A gentle wind blew across the darkened fields, a barren wasteland of mud and fallen trees. The sky was gray, and bleak as dark clouds gathered, symbolizing a coming storm; but a storm that was already here.
Artillery fire blanketed the land. Heavy plasma projectiles landed in quick succession, throwing mud and clay hundreds of feet into the sky. In their wake, a mechanized army marched through the hills. Tanks and bipedal mechs led the way, their treads and feet churning through the shell holes and craters. Their long triple-barrel cannons thundered un unison.
Behind the armor came swarms of mechanized infantry. Their robotic eyes glowed an intense red, sweeping the land for targets. They walked and ran with rifles raised. Some rode aboard armored personnel carriers and support vehicles that trailed behind the tanks. Self-propelled anti-aircraft vehicles pointed their own barrels skyward. Finally came the baggage train, hundreds of trucks and engineering vehicles, mobile command posts, electronic-warfare sets and repair outfits.
This formidable force closed in around its target like a snake coiling around its prey. The fortress city of Baal loomed ahead of them with its high walls, gun emplacements and hundreds of defenders. They returned fire with missile and cannon. Explosions erupted amongst the besieging mechs as artillery counterbattery fire struck the shielded walls, causing the energy barrier to fluctuate and flicker around areas where fire was concentrated.
The forces of Baal sortied to meet their enemy. Man and beasts of a contorted and malign nature clashed on the fields at point-black range with the automatons. They fought recklessly against the synchronized metal fists of the Pact of Iron. Men and beast fought brutally but were cut down by the more well-coordinated force.
An automata, a 7 foot humanoid robot with wide shoulders, angular composite armor and an unpleasant demeanor picked up a man by gripping him around the throat. With a 3-fingered metal hand, he lifted him off his feet and forced him to watch as his cohort was gunned down by automatic fire, one-by-one. Then he looked him in the eye. The V-shaped optics of the steel warrior would be the last thing he saw before the automata officer leveled his short-barreled rifle against his stomach and hole-punched him. Effortlessly, he threw the dead body aside and continued his march towards the objective.
From a mobile command post, large and moving on four sets of tracks, the automata commander watched, the architect of the entire battle currently unfolding and the designer of the besieging force.
Ramrod straight, with a wide stance and hands clasped behind his back, an authoritative figure watched with satisfaction as his forces made short work of the defender’s petty gesture, crushing them under ceaseless metal feet. Gold lines crisscrossed his dark green panels to invoke the visage of a three-headed dragon on his chest and arms.
He glanced beneath him with glowing quadruple optic sensors at the immense control room underneath his dais. Staff officers of strategic automata and what few human members of his army worked to coordinate the attack.
He calculated their actions were within 95.99% of expected efficiency. He was quite proud of them. The fortress city was well fortified. He calculated with absolute confidence that it would be his by nightfall.
Before he could return his attention back to the battlefield, one of his staff raised a hand to get his attention.
"General Sanctus, Force Tempest, Altar, and Stormfiend report: Have met enemy, resistance heavy, progressing on schedule. Ready for breaching maneuvers. Stop. Westerfal Force reports unsatisfactory resistance and is behind schedule. Request reinforcements. Stop." The officer looked at after finishing the report. The automata took 0.002 seconds to develop a remedy.
In a deep and digital voice, he spoke, "Deploy heavy tank company one-three-five and grenadier battalion thirty-seven from reserves to reinforce Westerfal. Inform all other forces: Begin breaching procedures."
"Aye, sir!" The officer said, turning back to his console.
When General Sanctus turned back to face the mayhem, he could already see the sky lighting up with fire. Airships, just above the cloud layer, dropped their payloads of marauders. Large boxes the size of shipping containers with pointed noses fell earthward into the city. Now the defenders would have to compete with enemy combatants from with AND without.
Sanctus watched them deploy chutes as the black banner of the Pact of Iron waved in the wind next to him. It made for a motivating sight. A hovering camera drone floated around him, capturing the scene in all its glory. No doubt it would make for effective propaganda back home. Sanctus did not like the little machines following his army around, as they served no combat purpose, but he understood the practicality of showing the Pact workers back home the success their toils had produced and increasing their morale.
He recalled a text from ancient humanity, The Art of War. “Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win” Even thousands of years from its creation, on a battlefield of lasers, drones and artificial intelligence, its teachings held true. This battle had already been decided by months of strategic campaigns aimed at weakening this stronghold.
The gold-plated and nepotistic leadership back home would do well to heed the wisdom of war. But then they wouldn't need him to fight this war, and he did not mind that. The battlefield was his true home, wherever it was.
He turned his attention back to his forces. Several burning hulks now littered the field. Some of the enemies, a few of his. Baal's walls bore scars where the shielding had given way to his artillery. He rubbed his chin in contemplation. This was going TOO well. He had supreme confidence in his assembled forces and victory was never in doubt. But this was the enemy’s last bastion on this world. Surely the fight should be harder. Perhaps, after a century of war, he had become paranoid? This was illogical. He pressed the observation to the back of his processing banks for later study.
He glanced around at his personal security detail. The governing council of the Pact of Iron saw fit to commission several very expensive and highly capable combat types to protect him. He immediately dismissed them and sent them to the front lines and replaced them with standard model warriors. These standard models were marked with a special red stripe down the side of their faceplates. He much preferred their company.
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One glanced over at him. He acknowledged it with a nod. Every soldier under his command kept their independent AIs intact. He had the ability to slave large swaths of his army to his own will, but he preferred not to. It allowed their artificial consciousness to manifest in a plethora of different ways, including the manifestation of personalities. This increased attrition but created a more capable warrior than anything that could roll off an assembly line. These bots around him were veterans of his making, and so he trusted them with his own processes.
Looking past them, he saw strange specters whisk across the ground around the large command center. The automated turrets did not respond, but Sanctus could clearly see them.
"They are here." He said coldly. He reached for his holster and drew his hardlight blade, the yellow sword crackling to life with a burning hiss as it flash evaporated the water in the atmosphere around it.
The approaching specters had been the death of many of his predecessors and peers. The surest way to defeat an automata army was to cut off its head. The Jungernaut Tribes had figured that out.
These particular assassins, according to Sanctus' intelligence, belonged to a death cult called the "Veil of Nihilism". They had an extensive religion and a killer’s philosophy that Sanctus considered simply silly.
He raised his sword. "Hydra Guard, Pusan Protocol!" he shouted.
The guard detail closed ranks around Sanctus with precise and practiced choreography. Hardlight bayonets shimmered into existence. The assassins scaled the sides of the MCC and swung up onto the wide top deck. Their cloaks deactivated to reveal themselves; furry beasts with tails and horns, adorned in black robes covered in nano-panels. That was the secret to their cloaking tech. It also offered a limited protection capability.
Their own twin-pronged plasma blades ignited. Sanctus regarded them for only a moment, long enough to raise a hand and drop it, signaling his forces to engage. The Hydra guard leapt forth and a close-range sword vs bayonet duel broke out between the fanatical flesh and the calculating steel.
Sanctus turned his attention back to the battlefield while his guards dealt with the intruders. The southern wall had collapsed. Demolition charges brought it down in mere moments. He watched as metal and concrete collapsed downward with its defenders still manning their posts. Immediately, he ordered his forces through.
"Force Tempest, advance, advance! Force Westerfal, abandon all previous objectives. Move to support Tempest and integrate all elements!" He coordinated his forces. A series of confirmations were relayed back to him, indicating their compliance. Victory was at hand.
The first to cross the rubble of the high walls were the shock troops, automata with jump packs and automatic weapons. They were light and expendable units, designed to interfere with the enemy's attempts to organize an ad hoc defense. Behind them, giant mechs trudged over masses of debris and tanks equipped with dozer blades pushed through, creating roads for the follow-on forces.
He stomped a metal foot on the grate beneath him. "Increase speed. Get us closer!" he commanded.
A worried member of his staff reported up to him, "Sir, we have a situation. We've lost all contact with the landing forces. They reported successfully landing but we have not heard from them since."
Sanctus pondered this. Jamming? It was impossible that the entire drop force had been annihilated. There were two thousand hardened assault troops in that attack.
Within the breached section of the wall, something lumbered forth. He expected enemy tanks or mechs. Instead, what emerged from the smoke was a building-sized horror. It was an abomination melding flesh and machine. It appeared as if a hundred human beings had been sewn together and their flesh covered in armored panels and weaponry.
Sanctus seethed. Damn them. Damn these monsters. This was the exact reason the Pact of Iron was forged and resolved to go to war with the techno-barbarian beastmen. This creation was an uncivilized and criminal monstrosity, a construct of pure madness and pain.
It swatted aside the advanced guard of shock troops and shrugged off attacks from anti-tank weaponry. Its massive cannons ignited the magazine of a mech and its cockpit was blown away as a jet of flame erupted upwards.
Behind him, the melee raged. Before he could issue orders, the assassins broke through his defenders. The valuable Hydra fell to the deck with its head cleaved in two, exposing melted circuitry. Two assassins, one male, clearly the leader, and a second with a female build drew towards him with blades raised.
The leader lunged. Sanctus sidestepped him and his blade met thin air. Sanctus put his armored foot on the man’s chest and kicked him against an armored panel. The female jumped with impressive dexterity and broad her blade down on him. Sanctus blocked with his blade, one hand behind his back, regal and precise. The superheated plasma and hardlight met, creating a massive release of energy, akin to an explosion, between them.
Plasma blades were created by superconductors while the hardlights generated themselves by manipulating photons from a focusing crystal and an atomic battery. The meeting of the two always created a vitriolic release. That the female was not immediately stunned lent great credit to her martial prowess.
The leader recovered. He circled wide and attempted a series of jabs at the same time as the female. They worked in perfect synchronicity. It was not enough. Sanctus parried and blocked effortlessly, moving like a lightning strike.
Until finally, he saw an opening. He brought his blade down on the leader, who raised his own to block it. But just as their blades were about to meet, Sanctus cut power mid swing. He reignited on the other side, the wide blade sprung to life and formed directly inside the leader’s chest. Sanctus twisted his sword wrist, creating a large hole and then cut right, causing the man's innards to spill from his torso.
Blood spattered over his servos and plate; Sanctus slowly turned to face the female. His glowing gaze bore into her as easily as his blade would have. "I. Am. Your. Doom!" he said darkly.
Sanctus thrust his blade forward, only for it to catch empty air. The hologram of the female assassin shimmered and faded. His processors went into emergency mode, trying to locate his target. But it was too late.
A plasma blade thrust through his chest, severing motor controls, pumps and part of his memory banks. As he fell to his knees, he watched his Hydras fall around him. The dead bodies of his soldiers and the assassins littered the decks.
The assassin walked around to his front. "The stars come for all, machine. And now it has come for you." she said with a voice like a serpent.
Sanctus convulsed as his systems grounded out one-by-one. Hate ran through his circuitry as easily as electricity. His voice began to stutter, "I-I-I, will be s-see-seeing you in he-he-he-hell."
She undid the advanced cloth armor that wrapped around her head and revealed her face. She was young but clearly heavily modified. Shimmering blue diamond shapes crisscrossed her tanned face. She had deep blue eyes that might have revealed beauty in another life, but instead reflected cold malice. "If only you had a soul to commit to the infinite. It was a great honor to kill you… but we will not be meeting again."
Now it was Sanctus' turn to taunt her. "I agree." He raised an arm so she could see the control module on his forearm. A series of commands scrolled across its surface before it turned from green to a menacing red.
"Know oblivion, skeg.”
The MCCs gravitational contortion drives detonated. The devices that provided infinite power to the construct lost containment and a glowing gravitational field quickly enveloped the machine and everything around it. Gravity went to 0 for half a second before the field imploded in spectacular fashion, the MCC and everyone on it disappeared.