Rolling Thunder
Chapter One
Redvers Badlands, Nysa Stromolo
Scarus Sector, Segmentum Obscuras 999.M41, 1345 local time
Lowering the magnoculars from his eyes, Captain VanGordon of the Iron Knights Chapter sighed. The defensive line of Orks before his force stretched for kilometers in either direction. Orbital surveys showed the area directly in front of Captain VanGordon's force to be among the least defended, but the coming battle was still going to be a rough one. Scanner returns showed numerous infantry positions along with armored support dug in before the Iron Knights. The barricades erected in the path of the Space Marines would make this fight that much harder, but then again, this was the kind of battle the Iron Knights were bred for.
As well as his tank squadron, Captain VanGordon had three Tactical squads, one Devastator squad, an Assault squad, and two Dreadnaughts. All of the infantry was mechanized except for Squad Crowe, but their jump packs gave them the maneuverability needed to get them into battle. The infantry was dismounted at the moment, but would board their Razorbacks as soon as the word came to advance. VanGordon could also count on a Kill Team of the Deathwatch Chapter. Should the need arise, he could make one vox-call and the Kill Team could be instantly teleported into battle. Their expertise in killing alien scum such as these Orks would be a great addition to his own forces.
Switching to his assault group's frequency, VanGordon began to lay out his plan.
"Line formation, on me. We wait for the artillery strike, let loose with an initial salvo, then make a break for it. We need to punch through the Greenskin line at all costs. We don't stop until we're through their line of defense. Primary targets are enemy infantry, secondary targets anti-armor troops, everything else is tertiary. We hit their left flank, that way they can't bring everything to bear against us. Acknowledge."
"Squad Frost, acknowledged."
"Squad Hicks, roger."
"Squad Hudson, affirmative."
"Squad Vasquez, ready, Captain."
"Squad Crowe, let us at 'em, sir."
"Brother Burke, acknowledged."
"Brother Drake, acknowledged."
The sepulchral voices of the last two units to reply filled VanGordon with pride. The two Dreadnaughts of his assault force had brought centuries of tactical expertise to the battles fought so far, but in a push like this, they were sure to be lost. Dreadnaughts were not noted for their speed, and often acted as fire magnets. The Iron Knights were not here to kill as many Orks as possible. Their objective of pushing through the Orks' line was tatamount, which meant that the two Dreadnaughts were likely to be left behind, as were any of his units immobilized in the attack. VanGordon knew that win or lose, his Knights would give a good account of themselves regardless.
A high-pitched whistling followed by the word, "Splash" over the vox-net alerted VanGordon to the incoming artillery barrage. The Captain dropped back down into his seat, closed the hatch over his head and looked out through his forward view port, the battlefield before him magnified by his periscope's optics.
"Gunner, lay on one HE round, prepare to fire on my mark."
As the whistling outside grew louder, VanGordon could see a few of the Orks lift their eyes skyward. A few of the Greenskin squad leaders began shouting orders, but it was too late. The line erupted in eye-searing blossoms of flame as the initial artillery bombardment struck their forward line. Tank traps, wire obstacles, and infantry alike were obliterated in the heavy guns' salvo. Without giving the Orks any time to recover, VanGordon shouted over the vox line.
"FIRE!!"
This time, it was the Iron Knights' line that lit up, but from their guns' muzzles. The weaponry of the Knights sang the litany of doom, lascannons adding a high tenor to the battle cannons' rumbling bass and the baritone of the autocannons and heavy bolters. Missiles added an even a higher pitched shriek than the artillery, bringing the song to a trembling crescendo and leaving white, corkscrewing contrails on their way towards the enemy. Dozens of Orks danced to the tune as their bodies were ripped apart by the furious salvo. The Orks' return fire was meager and ineffectual.
"Echelon left! Dreadnaughts drag the left flank, infantry in the center, second line. ADVANCE!!"
The Marines piled into their transports, and the lone Castellan Main Battle Tank of VanGordon's squadron took the lead, its superior speed allowing it to get out ahead of the others at the head of the advance. The other two tanks fell into position just behind and to the left of the tank ahead of it, VanGordon's tank, the Wrath of Acheron, in the middle. The Razorbacks and the Assault squad followed, screened behind the heavier armor as they headed towards the Ork lines.
The Knights advanced, firing as they went. More Orks fell to the withering gunfire of the Marines. The enemy units stationed on the Orks' right flank began shifting to meet the Imperial force, but their own fortifications hampered their efforts, slowing them down greatly. VanGordon watched as a missile from one of the remaining Killer Kans slammed into Blaze of Glory, Brother Weizerbowski's Castellan, but failed to penetrate the tank's armor. Thankfully, the missile had hit the thicker front armor and not the weaker sides. The two Paladins of the assault force were much more heavily armored, but the Castellan was designed to be fast, and therefore had lighter armor on the flanks and rear than their heavier cousins. A lascannon shot tore into the trackguard of Squad Frost's Razorback causing it to slew to a halt as the track unravelled, but luckily, Iron Codicier Bishop had elected to ride with them. The Razorback's driver popped smoke while Sergeant Frost and his squad disembarked and gave covering fire to the Codicier as he went to work repairing the damage.
A hail of rounds from the Orks' Shooters pinged off the armor of VanGordon's tank. Controlling the secondary turret, VanGordon sent hundreds of rounds from the twin-linked assault cannons down range at the Orks, and Veteran-Sergeant Apone in the other Paladin of the squadron did likewise. The combined fire of the assault cannons cut through the Greenskins like a scythe felling stalks of wheat. VanGordon continued to motivate his fellow Marines over the vox-net.
"Advance!! Let none stand before us! Let Faith be your Armor and Righteousness your Shield!! Smite the enemy with the Hammer of Vengeful Wrath!! In the name of the Emperor!!"
The Iron Knights slammed into the Ork line, their heavy tanks scattering the enemy infantry, reminding VanGordon of game birds on the Chapter's homeworld of Archeron. Heavy weaponry continued to hit the Imperial tanks, but the Emperor was with them, and none did much more than sear the paint of their flanks. Squad Hudson's Razorback was struck by a missile, the detonation causing the vehicle's hull to ring like one of the great Devotional Bells back at the Chapter's main chapel. A quick check over the vox-net told VanGordon that the crew and Brother Sergeant Hudson's squad were shaken, but unharmed. Brothers Burke and Drake continued to plod forward, using cover to their advantage and adding their considerable firepower when the opportunity arose.
A trio of Ork Warbikes attempted to flank the tanks of the Marines in an attempt to get to the weaker armor of the Razorbacks, but a flurry of shots by Blaze of Glory and the turreted weapons of Squad Vasquez's Razorback MkII put paid to that gamble.
Suddenly, multiple shots struck Sergeant Apone's Paladin. The tank lurched and shuddered to an abrupt halt, smoke pouring from the stricken vehicle. VanGordon cursed loudly. He couldn't raise Sergeant Apone on the vox-net. The Veteran Sergeant had served with the Captain for decades, and he counted him as a friend. Not only would the loss of the Sergeant cause VanGordon personal sorrow, but the loss of his tank in this battle could spell the end of the assault. The Marines' left flank was now that much weaker. By this time, Codicier Bishop had voxed that he had finished repairs on his Razorback and offered up the appropriate prayers, and Squad Frost was racing to catch up. The Codicier might be able to repair the Paladin as well, but he needed time to reach it.
"Halt the advance! Fire at will! Give Squad Frost covering fire! Codicier Bishop, see what you can do for Hand of Justice."
"Roger, Captain, moving," came the reply.
The Imperial advance halted, and the other three squads dismounted from their Razorbacks. Sergeant Crowe took the opportunity to lead his squad in an attack against the Ork infantry, the squad's jump packs taking them up and over the line of tanks. The Marines of his squad specialized in close quarters combat and fought as though possessed with the spirit of the Emperor Himself. A nearby mob of Orks equipped with flamers turned their weapons on them in mid-flight, the high temperature of the fuel turning four of the Marines into streaking meteors. They hit the ground hard. Two of them got back up and continued to advance, their armor still blazing.
Captain VanGordon looked back towards their starting point just in time to see Brother Burke take a hit that stopped the Dreadnaught in its tracks. Black, oily smoke roiled out of a gaping hole in its armor. VanGordon could only pray that the remains of Brother Burke, cocooned in his sarcophagus, were still safe despite the hit he had taken. Although ancient and rare, the Dreadnaught could be replaced. The centuries of experience and wisdom of the pilot could not. Brother Drake continued on, firing missile after missile into the ranks of the Orks, the barrels of his assault cannon a blur as they spun, spitting death at any Ork fool enough to break cover.
Apothecary Dietrich, traveling with Squad Hicks, was a Deathwatch veteran, and he added his firepower to that of his fellow Marines. The Inferno bolts of his highly specialized bolter ripped into the ranks of the Greenskins, setting them alight as the incindiary rounds ignited upon impact. The putrid stench of burning Orkflesh hun gin the air. Five more Marines fell as the Orks returned fire, and the heavy bolters mounted on Squad Hudson's Razorback fell silent as an enemy lascannon tore into the weapon's mount, fusing the turret to the upper hull.
Suddenly, a great roar echoed across the battlefield and the Battlewagon that had been immobilized in the first moments of the assault lumbered into view. Squad Crowe all but disappeared in a fireball as the Ork vehicle fired on them, not caring how many fellow Greenskins they killed along with the Marines.
"Take out that wagon!!" screamed VanGordon. The heavy weapons of Squad Vasquez fired at the huge vehicle along with every other heavy weapon in the attack force.
"Gunner! Lay on one AP round! FIRE!"
With a thundering explosion, Wrath of Archeron's Vanquisher battle cannon spoke for the second time, this time firing the special armor piercing round unique to the gun. Surprisingly, Hand of Justice fired as well. As the battlewagon exploded, the commander's hatch opened and Sergeant Apone sat up in his cupola. He pointed at the side of his helmet where his ear would be, then waved his right arm in a chopping motion.
His vox-unit was damaged, thought VanGordon. He must not be able to move his tank...he's waving me on. VanGordon's heart swelled with pride as he thought of the sacrifice his top Sergeant was making.
You shall be remembered, Brother. And Avenged!!
VanGordon switched frequencies on his vox-caster to the channel reserved for communicating with the fleet in orbit and spoke.
"'Archangel'. I say again, 'Archangel'."
Seconds after VanGordon finished transmitting the codeword, a rippling, electric blue haze began to form next to his tank. The haze grew in size, becoming brighter and sharper. The air was split with a loud CRACK! and the haze disappeared. In its place stood seven Marines in black armor. Their left shoulders and arms, painted silver, shone in the afternoon sun. Each Marine wore a different chapter symbol on their right shoulder pads. The Deathwatch had arrived.
Two of them carried heavy bolters, and they lost no time firing on the Orks. Eight of them were cut down in the Kill Team's opening salvo alone. Captain Crassius, the Kill Team's leader, added to the pile of dead Orks with his plasma pistol.
Captain VanGordon was addressing his force again.
"Move out! We must break through!"
The Marines boarded their Razorbacks once more as the group continued their advance. The Kill Team kept shooting as they walked forward, the suspensors attached to their heavy bolters allowing them to fire on the move. VanGordon saw that his force was close to breaking through the enemy line, and spurred his troops on.
"Forward, Brothers, full speed!! We've almost broken through! For Brother Burke! For Brother Apone! FOR THE EMPEROR!!"
VanGordon and Brother Weizerbowski were the first to reach the far side of the enemy's defensive line, and they spun their tanks around to give covering fire to the rest of the force still advancing. The Razorbacks of Squads Hudson, Vasquez and Frost cleared the perimeter seconds later, but the Razorback carrying Squad Hudson erupted in a fireball that would have seared VanGordon's retinas were it not for his helmet's vision filters. The elements of the Orks' right flank were just coming into range when explosions ripped into them. A voice sounded over the vox-caster.
"Spearhead One, this is Morningstar One, do you read me, over?"
"Morningstar One, Spearhead One, over," replied VanGordon.
"Good to hear your voice, Captain VanGordon! We're right behind you."
VanGordon looked through his 'scope and saw the tanks of the 22nd Armored Cavalry, the Imperial Guard regiment assigned to follow behind VanGordon once his force had opened a hole in the line. The Blackhorse Regiment was organized along the same lines as the Iron Knights, and Captain VanGordon had spent some time discussing tactics with their CO, Colonel Steele, before the battle. VanGordon found him much more self-assured than others in his position. Guardsmen were normally either too terrified of the mythos surrounding Space Marines or were too proud to admit they needed the help of the Adeptus Astartes. Steele was neither, and VanGordon found it refreshing.
"Good to hear yours as well, Colonel. I apologize, but we didn't leave much for you to do."
Colonel Steele chuckled and replied, "No problem, Captain. We've got the rest of these xenos scum on the run. We'll mop up here."
"Roger. See you at the next briefing. Spearhead One out."
VanGordon gave the order for his Marines to stand down, and then opened his commander's hatch. His seat raised on hydraulics until his torso cleared the rim of his cupola. VanGordon climbed the rest of the way out and sat down on the edge of the turret, his legs dangling over the side. He took off his helmet and ran his hand through his close-cropped hair. The engine made a regular ticking sound and the weapons creaked and hissed as they cooled. VanGordon stared off into the distance as he turned his mind to the next battle. And the next, and the next...
Chapter Two
Redvers Badlands, Nysa Stromolo
Scarus Sector, Segmentum Obscuras
999.M41, 2132 local time
"And I say we should utilize the roads and push forward at best speed to the spaceport!!"
"And have our forces picked apart piecemeal by ambush after ambush along the way? The Orks will be expecting us to do just that!"
The sounds of a heated argument carried through the thin sides of the headquarters tent as Captain VanGordon of the Iron Knights pushed through the flaps covering the entrance. The argument was temporarily halted as VanGordon entered, his bulk marking him as decidedly different from everyone else inside. The ragged scar running from the left side of his forehead down to his cheek and the bionic device that replaced that eye further served to place him apart. As the highest ranking Space Marine assigned to this sector of Nysa Stromolo, his presence was required at the briefing. But that didn't mean he had to like it.
"Ah, Captain VanGordon. What news from your scouting foray?"
The owner of the voice sounded relieved to be able to shift the topic of discussion of future battle plans to something safer. General Coats would never be described as a decisive leader, but he had been doing all right so far in the campaign. This was only his second battlefield command, having occupied various staff jobs on his rise to his present rank. His successes so far on Nysa Stromolo were due mainly to his outstanding headquarters staff, all of them veterans of numerous wars. Coats seemed to live by the maxim, "If you don't know what to do next, surround yourself with people who do." VanGordon guessed that was better than nothing, though not by much.
"We have the Orks on the run, General, but they're running the wrong way. They've fallen back towards the spaceport, and it appears Colonel Steele is correct in his assessment."
At this, VanGordon nodded towards one of the Guard officers present. He had recognized the last voice he'd heard just before entering the tent as belonging to Colonel Steele of the 22nd Armored Cavalry Regiment, the same unit which had followed behind VanGordon's Iron Knights and their spearhead assault two days before. VanGordon brushed his gauntlet through his short-cropped grey hair and continued.
"The greenskins appear to be setting up ambushes all along the three main roads to the spaceport. We could only go so far without the risk of running into one of their traps, but my best estimate puts their main body at approximately two days from the port. With the main body of the fleet chasing off a large number of the Orks' hulks, orbital survey coverage has been thin at best. We won't have a ship overhead for another day and a half."
"Surely this is not the talk of a brave warrior of the Adeptus Astartes! You were ordered to perform a recon in force, Captain, though it seems you've forgotten about the 'force' part. I have to wonder if the last battle didn't cause you err too much on the side of caution."
The snide, nasal tone of the speaker was the same one VanGordon had heard shouting loudly upon entering the tent, and it grated on VanGordon's nerves.
"Choose your next words carefully, Commissar Trent, for they may be your last," replied VanGordon. "I'd hate to see such inane nonsense inscribed on your tombstone. There are far better ways to use granite."
At this, the Commissar sputtered, his face turning a livid red. His peaked cap of office was crushed in his left hand as his fists clenched. The eyes of the other officers and aides present widened slightly in shock at hearing someone calmly insulting a Commissar. A slight intake of breath, a gasp, the scrunching sound of leather being squeezed and the grinding of teeth were the only audible sounds in the tent.
"Ah, yes, well..." began General Coats.
"You...do you realize who you're talking to?!" shrieked Trent. "I am a duly appointed officer of the Commissariat, damn it! I could have you shot for insubordinance!!"
VanGordon seemed to swell, his mere presence making the tent feel cramped even though he didn't raise his voice. His chilly tone made the small space feel twenty degrees colder. The Guard officers turned their heads in turn to watch the two, as if they were watching the Marine and the Commissar toss a live melta charge back and forth to each other.
"No, you couldn't. I am a Space Marine. I answer to no mere Commissar. I answer only to my Chapter Master Rommel and he to the Emperor, praise His soul. You are nothing, and your words are as empty as an Ork's skull. Perhaps if you fought as bravely as you talked, this campaign might have been over weeks ago. I will put your outburst down to shock...once."
Commissar Trent's mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish dragged to shore. With a final snap, he shut his mouth, screwed his cap on, and stalked out of the tent, his black leather storm coat billowing behind him.
Colonel Steele was the first to break the silence.
"Probably off to kick some poor Troopers around."
The chuckles of relief were like the venting of a plasma reactor, the tension in the tent seeming to drop away at last.
In an attempt to make up for the Commissar's outburst, General Coats said, "Thank you for your input, Captain VanGordon. Do you have any suggestions as to our next course of action?"
"I do. I have under my command a scout squad, currently seconded to Chaplain Terrel. He leads the second half of my force, and has just finished wiping out a group of Orks left behind as a harrying tactic by the enemy. My Iron Knights will spearhead an advance with scouts in the lead. They will deal with any ambushes they meet along the way as the situation dictates."
Someone cleared his throat and all heads turned toward the source. Briefly looking round at the other Guard officers almost in an attempt to gain courage, Colonel Smythe of the 7th Royal Wexford Fusiliers spoke.
"Please, forgive me if I seem to be questioning your tactics, my Lord Captain, but will one squad of scouts, even Marine scouts, be enough to deal with all the ambushes we're likely to meet along the way? And what if they run into more than even they can handle?" Almost as an afterthought, he added, "No offense, Captain."
VanGordon took a few seconds to study the light infantry Colonel before answering. The officer was obviously no stranger to frontline battlefield command. No spit polished boots and parade ground stance in this man. The dirt and blood caked into his fatigues, a natural slouch and jaunty tilt to his officer's cap spoke volumes to the veteran Marine. They said Smythe had seen his fair share of war up close and personal and that he had other things on his mind than his career's advancement; like winning battles and damn the consequences. VanGordon's estimation of the Imperial Guardsmen he was fighting beside rose another notch.
"None taken, Colonel Smythe. You speak fairly and honestly, as I would expect any capable field commander to do. To answer your questions, yes, one squad of my scouts will be enough. They are Space Marines, and further they are Iron Knights. Those two facts should be enough to alleviate any doubts as to their capabilities. Furthermore, they are mounted. Their bikes will allow them to keep ahead of the fast pace we will be forced to keep."
Now addressing the rest of the Guard officers present, VanGordon continued.
"I have conferred with Captain Crassius of the Deathwatch and he agrees with my estimate that while Orks are not prone to using stealth and guile as we are, the force present here is disproportionately made up of what the greenskins call 'Stormboys'. They are the nearest equivalent to your own Storm Troopers, and are highly adept at stealth missions such as setting ambushes. More than likely it is these Stormboys that we will be encountering along the way. Therefore, as an added precaution, the four Castellan tanks of my force will follow closely behind the scouts as a quick reaction force. The Castellans are fast medium tanks, and will be present in case the Orks try leaving anything heavy in our way."
Turning to face one of the Guard officers, VanGordon said, "Major Crisse, I would have your Basilisks nearer the vanguard of the advance than normal. If my scouts do happen to run into a counter attack or fortified positions along the way, they will be able to guide your shells in with unerring precision."
Major Crisse nodded nervously, then looked at General Coats for confirmation.
"Very well, Captain VanGordon. My staff and I had drawn up plans of advance that already counted heavily on the Iron Knights, so there will be very little need for adjustments to our operation order."
VanGordon caught the furtive looks shared between the members of General Coats' command staff that told him Coats had had very little to do with the plans they'd drawn up.
So far, these Guardsmen hadn't done a whole lot to impress the Marine commander. Except for Colonel Steele, and just recently Colonel Smythe, the other officers seemed to VanGordon the normal, run-of-the-mill Guard commanders. That meant they were either too concerned about their career and how they looked in the eyes of the Lord General or merely surviving with their own skins intact. VanGordon saw one officer in particular that struck him as one of the latter. While everyone's fatigues had eventually gained a reddish-brown tinge due to the ash wastes, Colonel Gerrick's right knee was the only part of his uniform that was really dirty, and VanGordon figured it had only become an affectation since the man's boots actually reflected the light present in the tent.
Major Crisse's uniform not only had dust coating every fold, but VanGordon actually saw that the artilleryman's hands were heavily scarred as from repeated burns. Compared to some of the rest of his unit's fatigues, Crisse's seemed faded more than the ash dust could account for, which led VanGordon to believe that not only had the Major been in his artillery unit for a long time, but the uniform he now wore was actually one he had worn back in his regiment's founding days when he served as a loader. VanGordon immediately marked Crisse as one more he could count on, even though he wasn't a Marine, more than the rest.
While the Iron Knights as a whole shared their parent chapter's disdain for the weakness of the flesh, they weren't as rabid as the Iron Hands in their beliefs, and among even the Knights VanGordon considered himself as somewhat of a philosopher. Even though they normally looked down upon normal humans as a weaker sub-strain of Marines, he still enjoyed occasional contact with them in order to gain further insight into his own mortality. |
