yet the humans were not so simple. Driven mad by endless losses and defeats, fueled by hatred for the cursed xenos, they thirsted for the blood of the unclean greenskins.
Servius Blake, one of the PDF generals, did everything in his power to make the orks pay dearly for attacking his city. Though elderly, the general accepted command with honor. Unlike the usual desk-bound bureaucrats, he had smelled gunpowder in his youth, even if only in local conflicts.
All those unable to bear arms were loaded onto retrofitted supertankers and sent across the Ocean of Storms, while the rest prepared to sell their lives dearly.
Servius Blake and his people knew that no help would come, that their fight would change nothing, and that they were all dead men. But the flame of hatred in their hearts burned so brightly that they no longer cared.
"Boom!" A powerful explosion rocked Blake, forcing him to grab onto a nearby metal railing. In the distance, a mushroom cloud of black smoke rose into the sky.
- The thirty-second depot has been successfully destroyed, - the general's vox-bead crackled, delivering both good and grim news. - Zeta Group successfully mined and detonated the charges. Unable to escape the depot, the commander of Zeta Group decided to take as many greenskins with him as possible. May the Emperor protect them.
- Message received. May the Emperor protect them, - Blake replied sternly, not allowing his voice to waver. - Inform Beta and Gamma Groups to begin demolishing railway tracks five through eight. The orks are trying to use our own trains to penetrate deeper into our defenses.
- Yes, sir!
Blake knew he was sending two more squads to their deaths, but how could he hesitate when loyal sons of the Imperium were sacrificing their lives at every turn?
Unable to defend against the overwhelming ork forces, the decision was made to blow up any transport hubs, factories, and depots in the hive, taking as many xenos with them as possible.
Promethium tanks exploded, spraying burning fuel everywhere, and the black smoke from the burning hive turned day into night, so thick and impenetrable it was.
Yet the heroism of Hell's Reach's inhabitants did not end there. Blake himself witnessed several dockworkers weld themselves inside heavy tower cranes, then lure the ork Gargants—analogues of Imperial Titans—close before unleashing their fury upon them.
The clash of steel, and the multi-ton cranes engaged in a brutal melee with the towering, gun-covered walkers of the orks.
Though the Gargants were rightly considered deadly war machines, even they could not ignore multi-ton structures crashing down on them.
Of course, the greenskins soon climbed the cranes and reached the desperate defenders, but not before the humans exacted a bloody toll.
Yet, despite the desperate resistance, the defenders' strength was immeasurably inferior to the attackers. The orks could easily trade ten of their own for one human life and still come out ahead.
And the math was far less kind to the humans.
After all, the orks were not facing battle-hardened Imperial Guard legions tempered by dozens or hundreds of wars, but ordinary PDF forces bolstered by local civilians. Even the simplest ork far surpassed even the strongest human in physical prowess. Yes, humans were faster and more agile, but in the cramped streets of the hive, this often proved of little use.
The old man turned away from his subordinates so they would not see the treacherous moisture in his eyes. It pained Blake to see loyal sons of the Imperium pointlessly dying at the hands of the cursed xenos.
And there was nothing he could do! The general harbored treacherous thoughts of retreat—not for himself, but to save at least some of his people. Yet he himself had sent away all the ships to prevent them from falling into ork hands.
"Oh, Benevolent Emperor," the elderly PDF general, closing his eyes to avoid witnessing the unfolding collapse, mentally appealed to the only one he could: "Grant us one final mercy. Help your sons fight this evil..."
Suddenly, the old man froze, his eyes snapping open as he stared in disbelief at the gray, smoke-filled sky.
Had he imagined it, or had he heard the familiar, comforting roar of descending drop pods?
Tearing through the heavens like angels of the Emperor Himself, dozens, hundreds, and then thousands of small and large machines descended, carrying what could only be heralds of their God, who had finally sent aid at the last moment!
The thunder of powerful engines filled the air as the steel machines fanned out, encircling the hive from all sides.
The defenders froze, scarcely believing their good fortune. Goggles smeared with their own and others' blood stared intently at the descending shuttles. The battered survivors would not have been surprised if the newcomers turned out to be orks in disguise.
"Whoosh! BOOM! Whoosh! BOOM!" The black clouds of smog and smoke parted, revealing massive holes through which orbital strikes from the starships above rained down.
Though the strikes targeted the ork forces outside the hive, the tremors from each impact reverberated from the base to the peak of the human steel anthill.
Then, the circling and descending machines opened fire, blasting, shredding, and burning the rampaging greenskin hordes below.
Bombs and rockets rained down, crushing and incinerating the cursed xenos.
And then, the people broke. They could no longer endure or doubt. A joyous cry rose to the heavens, and the orks who had entered the city faltered for the first time, for they now faced not a doomed and surrendering foe, but one that had finally seen hope. And for the sake of that hope, the ferocity of the conflict reached new heights.
Moreover, the landing of the newcomers was only gaining momentum. Choosing the most heavily contested areas for deployment, the shuttles hissed as they opened their grim maws, releasing bloodthirsty servants of the sacred crusade.
If before the orks had faced weary, doomed hive dwellers, now they were met by fresh warriors from the depths of Hive Ixodus. Trained and hardened by weeks of brutal instruction, these fighters now desired only one thing—to kill. And now, they could indulge that desire with absolute abandon.
The battle chaplains were no less formidable. Constantine had not eaten his bread in vain. His subordinates, many of whom were former criminals or killers who knew which end of a weapon to hold, inspired those around them with their bravery in the name of the God-Emperor.
But do not think that the orks surrendered immediately under such crushing pressure. No, they fought just as fiercely, but now the tide had turned. Cut off from reinforcements busy dodging orbital strikes, they were forced to retreat, returning the battered, blood-soaked hive to its rightful inhabitants.
Reinvigorated, Servius Blake swiftly resumed command, orchestrating his remaining forces with the precision of a conductor.
He was so busy that he almost missed the arrival of an Aquila lander, a light transport shuttle typically used for officers or other important personnel, escorted by a pair of Voidfighters.
The general barely made it to the landing site in time, determined to personally greet the newcomers. After all, they had earned his respect like no others.
The first to disembark were the guards, followed by those for whom the shuttle had been sent. Expecting to see Imperial Guard uniforms, Blake was stunned.
Yes, military-grade gas masks were present, and most of the arrivals wore military uniforms, but the rest! Many of the guards bore numerous sacred symbols of the Emperor and carefully attached pages from the Holy Scriptures.
As if that weren't enough, these religious symbols coexisted comfortably with crude, obviously gang-related insignia. To top it off, a couple of guards had even managed to attach actual mohawks to their gas mask helmets!
One thing was certain: whoever these people were, they had nothing to do with the Imperial Guard.
The next group to step out was equally unconventional.
The first, and clearly the leader, was a tall, intimidatingly broad man in power armor, his bald head and grim, sinister gaze marking him as no ordinary individual. Knowing how difficult it was to obtain even basic power armor, Servius had no doubt this man was extraordinary.
Following the leader were three others, each more distinctive than the last. The first wore a black, patched-up robe reinforced with random pieces of armor. The abundance of sacred symbols attached to him hinted at his ties to the Ecclesiarchy.
The second could have passed for an ordinary Imperial officer if not for the black aquila tattooed directly on his face. Blake couldn't know it, but the tattoo was the result of Fisher's carefully calculated revenge against a former general who had betrayed his loyal men.
The third and final companion stood somewhere between a model Imperial Guardsman and a hardened ganger from the depths of a hive.
- Welcome to Armageddon, sir, - Blake managed, barely containing his surprise. - Your arrival is undoubtedly a surprise, but a most welcome one. Your coming was surely sent by the Emperor Himself! If you'll excuse me, I still haven't been informed of who you are...
- We are the minor crusade of the God-Emperor Himself! - roared the old man in the robe, brandishing a heavy power maul, causing everyone to jump. - We bring death and fire to heretics and xenos! And from what we hear, this land has an abundance of the latter!
- You were not misinformed, - Blake replied diplomatically, glancing at the silent giant in power armor. Had he misjudged who was in charge here?
- Fisher, Numenor, - the tallest newcomer suddenly spoke. His voice matched his appearance—deep and unsettling. - What's the overall situation?
- According to reports, - both generals contacted their commanders. - The orks are retreating, and in some places, they're starting to flee the city. The orbital bombardment has ended, so the orks are regrouping.
- Excellent, - Blake wanted to ask what was so excellent about that, but he didn't get the chance. - This gives us the perfect opportunity to attack them immediately.
"What? What is he talking about? What about reconnaissance?" A thousand questions raced through the old general's mind, but he wisely kept them to himself. Seeing the fervent loyalty in the eyes of this stranger's subordinates, he felt uneasy voicing any doubts.
Meanwhile, more and more transport shuttles began landing nearby, and the disembarked troops moved forward, leaving the general awkwardly standing aside.
Muttering a quiet curse under his breath, Servius hurried after them, rhetorically asking the air, "And who, by the Throne, is this?" The answer came unexpectedly.
- He is a Saint. - Blake nearly jumped at the voice. A scarred, noseless man with a makeshift respirator spoke to him. - And you'd best be respectful when speaking of the Emperor's Saint. - The hardened killer's advice was clear, and though Blake wanted to protest the breach of protocol, he wisely held his tongue. His own guards seemed equally reluctant to intervene.
- I'll keep that in mind, - Blake forced out, and the beast of a man moved on, satisfied.
Blake looked around and shivered as if from cold. Everywhere he looked, there were hardened killers, and he couldn't help but wonder where this "Saint" had found so many experienced murderers.
Servius shook his head, amazed by the fervent loyalty he had witnessed earlier and now.
Could this truly be a Saint?
Blake had heard of minor and major crusades but never thought he would witness one firsthand.
The old general pushed the distracting thoughts aside. Right now, he needed to organize his remaining forces and prepare to support the newcomers' advance.
Though their behavior was strange, Servius couldn't deny that the Saint's confidence filled even him with a sense of impending victory. And in such dark times, that was precisely what they needed.
This chapter was edited by Old Man of the Mountain/Darklord331 Thanks to him pat him in the comments.