SIEGE PERILOUS: A WARHAMMER 40K REBEL QUEST

DecaffeinatedOwl said:

Charlie's ultimate objective is to attain space superiority in the system as a necessary prerequisite to reconquering it.

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Just to clarify that this is not the case. Charlie is a Space Marine strike force deployed to quickly assassinate the leadership of the rebellion to allow second line units such as either the Sector Defense Forces or the Imperial Guard/Navy proper to finish the reclamation of Zelung System. A single Strike Cruiser doesn't pack enough heft-- the strike force is pretty clearly geared out to support at most one hundred space marines, plus a ten man Deathwatch squadron, with adequate escorts to prevent easy destruction by hostile forces in-system. It's definitely possible that Charlie's naval forces is enough to fight and beat the two Vorst-Carayn cruisers, though.

I apologize, I really should have made that clearer. If there's any questions you feel like you should know IC ask them and I'll answer.

You were searching for Tech Priest Vess for certain precautionary measures should you come face to face with your former comrade when you heard Colonel Drakholt and Kaeman Mael talking behind a door.

That stopped you cold. It was quite civil as well, hushed, in fact. You'd like to say that your cunning pseudo-Inquisitor mind has thrown up an alarm but it's probably just plain old gossip-mongering. You don't know who to share it with, probably Seraphine Benefex, but you are compelled to stick your ear against the door nevertheless.

"--Commander might not have the belly for it. Rebellion, I mean. I knew they were friendly with some Space Marine. Fine, I admit, I was a little jealous, but now that you're saying that the same Marine is heading Charlie?"

Kaeman Mael. "Afraid so, monkey."

"Alright. What's the significance of them not--" Drakholt cuts off here. You imagine she's drawing a finger across her throat-- "the priest?"

"Commander kills the priest, shows they're for the rebellion, ride or die. Commander doesn't kill the priest, I see a future where they hand over you to the Ordo Hereticus. They get to fight Tyranids for the rest of their life."

"Damnation. Wait, no. You said a future. So there's a chance they won't betray us here? And wait-- you're not including yourself in this."

"Chances and chances. Also, no, I'm not. Because if I fall here, I get vivisected by the Ordos Xenos. So you see, my skin rides on your success, at least in the short term. We have to make exigencies against their… let's just say redemption, heh."

"I don't know. They're a paranoid karker."

"Monkey paranoia. I see your plans in my sleep. In any case, all we have to do is make sure we win. See, once the Star Ultima assault fails, no amount of begging or influence can get the Commander a pass. It's crucifixions for everyone. They can see that as well."

"Right, right. So you're saying, as long as our Commander doesn't flake out of this operation, we don't have to worry about their loyalties?"

"You got there eventually. Now…"

Your hand was almost touching the wood on the door when you stopped yourself. Imagine it, Commander, what will their reactions be? What do you hope to accomplish? Is there any such arrangement of words that will turn Drakholt and Mael from doubters to believers? Nonsuch. Any speech professing undying loyalty to the clause will just be taken as verbal ink a traitorous squid splurts out in desperate hopes of preserving their doubly traitorous skin. What you could have done is go back and bash the priest's head in to prove your bona fides, but that's rather hard, as the fellow has been kicked out on the street. You could find some other old priest to kill in front of them, but that would just be gauche and overdoing it.

You shake your head and move on, descending the spiral staircase. Kaeman Mael is nothing to you. You've slotted him in the same space as those odd Inquisition psykers that did advisory for you, meaning, a civilian technical expert. Drakholt, however, hurts.

Twenty years. Twenty years, cadet to officer to commanding officer, together. You've tripped each other off, made each other look bad in front of your superiors, rubbed promotions in each other's faces. That makes you a kind of friend, especially since she bailed your ass out of the fire once, charging to base with her regiment of stormtroopers when a Tau Hunter Cadre landed on you, and you made sure to repay the favor by giving her regiment preferential tasking for artillery fires for the rest of the trip. You've seen her bleed, she's seen you bleed. Why can't she put her trust in you?

And at the words of a xenos witch, no less.

There's no accounting for people.

Tech Priest Vess makes their lair in the former Mechanicum spire next to the Governor's Spire. A glass covered bridge connects them. They've been at work. If you didn't know any better, you'd expect the Tau were here. Beige metal and blinking blue lights predominate. Note that all of the servo-skulls here have little metal flaps taped to them, looks sort of like rabbit ears. As you are uninitiated into the mysteries of the Mechanium you make no remakes on their efficacy.

You are rather apologetic that you haven't found a use for Vess yet. Oh, of course, there's the mundane hum-drum thing such as maintenance, servo-skull use, and auric warfare measures. They did have some fun drafting up a macro-cannon satellite blueprint, seven cruisers' worth of which are deployed in space. But that's not particularly tech-heresy for someone like Vess. That might explain why they've gone a little overboard with projects to prove their use to you.

You walk into their sanctum laboratory, a baroque place with too many arms hanging from the ceiling. Vess is fussing over what appears to be a Guard Hydra, but only if you put a pistol to a Tau Earth Caste and forced them to build one. And then covered it with purity seals.

"Commander. Please keep your movements away from the hazard strips." You start. Tech Priest Vess is still busying about the Tau-ish Hydra. The voice came from all over, behind you, around you, above you. "I have linked my vocoder to the stereo system. What is the matter?"

"I'm not bothering you, am I?" Follow their orders, movement away from the hazard strips. You can identify some other features of their sanctum. On racks to the side are what appears to be perfectly normal plasma-guns, unadorned with the requisite purity seals, rather disappointing. What is more interesting is a small pile of disassembled Tau drones next to some Krak Missiles projecting blue markerlight dots on the roof. "And what are you working on?"

"I am running a multi-core cognition set-up. I am quite capable of running a conversation as I work." Something sprays sparks in their face. "Omnissiah! What you are looking at is a modification of the venerable Hydra system to use Tau pulse weaponry. It is a soothing side project. Because as it is, I have merely enlarged several pulse weapon systems and stuck them in a circle."

"Why is it covered in purity seals?"

"The machine spirits incarnate within," Vess continues, "are atheist. Inciting them with displays of religiosity redoubles their fervor. But do you have anything for my expertise?"

Makes as much sense as anything, you suppose. "Is there any such thing as a vortex grenade on this rock?"

The Heretek sputters a mix of binary and what you want to hope is lubricating oil. "A vortex grenade? A highly arcane and dangerous piece of equipment that operates by opening a hole in the very illogical warp and stranding anything in its blast radius within? The types of which are usually only seen in elite Inquisition teams?" At your nod, they continue their tirade. "Sorry, Commander, none found. If you want to commit suicide I can kludge together a briefcase nuclear device for you. Would that satisfy whatever needs you have with it? As your Mechanicus adv--"

"Capital. Have it at my desk before the Space Marines land."

---

"Brother Captain Antonius, we are approaching Zelung Delta."

The light from the stained glass windows, depicting saints of the Imperium, shine down on Brother Captain Andronicus. "I'm Andronicus," he says, rising from his kneeling position.

"So you are. Come."

The man ordering this angel of death with such familiar ease is only a serf. But he is also the Chapter Master's personal attendant, and speaks with his voice.

All along the walls of the hallway, inside the strike cruiser, are the skulls of the valorous dead. Post mortis, chapter serfs, ship menials, and space marine brother alike are equalized. One day, Brother Captain Andronicus will add his skull to the racks.

The hallowed bridge seats the helmsman of the ship, a flat who tips his hat when he sees Andronicus march in. He soon returns to his duties of charting the course. Behind him, poring over a holo-map, is Andronicus' Sergeant, a transfer from the Star Ultima Honor Guard, the oft mistaken Antonius. A representative of Deathwatch has joined with them, a Salamander, Brother Flavius, made apparent from the green dragon badge.

And, shuffling a deck of the Emperor's Tarot, an Inquisitor. As he enters, Andronicus sees that the Inquisitor has drawn the Death card.

"Well?" The Inquisitor doesn't look up. "We have wasted time on your recommendations, Brother Captain. The foul enemy has casted a spell on you. We have done nothing but jump at shadows."

In the viewing ports, Zelung Delta looms larger.

"I do not," Andronicus says, fingers drumming against the combat knife strapped to his thigh, "underestimate the enemy, Inquisitor."

He sniffs. "Overestimation is just as dangerous as underestimation. But we've wasted nothing but time, so nothing lost, nothing gained. In any case, I would like to inform you that the Emperor's Holy Inquisition is undertaking independent activities to capture Kaeman Mael. Will there be an issue?"

Oh, but how Andronicus hated this. Politicking. Talking. He looked over to his Sergeant, who looked back through a battle-helm. He looked at the Chapter Master's serf, who made a slight gesture that he should accept. Andronicus sighs. "No objections. However, Kaeman Mael will likely be close to the rebel commander--"

"Don't say that traitor's name," the Inquisitor snarls. "Ungrateful, wretched--- No, continue."

"So I ask my honorable brothers in the Deathwatch to be attached to my squad, as we shall be the decapitating strike."

The Inquisitor looks at Brother Flavius. "Acceptable," the Salamander says, laconically.

"Very good," the Inquisitor sniffs, cutting the deck. "Now, far be it for me to impugn the honor of the Emperor's Angels, but I have heard that you were in vox contact with Zelung Delta, were you not?'

Andronicus' fingers reflexivly closed around the hilt of his knife. "I was," he says, like he is in front of the Chapter Master, answering for a breach of Chapter conduct. Ridiculous. Andronicus is eight feet of flesh wrought transhumanism, encased in armor more in common with tanks. The Inquisitor is nothing but a man. A witch, true, but if Andronicus wants the Inquisitor dead, there is nothing he can say otherwise. Of course, the Deathwatch Sergeant might object violently after the fact, but he could turn the Inquisitor to paste this second. Idle red fantasies iterate through his head.

"I won't waste your time, then. A hero of the Imperium such as yourself would never engage in heretical communications with a traitorous xenophile, would you? No, he is filled with righteous fury at the traitor, no?"

When an ork kommando killed his squad, it was the Commander who spent five days on the vox, day and night, guiding him back.

"Yes."

"Well then! Now--"

Whatever the Inquisitor was planning to say, it was cut off by the helmsman, who stands up suddenly. "Pardon the interruption, m'lords, but we've just received incoming fire signals from Zelung Delta's orbit. From all across its orbits, m'lords, as if there was an entire armada."

"What?" The Chapter Master's serf speaks for Andronicus. "The Vorst-Carayns only have two combat worthy cruisers. Explain yourself!"

"The readings don't lie." The helmsman licks his lips. "It's consistent with ship-scale macrocannon readings. Scopes are probing the battle-space, but it's awful crowded up on the orbits of a hive planet. Nothing yet."

The Salamander speaks up, real hatred burning hot in his voice. "Eldar witch-trickery."

"It does seem consistent with their backers," the Inquisitor agrees.

"Captain Andronicus, you will take my advice. Fighting against these witches, what is of paramount importance is the reduction of risk. We must advance slowly, establish beachheads--"

"Don't be a fool," Sergeant Antonius overrides Flavius. "We've only a hundred and ten space marines. There's an entire hive planet down there. We'll be crushed by the weight of bodies alone."

"In weeks, we can draw on local system defence forces. Expand our beachhead."

"Thrax Sector needs those forces to remain as they are. There are Tau to the west, Tyranids to the north. Should any of these fronts be overrun, some garden variety rebels will be the least of our worries."

"You are forgetting the Eldar," Brother Flavius snarls. "Didn't one of them drown the Sector under Orks? One of them is on the planet, right now. We can accept some risk-"

"We?" Andronicus couldn't stand Flavius any more. "You are an outsider. Thank you for your advice, Brother Flavius, but my Sergeant is correct. Our objective here is a quick drop for the capture of the Rebellion leadership, not the prosecution of a general war."

Brother Flavius makes an irritated growl. "I see now," he grumbles, "the rot in Thrax Sector infects all in it. Guardsman and Marine alike."

For a moment, it seems as if both Antonius and Andronicus are united in the desire to pull knives on Flavius. However, that moment passes, but only by external action. If it was not, then there would have been a major diplomatic incident aboard Indomitable Radiance.

The lights flickers, the floor shakes. The helmsman bolts up out of his seat rushes to look over the shoulders of his staff. "Evasive maneuvers were insufficient!" he shouts. "Multiple detonations on the void shield! Combat stations!"

"Sir!" another voice shouts. "Contacts detected, all over! It's the Vorst-Carayns! And… looks like torpedoes, sir!"

"Damn!" the helmsman punches the console. "M'lord Antonius? Your orders?"

Now this is what he lived for. In two steps he's reached the intercom. "All battle-brothers, form up and muster for drop. Engine crew! Max engines! Full power. Helm, get me to low orbit now, by the Emperor!"

---

On the ground, you can see Charlie up there on orbit. Macrocannon sats popping off like fireworks. The strange, aetherial blue glow of void shields. Gouts of fire as fireships burn up in orbit, their debris turning into so many falling stars.

Less poetically, you can see that in the initial salvo, you've caught one frigate out of formation. A slow moving fireship crashes into it, bypassing the void shield programmed to catch high velocity impactors. It drifts and lists, before boosting back into high orbit. The destroyer blasts one fireship after another. The Vorst-Carayns know their stuff. Force Charlie to waste their best anti-ship torpedoes on trash. Eventually, it runs dry, but not before two Vorst-Carayn cruisers manage to hit another frigate with some sort of missile that creates a bright, antic flash in the sky, leaving engagement range not long after. Currently, that frigate is not doing anything much, leaving Charlie down two and you losing nothing but some space junk.

And hordes of Thunderhawks and drop pods descending to Zelung Delta's surface, of course.

The tactical situation is as thus:

Charlie is dropping on Zebra Hive, the capital of Zelung Delta and the largest such. Surrounding Zebra Hive are highways, rail lines, and other transportation arteries connecting it with Zelung Delta's other hives, as well as rolling fields of landfills and marshy oceans of sewage. You have in Zebra Hive two offworld regiments that you brought with you, as well as five Zelung PDF forces and hordes, many, of underhive recruits. In the surrounding hives, you have the other three, as well as ten more PDF regiments and even more underhive recruits. You also have an Eldar Farseer.

Against this are one hundred and ten walking tanks, armed with bolters otherwise found as secondary weapons on tanks. Some of them bear power and chain swords, and all are more like armored fighting vehicles than men. They have the benefit of orbital fires, such as magma bombs, but they will be reluctant to damage the industry of the hives, so you have something there. Then again, they might be able to fire bright-lances down on the hives, if they aren't too busy fending off your space forces. In your corner, existing Hydra emplacements mean that it would be extremely risky for the Space Marines to approach by air, so they will most likely land on the outskirts and fight their way in.

They are coming for your head. Use this as bait wisely.

The Order Pool

As the last turn. Please turn in your votes as a plan. I'll answer any questions you have.

You
[]- Broadcast a Vox and dare the Space Marines to get your head in the governor's citadel.
[]- Go underground, hiding your location from the Space Marines.
[]- Scatter false reports of your location in Zebra Hive and it's surrounding hives.

Kaeman Mael
[]- The Farseer will forecast the landing locations of all Space Marine Drop Pods.
[]- The witch will cast a hex on the Space Marines, forcing their technologies to fail when most needed.
[]- Kaeman Mael was a Warlock. He will make his stand at the governor's citadel.

Organizational (Pick Three)
[]- Ensure that all squadrons have some form of anti-armor equipment.
[]- Pre-sight artillery to likely drop pod zones.
[]- Order Hydra teams to pause fire until some Thunderhawks have dropped off their troops on the Spire.
[]- Mine and trap easy routes to the governor's spire from the outer layers of the hive.
[]- Order laborers to dig kill holes for anti-tank artillery in areas Space Marines are likely to pass through in Zebra Hive.
[]- Order regiments from the surrounding hives to advance to Zebra Hive over both transport lines and open terrain.
[]- Distribute regimental combat teams amongst PDF and underhiver formations to stiffen their resolve.