Segmentum Pacificus
Anastasia Sector
Vista System
612,144 kilometers outside the Heliosphere
Starfort Columbine
7.050.058M40
Virtual Intelligence Interdictor 99186-Epsilon
The defensive starforts Vista used had little in common with others used by the Imperium, be they Ramilies-class or the venerable Phalanx, other than their toughness and the amount of firepower they could project.
Rather than a square or other two-dimensional basic shapes with rising citadels, broad bases, great towers and bristling with macro-cannons and lances pointing in all directions, the Columbine and its sisters were five-stepped twelve-sided ziggurats, designed to focus fire in a single direction, their backs to whatever they were protecting.
The wide ‘bottom’ side had a great oval hole in its middle, making room to allow for the entrance of the frigate-sized tugs that made it startlingly maneuverable for its size, the passage not being quite as much of an Achilles-heel as most outside observers might expect.
These Protector-class starforts were also relatively small, having merely three times the internal volume of an Apocalypse-class battleship, the smallest known starship of its classification at a mere eight kilometers long.
Their larger lower side and sloping flanks might not be the focus of its offensive weaponry, but they were hardly devoid of such, and with the ability to quickly rotate, numerous turrets and the capability of fixed heavy weapons to adjust the angle of their fire via internal reconfiguration of crystals or magnetic and gravitic manipulation, fools rushing in might well find themselves swiftly disintegrated.
At the distance of less than fifty-five thousand kilometers from the fleet-sized Webway gate, the primary armaments of its forward facing batteries, which included four Nova-cannons and eight enormous energy weapons, had no trouble stemming the ever-growing tide of Chaos raiders streaming through the gaping hole in reality leading to the hidden dimension most commonly used by the Eldar.
Raider-type ships were even smaller than destroyers, averaging a mere 1.16 kilometers in length and no more than 1.4, and were little threat to true ships of the line. Their standard crew stood at twenty thousand, but these were packed with heretics and mutants, their hulls straining to contain over fifty thousand corrupted souls.
Destroyers generally ranged in length from 1.5-1.8 kilometers, frigates from 2-2.4, heavy frigates 2.6-2.8, light cruisers 3.2-3.8, cruisers 4.6-5.2, heavy cruisers 5.3-5.6, battle-cruisers 5.8-6.4, grand cruisers 7-7.6, with battleships rarely deviating from lengths of 8-10 kilometers.
Of course, these were arbitrary generalities, and length did not directly equate to the firepower and capability of a particular ship, unless you compared ships produced by the same yard of the same template, constructed in the same century. Armchair strategists were also prone to forget how important height and width were to a warship’s total volume, which ordinarily translated directly to power reserves, speed and maneuverability, void shield layers and weapon power.
Virtual Intelligence Interdictor 99186-Epsilon naturally had contingencies in place for a Chaos invasion, and all were activated as one. Twelve blanks, one thousand and twenty-four fire controllers and two Assassin-fleets were activated, all other resources held in reserve. Vox messages were sent, and its woken commander, Second-grade Tech-Adept Anastasia Tzarina, had already used the psy-comm network to provide Vista with advance warning.
Unfortunately, there were simply too many incoming hostiles, raiders streaming past the expanding volatile clouds of their fellows’ remains, ignoring the explosion of nova-mines and the relentless battering of lances and macro-cannons.
The Columbine retreated at full speed, not pausing its fire for an instant, as larger ships began to mix with the raiders. It could not, however, match the speed of small ships specializing in that department.
Shields flickered and the defensive turrets fired full bore as raiders died and torpedoes, boarding craft and the occasional dreadclaw slammed into its armored ramparts, chaos-starfighters and bombers appearing in ever increasing numbers alongside monstrous heldrakes, despite their mounting losses to the steady and nearly unerring fire of the battle station.
The tide seemed unstoppable, an endless swarm of rats set to consume an elephant. Ants at least worked together in an orderly fashion, as did most bug swarms, so squabbling rats was a better descriptor by far.
Stubbornly, the Protector-class starfort Columbine held to its steady retreat, the numerous and swiftly swelling boarding parties of pirate scum, mutants and traitors repulsed by a seemingly equally endless tide of murder machines without fear or qualm and turrets that could not run out of lasbolts or volkite incendiary murder-blasts, the thermal rays of the latter turning devolved flesh into ashes and jetting fire.
Worse for the intruders were the force-fields, power shields and various shimmering cloaks of protective energy that kept their crude weapons from damaging the metal legions mustered against their boarding parties. Even the few individual or squads of traitor-marines and rare daemon-engines failed to stiffen their ranks, the killer-automata and the station’s static defenses holding back the rising number of invaders, at least for a time.
Attempted rituals by neophyte sorcerers failed disastrously as the blanks deep inside the most heavily armored sections exerted their power at just the wrong moment, supported and enhanced by complex weaves of psy-tech amplifier machinery, and the daemons meant-to-be summoned failed to materialize, the backlash frequently resolving itself in a fatal explosive or implosive manner.
Several great weapon batteries were silenced by the veritable rain of torpedoes, as raiders began slipping behind it, the rear weapon batteries removing the first three ranks before numbers overbore their rate of fire. Unnoticed, self-repair protocols went into silent, industrious action.
Nine hours of unending space-battle of never-flagging intensity, which rather only grew as more corrupted starships streamed into the void. Virtual Intelligence Interdictor 99186-Epsilon counted two hundred and ninety-six raiders destroyed, along with thirty-three heavier escorts, with the cluttered void and battle-effluvia preventing an accurate estimate of damaged enemy ships.
Thirty-two minutes later, three additional macro-batteries and nineteen point defense turrets were obliterated, and projections estimated ninety-three additional minutes until its destruction. The first cruisers of the Enemy were translating into real-space, so it was time.
The Assassin-class corvettes struck viciously and in great numbers, thirty flotillas of twelve small non-warp capable starships ripple-firing torpedoes and adding close-range barrages of weapons fire as they flickered into visibility at knife range. Combined with a third wave of nova-mines and the explosion of eight nova-cannon munitions, as well as the reveal of a second Protector-class starfort, and for ninety-seven whole minutes the Chaos-fleet was on the back foot.
At least until the capital ships began to present themselves in rising numbers, followed by the dreaded super-capitals. In less than six hours from the reveal of the first battleship, the Desolator-class Misericorde, the last of the Assassin-corvettes had self-destructed, damaging an Avenger-class grand cruiser and two battle-cruisers, and the second and only remaining starfort in the battle was under threat of being overwhelmed.
The theater commander timed it well, and the second wave of Assassin-corvettes struck deep and hard. Unfortunately, that was when the bulk of the battleships appeared in something approaching an actual fleet formation, and ninety-two of the corvettes were wiped out via long-range bombardment while dealing only superficial damage, their smaller escort-type torpedoes unable to make much of a mark past a heavy swarm of attack craft and the strong shields and thick armor of capital ships of the line.
Twenty-five hours and fourteen minutes after the emergence of its first vessel, the last surviving starfort self-destructed and Chaos gained full and undisputed possession of the field of battle before the Webway gate.
The loss count stood at eight hundred and twenty-four raiders, three hundred and ninety-one escorts, one hundred and eight light cruisers, forty-six cruisers, twenty-two heavy cruisers, three battle-cruisers, one grand cruiser and two battle-barges, with seventy-one cruisers, fifty-five heavy cruisers, eighteen battle-cruisers, thirteen grand cruisers and eight battleships having sustained significant damage, along with several hundred of the lighter warships. To this tally was added the massive loss of heldrakes, boarding craft and starfighters.
Kor Phaeron, in his command throne at the heart of the Abyss-class super-battleship Penance, was content to declare it a great victory, the first of many to come.
Magos Cassandra Nayelle Heptar-991 thought the results worth the sacrifice of a third of the gate’s watch-force, if only just barely. There were lessons to be learned, as Vista had a very limited amount of past experience in space battles against the forces of Chaos, having acquired most of its related data and doctrine from Cadian retirees, paid well in rejuvenation treatments and otherwise to pass on their skills, and the odd Agrippina magos.
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Segmentum Pacificus
Anastasia Sector
Vista System
7.973.057M40
Fabricator Valerie Trilkard Iota-881
The numbers were properly frightening, but this trimmed-down fleet was far from sufficient to offer a significant threat to Vista, even without the reinforcements that had flocked to the protection of its STC database discovery.
Foremost among the Great Enemy, if only figuratively, was an Abyss-class mobile starfort of unknown designation, and the fallen Gloriana-class super-battleship Pride of the Emperor, though in practice they were positioned in the middle-rear, well covered by a host of super-capitals.
The cowardice and treachery of the Word Bearer leadership was infamous, even amongst chaos-abominations, and assuming that Fulgrim was there, the daemon-primarch could likely feel the constraints upon its power.
Those two vessels alone made it clear that this first assault fleet, or rather second after the luckless Dark Eldar, was a joint effort of the Word Bearers and the Emperor’s Children, two of the most reviled traitor-Legions.
In whole, the remaining threat consisted of eighty battleships, nearly a third of them battle-barges, thirty-nine grand cruisers, twenty-one battle-cruisers, one hundred and forty-two heavy cruisers, two hundred and forty-one cruisers, three hundred and eleven light cruisers of which over ninety were recognizable as strike cruisers, six hundred and nine escorts and four hundred sixty-one raiders, crowned with a pair of gigantic trimmed-down space-hulks, likely cut down somewhat and reshaped in order to fit within the arteries of the Webway, bearing the bulk of the assault forces.
They were bearing down directly on a path that would lead them into a head-on confrontation with the Imperial Navy, which was certainly an interesting tactical decision. Twenty minutes of review, a consultation with the prime strategos, and the list of additional available assets was passed on to the quadrant commander and the Warden of the Outer Reaches.
Notice was also given to the Astartes fleet backing the Imperial Navy heavy squadrons, and their reaction was a trifle too predictable.
It was going to get bloody, if the behavior of the Chaos fleet in front of the gateway was an indication of how they intended to carry the fight.
The Blood Abomination had no sway in Vista, so that was just fine with her.
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Segmentum Pacificus
Anastasia Sector
Vista System
Emperor-class Battleship His Light
7.973.057M40
Lord Admiral Esteban Levi
“Cruiser Fist of Tannor is gone! Moderate damage to quadrant NR-11! Returning squadrons of Fury Interceptors at sixty-five percent capacity! Sixteen torpedoes inbound at terminal drive! Lance battery sixteen has destroyed two Murder-class cruisers! Cruiser Fires of Kratos has rammed enemy grand cruiser!”
The litany of losses, threats and enemy ships destroyed seemed to have no end.
“Mechanicus contingent reports boarding parties annihilated! Dorsal defense turrets Epsilon-9 to Eta-2 under repairs, estimate time twenty-nine minutes! Chaos battleship destroyed! Chaos battle-barge destroyed! A Vista battle-station has decloaked! Super-lance weapon recharging! Battle-cruiser Intolerant self-destructed to avoid capture! Starhawk bombers have destroyed two traitor strike-cruisers!”
The Imperial Navy was giving its all for his Most Holy Majesty, and fighting in well-coordinated battlegroups whose maneuvers were allowing them to slide aside, granting the enemy fleet access to the system’s inner reaches, exactly as planned.
The losses, alas, were horrendous and only mounting.
“Chaos battleship destroyed! Enemy grand cruiser gone! Lance battle-station destroyed, rammed by three escorts! Detonating minefield around the station has removed eleven additional escorts, twenty-three raiders and nine light cruisers! Starhawk bombers have destroyed six escorts! Three raiders and a traitor-Lunar on collision course! Light cruisers Gold Heart, Terra Flame and Light of Hestia destroyed with seven escorts, by nova-cannon munition! Iron Eagle Astartes have boarded the originating Victory-class traitor-battleship with ten Thunderhawks! Their two strike cruisers are gone!”
The assistance of the space-marines worked wonders, their planetary bombardment-focused starships of excellent use in such close quarters, their boarding and counter-boarding parties saving many a starship and dooming quite a few of the enemy.
Of course, their losses were commensurate with their bravery, and according to the logis assigned to him by Vista, more than seven hundred Astartes had fallen. That was a significant percentage of the five thousand or so who’d backed the Navy, but the traitor losses were much worse, by number if not percentage.
The estimates had been revised several times, but according to the primary Vista strategium, they were facing a total force of over fifty thousand traitor marines of the two fallen Legions, of which over six thousand had already been dealt with.
Those numbers were properly insane, but the thought of ending so many traitors had his heart soar with exultation. Vista had pulled its weight, the promises that no rituals would be allowed had so far been kept. Ship to ship, ton to ton, the Imperial Navy was the obvious superior.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
A review of the hololithic display showed that nearly a third of the Navy ships were gone, but they’d taken nearly twice that number of traitor ships with them, even with their numerical inferiority. Oh, the appearance of three battle-stations with Apocalypse-grade weapons had made a large impact, as did the space-marines, but it was the Navy carrying the bulk of the burden.
“Shift course,” he transmitted his orders, ensuring the incoming would-be ram-ships would encounter concentrated fire from a flanking battle-group, and that the tattered remains of his command would get three more shots and nine torpedo volleys off before they were out of range and their magazines ran dry.
Then would come a short pause for the most urgent repairs and a quick resupply – the shrouded tenders were on their way to a rendezvous point – and back into the fray, this time striking at the tender zone, from behind.
“Mars-class Hand of Ferren destroyed three Styx Heavy cruisers and most of their strike groups with a nova blast! Retribution-class Close Encounter crippled by boarders! Three frigates destroyed! Cobra flotilla destroyed by nova blast! Enemy battle-barge broken in half! Four enemy cruisers hulked by torpedoes! Overlord-class Brightlash reports destruction of forty-two dreadclaws by itself and escorts! Chaos bombers cripple Cruiser Emeritus!”
This was definitely the battle of the century. He’d never heard of engagements matching the ferocity of this battleground, possibly unmatched even in past Black Crusades.
It was utter madness.
Victory would bring such glory that he could not even contemplate the brightness of his future. Losing seemed impossible.
The Mechanicus fleet, with their Astartes backers, would fold in on the crumbling edifice that was their enemy, and soon.
Vista had yet to show anything of its actual forces, and he had not an iota of doubt that they were considerable. He’d heard some unbelievable rumors.
Everyone who dies here, it was in a truly worthy cause. Emperor protects!
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Shrouded Starfort
High Magos Rytania Danaan Calypso-14, Warden of the Outer Reaches
Rytania quickly reviewed the recommendations of the strategos assembly, compared it to the situation board and real-time system holo-display, and expended a small amount of effort to divine the consequences. Despite the obnoxious attention and burning gazes of numerous greater abominations, an impenetrable shield of tranquility held over Vista, but the warp and weft of the future strings was moving constantly out of her reach in a compressed tangle of possibilities she could not see through.
Her psyker specialty was pyromancy, so it was only mildly disappointing. If she could not see ahead, it was doubtful any chaos-entity could foretell anything resting beneath the Serenity Circle.
On the verge of automatically accepting the strategos plan, Rytania took another moment to consider.
While the Fabricators and High Magi were the highest authorities where Vista-forges were concerned, the strategos were the best war-gamers each Vista-forge could find, forged in the fires of thousands of simulated conflicts with wildly diverging parameters, including a notable percentage of simulations in which unexpected and unknown factors intervened, some of them very exotic indeed.
Every strategos had an enviable win-count, at least after the initial learning period, not counting games played against each other. Their instincts were well-developed, their tactics and strategies impeccable, drawing the distilled wisdom of Humanity’s experience and knowledge of its foes with care and precision. For all that, this was a point where mistakes were simply not affordable.
Looking over their recommendations again, she ordered the activation of the minimal numbers in the plan. Reserves were necessary, this was just the first skirmish, no matter what the admirals of the Imperial Navy thought. Just a couple of traitor-Legions, the Dark Mechanicum had yet to make its move.
That they chose to use the Webway was an unlooked-for gift, a near guarantee of final victory.
At her order, three-dozen nova mines detonated in carefully chosen locations, as dozens of Assassin corvettes and hundreds of Starfire X-wings uncloaked in a flurry of rapid-fire torpedoes, accelerated munitions, gravitic implosions and energy blasts.
As the losses of the Chaos-fleet jumped, she felt the corruption swell malignantly. Untreated sewer smell, the scent of blood, a sickly-sweet incense and something indescribable that constantly changed.
“Arise!” she called out, moving into position, entering the focus-engine as twelve Alpha-class psykers took their places in theirs, surrounding her in meta-concert.
It was her time to shine.
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Vista VIIIc
Underhive Helios
Choir-mistress Elena Mandrigan
The moons circling Vista’s giant planets were much more heavily populated than appearances suggested. Rather than take the easy path and focus on building upwards in the airless void, only twelve percent of the moon-based dwellings and manufactorums were visible to augurs, the remainder and the deep mines shrouded, with stringent security procedures ensuring that even Vista’s allies were not aware of this fact.
Among the numerous secret facilities hidden beneath the icy cratered grounds of the nameless third moon were laboratories, experimental grounds, training fields, augmentation facilities, wargame caverns, prototype testing arenas, security and monitoring stations and most likely others she’d not heard of, and then there was her own.
Right next to the Serenity Chamber, a reinforcement node for the system-wide Warp-stabilization matrix, was her own monitoring and reaction chamber of the Helios Choir, the eleventh pyromantic node.
Bile rose in Choir-mistress Elena Mandrigan’s throat as the stink of corruption permeated the ether, and she instinctively drew on the power of her fellows, her mind and body swelling with inconceivable fiery might, more than any volcano could exhibit. It felt like she would burst in the next second and take the hive, then the entire moon with her, leaving only molten dust and ashes scattering into the void.
If it were not for the multiple psy-tech arrays, that might well have taken place, as pyromancy was arguably the most volatile and dangerous of the psyker disciplines known and practiced in Vista. The arrays were there, however, and the power-flows stabilized, connection established with the remaining node at the speed of thought.
She could feel the putrid touch on the souls escaping the Materium, almost hear the blasphemous chant as the Word Bearers summoned in ruinous and abominable sacrifice the four champion-tier daemons of their vile masters, primarch-level opponents one and all.
She could sense the power of the Warden she answered to, passing all the weight of power and flame she held, holding the conduit open to its utmost with a savage, unrelenting will and a burning need for vengeance and the purification of all those disgusting things which should not exist.
She could vaguely see the bright golden-white flame materializing, hear the screams of denial from the abominations as their outer, then inner essence burned and was unmade.
The Abyss-class super-battleship, its name still not known, exploded so violently, in a fire of such magnitude, it seemed for an instant that a second sun shone in Vista. With it burned five battleships, numerous lesser ships, and a good swathe of the neighboring space-hulk.
Exhausted, Elena stumble away from the opening cradle of her psy-cocoon, barely making it to the recovery chamber. She could feel the drugs pumping into her bloodstream, the medicinal cream slathered over her char-broiled skin, the concentrated nutrient paste teleported directly into her stomach.
Twelve hours to full recovery, a soft voice spoke in her mind.
Then you can make fire again.
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Sergeant Almor Vaasson, Lightning Riders
Once of the privileges of being the Astartes chapter based nearest the original Vista-forges in north-central Pacificus was the availability of teleportariums. Seven of their vessels had previously lacked them, and three of the ones they had were beyond repair, or so their tech-marines had announced with a heavy dose of chagrin, over three centuries ago. Even the four functional ones had their capacity and safety expanded and improved.
Their armory had also received some significant upgrades, and a ten-year visit by a few of their distant neighbor’s lesser Genetor-adepts had increased the success of organ implantation by a factor of three, even restoring one of the organs they’d lost record of.
Despite the heavy burden of securing such a large swathe of the Imperium’s border, their numbers were slowly restored, and they sent four companies to this infernal furnace of war, all of them near-full strength. The sergeant wasn’t so sure it was a good idea, as this was most definitely not their sort of battle and their utter and complete annihilation might not even be noticed, but needs must, and he would fight for the Emperor and the Warhawk with a full will.
And fight he did. The space-hulk identified by the Vista-strategium as ‘Big Target Two’ was packed full of heretic troops and daemon-possessed war-machines, but several squadrons of those new fast starfighters had hammered in repeated volleys of capital-grade torpedoes at a single spot, enough to allow them the theoretical ability to cut it in two, just a kilometer from the makeshift enginarium the hereteks had cobbled up.
The Lightning Riders, like most sons of the Khan, specialized in speed, and the Javelin Attack Speeders were tools spectacularly suited to that purpose. The twin-linked volkite calivers of his speeder burned a smoldering path through the ranks of the near-helpless foes, unable to react to the speed of the vehicle or its sharp, erratic turns, the pintle-mounted plasma cannon ending more heavily-armored targets.
A hunter-killer missile was deflected by the force-field Vista artificers had added to the venerable machine, and he could feel its machine-spirit roaring with defiance.
The ten Astartes burned past and through three sorcerers, their retinues and their failed rituals, setting demolition charges where tech-marine Horval directed them to. The noise of battle behind and to the sides, above and below, was mounting, indicating that the heavy assault infantry of the guard and the Ghost-elites of Vista were having some fun of their own.
An hour later, having lost just a single speeder to heldrake assault, the heavily wounded battle-brother recovered and resting in medical slumber behind him, stump of an arm cleaned and bandaged, they’d struck deep enough. Charges and timers set, the teleport beacon was activated.
Three breaths later they were back on the Battle-barge Lighting Strike.
It was common knowledge that Vista could regenerate limbs, and the Javelins were sourced from Vista in the first place, so this actually qualified as a perfect operation. Not a common occurrence.
Another few of these and he might get a promotion, which was the only problematic issue.
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Ark Mechanicus Illumination of the Cog
Archmagos Dominus Singh Sammas Sigma-767 of Phaeton
Things were going well. Too well, too easy.
The Martian Archmagos in nominal command was reasonable.
The forces from Voss Prime his fleet worked with were coordinating well.
The enemy was losing ships at such a rate the victory was almost in sight.
It was not supposed to be that way, not with the prize being so precious. It raised his heckles and made him more suspicious than ever. Vista did not have a good reputation amongst its Mechanicus peers, and that reputation was lowest in Segmentum Solar.
There was no doubt in his mind that the Imperial Navy fleet, the gathered Mechanicus fleet, the Astartes, even the guardsmen reinforcements, all were sacrifices Vista had enticed to bait the Great Enemy, all for its own glory.
For all that, things were progressing in an eminently satisfactory manner.
Most of the navy warships had managed their withdrawal, almost sixty percent of their fleet intact, with the enemy having lost a bit over fifty percent of its strength. He had no idea how Vista had managed to blow up the Abyss-class-abomination, but could theoretically applaud whatever it was they did, however heretekal it might be.
Given how the Mechanicus kept its distance from the bulk of the remaining Chaos super-capital ships, it was clear that he was not the only one with a clear mind and receptors, praise the Omnissiah. Their long range bombardment and the repeated assaults of starfighter strike-groups, supported by those X-wings of Vista with their impossible performance-measurements, was steadily whittling down the enemy fleet.
The lexmechanics calculated a victory time of ninety-two hours, and the Archmagos was convinced it could be accomplished in less than sixty if Vista employed some of the resources is was husbanding so close to its chest.
“Enveloping of flank will be complete in seventy-four minutes,” his shipmaster reported. “We will require ammunition replenishment in approximately fourteen hours and nine minutes, a roaming provision point has been allocated by Vista. The numbers you requested on the Starfire X-wings are available at node RBN-1192-SSB44X. Speed is superior to recorded maximum of Eldar strike craft. Combination of eight-plasma engines and gravitic array, powered by exotic power-plant, consensus at ninety-four percent.”
“And those super-weapon battle-stations of theirs?” Dominus Singh Sammas Sigma-767 inquired impatiently.
“Lances are over seventy-four percent superior to what we can achieve. Nova cannons display seventeen times expected accuracy, on rough average. No data on minefields. The macro-cannon fire of their Assassin corvettes is approximately forty-one percent faster than should be possible. The tech-bounty in their hands is inestimable, even without the STC database,” Magos Kurian Eta-Taurus-201 Sigma reported.
Given the three STCs he’d received access to, he could not deny that Vista was a worthy trading partner. Except for the little fact that their agreement with Mars forbid them from trading anything to Solar forges. The situation was intolerable and a workaround must be found.
Attempting to receive anything from Mars was to be left to naïve souls, whereas Vista’s over-generosity was self-evident.
“Fire when ready,” the tactical tech-commander ordered at his signal.
Eight STCs were not enough, he needed a way to gain more. Perhaps trade with others in the Mechanicus armada, or perhaps the Astartes?
He began to calculate their receptiveness, their known and expected gains, what his fleet and the assets he had command of in Phaeton could offer, what allies he could call upon. Damn Mars for forcing him to resort to such annoying measures!
“Two enemy cruisers and three light cruisers destroyed. Damage to…”
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Vista VIIe
Macro-Space Station Opalline
Colonel Jocasta Verdun, Kellatan 841st “Fire Eaters” Siege Regiment
Most regiments of the Astra Militarum were formed of either men or women. Mixed regiments tended to make for too much work for the commissars, what with all the regulations regularly breached. The imminent threat of death on the horizon tended to awaken something of a mating frenzy in people, or so she’d heard.
Kellata Majoris might not quite measure up to those insane bastards and bitches from Valhalla, but many decades of defending their hives and complexes from recurring Ork attacks without outside assistance, cut off as they were from the Imperium, made for a rather war-like culture. Men and women had fought side-by-side for so long that it became the natural order of things, the very notion of mono-gendered regiments garnering puzzled looks of incomprehension.
It helped that after the (extremely violent) reintegration, Vista tech-adepts rebuilt the hives and manufactorums up from the ground and below it. That allowed the Kellatan regiments to specialize in heavy weapons and thick armor, which they held precious after the supply difficulties their parents, grandparents and great-grandparents experienced. The primary Leman Russ variant their armored regiments fielded was the Annihilator, and Vista tech-magic somehow made it seemingly require absolutely no maintenance.
When the call for reinforcements to Vista came from Sector-command, forty siege regiments trained for void-fighting were mustered in a mere three days, the local tech-adepts providing the two million guardsmen and women with as much extra equipment and ammunition as their stores and production facilities allowed for, even fitting nearly a tenth of their number with exoskeleton support for their carapace armor.
The few days’ travel-time allowed the chosen elite to figure out how to use that gift, and the results were properly amazing. Where a fire team was previously needed to handle a plasma cannon or a heavy bolter, now a single trooper could carry and fire a heavy weapon or a mortar single-handed, and had smaller weapons mounted on each wrist and each shoulder. The harness also allowed them to carry a quartet of missiles, two melta charges and twenty-four grenades.
It wasn’t quite equal to the tech-adepts of Vista in their War-walkers, who could outperform a Leman Russ where destructive firepower was concerned, even if they were not quite a match for a super-heavy Baneblade tank’s output, but their survivability was increased by a significant margin.
Which was a very good thing indeed, as matters were heating up.
Her data slate was receiving a direct info-stream from the noosphere, as the regimental command-group’s enginseer had set it up for, showing her what was happening on the docking slips of the space station, which was five times the size of the one she’d debarked from back home.
Twelve-meter tall Knight Slayers of Vista were fighting off boarding attempts, volcano lances and conversion beamers in hand, shoulder-mounted plasma cannons and knee-height volkite calivers wreaking havoc among the Chaos interceptors, bombers, transports and dreadclaws working to gain access to the station’s interior.
Seven hours ago, when the majority of Opalline’s defensive batteries were silenced by a traitor battle-cruiser which soon thereafter exploded, the assaults began and four hundred and twelve knight streamed fire, light and beams of pure annihilation at the invaders.
There were only a hundred and eighteen left now, and the twelve great reception, greeting and customs halls were now breached.
The foresight of the Mechanicus was truly impressive, as it required only minor alterations to turn the halls into killing grounds. It was only the plasma mortars, cannons and grenades and the volkite weaponry that prevented the halls from being choked with viscera and shattered corpses.
Giving a terse order, she had the heavy squads covering the two halls under their purview rotated for some rest, food and a hot drink.
“Why haven’t they simply destroyed the station?” she wondered out loud.
“Because they can’t,” the metallic tone of the voice-modulator of the War-walker standing by her command post caused her spine to stiffen. “The energized armor is very thick, and the shields are even thicker, with a lot of power behind them, heavily layered too. If they spend too much time hammering us, they’d be vulnerable to the fleet. As for why they’re trying so hard?
“This is a rearming and repair depot for the system. Torpedoes, nova shots, void-shield emitters, armor gel, replacement servitors, plasma conduits, we’ve got it all. If we’re intact at their back, the Starfires can rearm here, the Navy ships can get ammunition and some emergency repairs. You’re fighting for a very good reason.”
“Breach! Melta charges opened a breach to corridor XI-774,” her data slate somehow changed to show her the direct route to prepare an ambush for one side of the rushing force of traitors and mutants, the other clearly being another regiment’s responsibility.
“Ready companies! Major, lead them there and clear the breach. Take three Hellhounds with you, give them a warm greeting,” her order came instantly. “Enginseer, where can we position companies for quick response to more breaches?” which were inevitable, really.
Which was when the sixteen space-marines in pink and purple power armor, with weapons thicker than her body raised in a two-handed grip, accompanied by two even bigger space marines in an enormous suit of spiked power armor, teleported in.
It was an instant scramble, and the terrible noise blocked the colonel from giving any orders.
A roll and a crouch, and Jocasta avoided a stream of auto-cannon bullets, hiding behind her command Salamander, which was soon riddled with holes. The colonel added a pair of thrown plasma grenades to the storm of plasma, las and bolt-rounds aiming at the traitor-marines, jumping back as her former command vehicle exploded in a fiery blast, rolling back to take cover behind a crate of rations.
Jocasta got three bolt pistol shots off before the weight of the noise blew her back and she blacked out.