Then I take it that you mean Sigmar Heldenhammer. If I understand GW correctly then the Warp, aka. the Realm of the Gods mirrors sentinent thoughts, dreams, prayers, nightmares and archetypes. So the Gods are the result of human, Elven and whatever emotions, passions fears and desires. For exapmple : Shallya is the goddess of compassion and healing. As long as people are compassionate, try to help and heal she is strong in the warp. The more assholes there are the weaker she will become.
Sigmar was the hero and role model for many humans, revering and praying to him moulded the warp in his image.
tl/dr: If a lot of people strongly feel or believe in something it forms beings in the Warp.
well I just want someone with a crazy genius mind to become god for the humans and non humans so that they can learn to reason mostly and for the Dawi get rid of most of there grudges
well I just want someone with a crazy genius mind to become god for the humans and non humans so that they can learn to reason mostly and for the Dawi get rid of most of there grudges
No matter the world, the gods help those who help themselves. The parties on the Warhammer World just have to do the best they can. Next on the "to-improve" list, DawiZharr and Druchii.
The Trevayne overnight polishing service did it again, thanks a lot. When I first wrote something for this TL I started it with a poem by Kipling, it fits that I do so again when I pen the last arc about them. This is a quiet piece, but the muse laid the foundations of massacres. Today we see the backstory of a German legend, ask for help, unsettle Ottokar Proktor and Finubar the Seafarer and lay suspictions to rest.
GOLD is for the mistress - silver for the maid" -
Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade! "
" Good! " said the Baron, sitting in his hall,
But Iron - Cold Iron - is master of them all."
So he made rebellion 'gainst the King his liege,
Camped before his citadel and summoned it to siege.
" Nay! " said the cannoneer on the castle wall,
" But Iron - Cold Iron - shall be master of you all! "
Neustadt, Naggaroth
Push the latch, open the cover. Lay down the belt, making sure it catches the pawl. Pull the belt one further, do not pull too hard. Close the cover, not too gently. Lift the belt where it comes from the box and support on its way into the machine gun.
The source of the voice was behind Kuan Ti. It was the voice of a supervisor, loud, clear, and to be obeyed.
"Not so bad, you can do better. Again."
Push the latch, open the cover. Lay down the belt, making sure it catches the pawl. Pull the belt one further, do not pull too hard. Close the cover, not too gently. Lift the belt where it comes from the box and support on its way into the machine gun.
The voice sounded less annoyed now.
"Faster"
Push the latch, open the cover. Lay down the belt, making sure it catches the pawl. Pull the belt one further, do not pull too hard. Close the cover, not too gently. Lift the belt where it comes from the box and support on its way into the machine gun.
This time there was a slight praise.
"Good enough, we will do this till you can do it in your sleep. Now for some stoppage drills."
Kuan Ti had always been good with her hands, and loading a machine gun was just one more task for her hands to learn. All the hours she had spent making brushes or cartridge cases had given her an eye-hand-coordination that was nearly superhuman. At the same time working at things too close to her had given her myopia. Kuan Ti would never fire a machine gun herself, but she would be a loader and assistant. She would do her very best to become good at that. She would have to defend her life soon enough; she would do her part for her comrades and herself. She would fight for the Patron, who had given her a life, hope, and a purpose. Less than 500 meters from her were her children, rolling bandages for what lay ahead. She would die for them.
When she finally got up, she saw the ground before the city. There had been bunkers and wire before, but now Neustadt's citizens improved them with a vengeance. They dug trenches, they strung wire, and some were digging before all of that. Whatever they did, they did it very carefully. Kuan Ti had no time to dwell on that, the remaining stocks of raw materials in Neustadt would not turn themselves into ammunition by themselves.
Close to Lothern, Ulthuan
Finubar the Seafarer, Phoenix King of all true Elves, a fine example of what Asur should look like and aspire to be was facing a bunch of snakes. They went this way and that, climbed over each other in places and he had been warned not to touch any of them. They were brass color which could be seen well against a dark green background. Many terminated in the red handles of valves, others were topped by instruments where the finest of indicators moved across a white background.
Two others shared the place with Finubar and he outshone both. One was an Asur with less than lovely features and a mangled ear, the other a stocky human in his waning years. As nobody else was in the locomotive's cab he could show his confusion.
"Does anything of this make sense to you cousin?"
"It is actually quite logically arranged when you understand the system Finubar. These are the water spigots, this regulates the water feed to the boiler, and this is the valve for the heating…."
"My oh my Teclis, you have been studying these things, haven't you?"
"You have asked me to bring steam engines to Ulthuan, in such a way that they would entice the youth towards mundane technology and improve our transport beyond what our canals can do. Turned out to be quite an interesting mission and the first ones are a quite a success, even if I say so myself. Seems like you have to know these machines and respect them if you want to use them to their fullest, with or without magic, so I studied them under Herr Müller here. This is the current end result of that project."
"Yes, I have seen these before, so what makes this one so special."
"Maybe Herr Müller can tell you more about this one cousin."
Teclis' German was quite passable by now, a lot better than Kurt Müller's Sprenthiel. Finubar did not try, showing a hint of an accent would not do. That even the Phoenix King had to learn this barbarian language said a lot about Ulthuan's place in this new world. He would not lose face by speaking it imperfectly.
"Sir Kurt, would you be so kind to tell us a bit about the Bronze Dragon."
"Certainly Meister Teclis. This is the first steam locomotive designed and built for your way of generating steam from the start. The ones you may already be familiar with are modifications of existing designs. This one had no ash pan from the start and the smoke box is much shorter. The cab is redesigned as we do not have to move coal through it and there is no conventional fire door. Instead we have this warded..thing to contain the fire elemental. The fire box is shaped very differently as there is no need for a coal bed.
The boiler has far more surface area than a more conventional unit and we got away with a single unpowered axle at this end. We have made an aerodynamic fairing designed to the images of your majesty's artists.
This is a very fast and very clean machine, it will pull passenger trains with ease."
"So, this is a good locomotive?"
"It is an example of all what the Meiningen Locomotive works know, made from very modern materials. It avoids a lot of the drawbacks of more mundane steam locomotives by being powered by a fire elemental. An engine to fit the Phoenix King."
"As far as you know Kurt Müller."
"I know more than nearly anybody on this planet about steam locomotives your highness. I do not know much about the Asur and your ways."
"That you do Sir Kurt, that you do. Well then, time awaits neither man nor Asur, I believe we have to take this one from the station."
"Very well highness. Meister Teclis, I believe you would like to do the honours."
"I do indeed Sir Kurt, thank you."
And while Kurt Müller, instructor of locomotive engineers this world over contacted the switchyard Teclis, High Loremaster of Hoeth and Warden of the White Tower spoke words of power and opened valves. The Fire Elemental, a furious beast energized by the Vortex of Magic close by was roused past its normal fury and burned.
Some of that heat was conducted through the fire box's walls, the rest was pulled through numerous tubes that ran the boiler's length. Nearly all of it was absorbed by the water that surrounded them. There it accelerated the water molecules' dance to the point where they changed phase. Bubbles of steam formed in the water, rose to the top and accumulated in two domes. The pressure in there, already high, rose markedly. There was a way out for all of this pressure and those paths terminated in three cylinders where all that pressure worked against the pistons.
With all of the grace and drama that only a steam locomotive could display so vividly) the great engine gathered speed and pulled from the station. Conspicuously absent was the smoke and soot normally emitted by such engines. The assembled Asur cheered their passing monarch with all the restrained enthusiasm their race felt acceptable. Finubar the Seafarer mused how much of these acclamations were due to him and much they were enhanced by the steam engine.
The train left Lothern at the pace of a running man before Teclis pulled a lever down, far down in fact. More steam was pushed against the pistons and the train gathered ever increasing speed.
The Phoenix King managed to make himself heard above the roar of the engine.
"I think I can get used to that and you have fulfilled your task well cousin. This will rouse the hearts of the youth, so they might study all things mechanical, mundane as they might be."
"majesty is most gracious, at the moment."
A royal eyebrow rose imperceptibly.
"It rouses the interest of the youth all right cousin. But nearly all who flock to the new schools, the greatest part of those who seek apprenticeships in the workshops are commoners and the children of commoners. We see next to no nobles there."
"That was to be expected. This is lots of hands-on work and while this looks fine what noble would want to learn about metal-shaping and boilers with no fireboxes?"
"The kind of Asur that will shape our future my king."
"Oh my…."
17.000 meters AGL, close to Kar Karond
The drone had the same wingspan as an A380 and weighted about the same as a Piper Cub. Its wings and fuselage seemed to be as solid as gossamer and bent in ways that seemed to promise destruction at any second. It had been airborne for more than a month and would probably not land for another one. It was powered by the solar panels worked into the wings, by gigacaps that used some of the energy captured at night and simply gliding during the night until the rising sun allowed it to soar up again. The plane and its very few sisters were some of the Reiksbund's most precious intelligence assets. While the big telescopes and the synthetic aperture radar on Kopernikus and unmanned satellites were useful in detecting larger structures and movements they were lacking when it came to fine detail. One could make the optics as large as one cared to, the wavelengths of visible light put a hard limit on the possible resolution. So, when the eyes in space showed something they could not identify one of the huge drones was sent. It was far cheaper and less dangerous than sending a Condor plane, less obtrusive as well.
Besides the gigacaps the cameras were the heaviest things on board the drone. The largest was a triumph of optical engineering. Its folded optics gave it a focal length of 20 meters, at the current 17 kilometer altitude it could read the headlines of a newspaper if the angle was right. Currently it was aimed at a camp that had sprung up in one of Kar Karond's old slave pens. Something seemed fishy about it when viewed from orbit and so the drone flew around the site several times during a day before making of for the frontlines. The analysts had a hard time discerning what they were looking at, the camp seemed to hold a lot of Druchii. The why eluded the analysts until one of them saw the obvious. The report reached Ottokar Proktor who checked the pictures himself to make sure the report had it right. When he saw it for himself, even he blinked. He needed five minutes to clear his head and then laid plans how to best use this.
Schimmelreiter Estate, 30 Kilometers from Nagenhof
The table and the benches around it had been coarse, once. These days they were worn smooth by several generations of backsides and arms, hallowed by long use. A fire had been roused from its nighttime slumber and filled the room with some warmth and a bit of smoke. Two men sat at the table, demolishing a hearty breakfast made of bread, cheese, cold cuts and a bit of light beer. The two men looked like the older and the younger version of the same person. Red hair that started to go grey, a powerful built and both the beginnings and the end state of a paunch were visible. The older man was clad in the traditional clothes of the Imperial gentry, the younger man sported jeans and a plaid flannel shirt.
Finishing a deep pull from the tankard the older one took another breath before starting off with something that had obviously bothered him for a while.
"You know there is always a place for you here Klaus?"
"Yes father and thank you for saying so. Still, I am on a different path now."
"Pah, my son working in a stinking factory day and night, doing the same things again and again. You are a slave to the clock and the bell, and even the most stupid Greenskin could perform the same tasks you are paid for. Here you would be your own man, master of your own tasks. And you would work with horses. The Schimmelreiters have raised the finest plow horses since Ludvik."
"Yes father, we did, and exactly there is the problem."
"How can you say so?"
"Father you and I both know that the railroad is here now. This is why I can visit you during the holidays and be back in Nuln in time."
"Yes, so?"
"So, the farmers can now buy tractors as fuel can be brought here on the cheap."
The older Schimmelreiter looked as if he had bitten into something rotten
"Pah, they need fuel, they need spare parts, they need maintenance, they stink, and if you make a mistake they turn over and kill you. Won`t make a new one when you leave two of them in the field I reckon."
Kurt's shoulders sagged and he did his best to keep exasperation from his voice.
"They do all that, but they pull at least as well as six horses at a time, need no food in winter and will power a thresher, a power-saw, a reaper, and baler or a pump. And we both know that a good plow horse needs lots of oats and lots of care all year round. The farmers will buy them because they see the Weekly Review in the cinema and see them in the Raiffeisen communities. They need them to keep up."
"Not all will be that stupid."
"No, they won`t, but I think there will be more takers after the first farmers bought them."
"Horses are special."
"Yes, they are. Yet as a way to earn money they are on the way out."
"How can you say so. Even if people would no longer need plow horses, they would still need…"
"What would they need father? I do remember you dreamt of raising chargers for the Knightly Orders. Well guess what, most of them are for show now or ride an APC somewhere in Troll Country.
For getting around? Yes, there is still a market for that, for now, but it is shrinking between bikes and cheap cars. And the Germans want horses with some elven sperm in their ancestry.
Before you say otherwise: No, I love horses. But you need to change the way this estate earns money."
"Become a dirt-grubber? Ride a tractor myself?"
"Or raise cattle. People eat more meat these days and the railroad means we can ship it everywhere."
"Raising cattle? On this farm? Never."
"See, and that is why I work in a factory these days. If you do not change, this estate will be bankrupt before too long."
"Oh, go back to assemble German toys will ya."
"No longer father, no longer. I finally qualified and became a licensed forklift operator."
There is a joke in there which only older Germans will get. There is a film, purporting to be an OSHA training video, that is actually a bit of bloody comedy which is called "Gabelstaplerfahrer Klaus" (Forklift Operator Klaus)
Very NSFW:
As one of the oldest political parties the SPD had their offices inside the Reichstag itself. Andrea Hermanns had one of the less popular ones, lacking any windows, but at least she was already there when the bell called her to the hall.
Currently she was digging through about a million E-Mails from her constituents when her assistant came into the office. She had inherited the lady from her predecessor and she was usually unfazed by anything the German parliament and a strange world could throw at her. Not today, she was obviously shaken by something.
"You need to see this Andrea."
"See what?"
"I sent you a mail with a link a minute ago."
"Wait, ah there it is. Youtube Beate, really?"
"Looks like the same message comes in by long-wave wireless. It has been triangulated to Naggaroth."
"Ok."
When the browser finally opened the video, she looked at the face of a young woman. She had high cheekbones, short red hair and eyes of frightening intensity.
"I am Anja, the speaker of 450,000 former Druchii slaves in the settlement called Neustadt in Naggaroth.
Not one of us has entered the employ of the Dark Elves of their own will. Many of us were either captured when the Druchii murdered all of our loved ones which they deemed not worthy or resisted in the slightest. Others like me were born into captivity, product of Druchii breeding programs that forced our parents to copulate based on Druchii ideas about desirable traits.
The Dark Elves have tried to work us to death making weapons used to capture more slaves as they did thousands of others. The Druchii fed us scraps of food, often unfit for consumption and nearly always not enough. The Dark Elves ripped families apart as a matter of policy. They have punished us at the slightest infraction of their self-imposed rules or if one of our fellow slaves committed what they deemed a bad crime. When we submitted to them fully, they used us for their pleasure and tortured us to please their god.
When we have toiled for them every waking hour of our lives, when we have survived every indignity and torture they inflict on us and grow weak they have still uses for us. Our souls are used as fuel for their sorcery and to validate their prayers to the god of murder. Our bodies are thrown away like trash or fed to their Cold Ones.
We who are in Neustadt received a reprieve from that fate during the last years. None of us were whipped, families reunited, all fed well and given a voice in what they wanted. For you, the citizens of the Reiksbund, it would still be a meager existence, for us it was a paradise. Now the Druchii believe that the old methods would be better, that if they would torture us more, threaten us more, and kill more of us we would make even more tools of war.
We cannot do that; we cannot take it anymore and we will not submit to their yoke again.
During the last days we have gotten rid of the guards that kept us and fortified Neustadt, so that we will no longer be tortured, raped, and killed.
We can withstand a siege for a while here, we do not know how long.
What we do know is that you, the people of the Reiksbund, have the power to force the Dark Elves into letting us go from their lands. You have the space for us, so that we can have peace. We know we can work for whatever shelter and food you give us. We need to raise our children without the danger of a slaver selling them away, we need to care for our old and sick without a priest sacrificing them to Khaine.
We need your help, so that we can raise our children in peace. Please do what is in your power to save us as you are our only hope.
Pi=3.149
The sun would not break the horizon today, would indeed not do so for several weeks and then for a very short time. Still it produced a false dawn that lasted for a few hours at most that clad everything in eldritch violet hues. Mere humans would have a hard time seeing anything during this time, but Barak ar Varbadaudassoda had not been a mere human for many centuries. He saw the barbed wire that enclosed the fortress of the dandelion eaters, he caught glimpses of the defenders and more definitive signs of their weapons.
The ground between him and the Druchii's fortifications was dotted by many, many small hillocks and bumps. Most were featureless, white and had no hard edges. Bits of weapons and armor stuck out from newer ones, with red anointing the careless snow.
No matter their size and shape, all hid fallen members of his Chaos Crusade. So many had tried to storm this fragile-seeming fortress, so few had even made it to the first belt of barbed wire.
Some of those bumps had moved in the last hours, all towards the Druchii. From where Barak was observing the bumps trails were barely visible, he was sure they were invisible from the other side of the wire.
One second there was silence but for the eternal wind that cut through the clothes of attacker and defender alike. The next a double row of bumps dissolved into a double row of warriors. Brandishing beautiful bows, stringing arrows that moaned when pulled the archers sent their missiles towards the Druchii. Given that the Prince of Pleasures was Lord of the senses they might even see their targets somehow. Even if that was not the case the many arrows that sped would surely keep the defenders' heads down.
Other bumps never rose to their full height, they slithered forward as fast as they dared. Clutching pliers and makeshift tools, not harm a single elf. Their task was to cut as many of the hated wires as possible, so another attack might reach the dandelion eaters.
When the first arrow thunked into the icy bunker, when the first bell attached to a wire strand sounded, shouts of alarm rose all over the enemy camp. A single trail of fire rose into the dark sky, releasing a flare that burned oh-so brightly.
No more than a few strands of wire were cut when the first shots could be heard. The flickering flames of rifles could be seen all along the Druchii lines. The archers were the first to suffer, they needed to stand tall to ply their trade. They became even more visible when the Druchii flare descended behind them and the eleven snipers extracted a fearful toll from their enemies. The wire-cutters were harder to hit as they were so low on the ground. Some took cover behind fallen comrades, others tried to dig deeply into the packed snow below them.
All of that meant that the last of them lasted a little more than five minutes, not three as the archers who had gone to the ground.
"Marvelous, simply marvelous my good Varbadaudassoda. Please, tell me what the death of two companies full of warriors achieved but to bring more color into this depressingly simple snow."
N`Dhama's voice was as smooth as an oil slick of water and his question had as many layers as the slick had colors. The Keeper of Secrets professed to be Barak's loyal ally. And Varbadaudassoda waited for the shoe to drop ever since the demon had arrived together with huge reinforcements from the Chaos Desert. So far, his command over the Chaos Crusade had never been questioned. But only very few of the warriors Barak had led from the Chaos Desert were still alive.
He managed to keep his voice even, slightly bored and amused.
"They provided proof of a suspicion I had."
"A mighty achievement they bought with their deaths, I am sure. Might you enlighten me what this suspicion is"
"Oh, I just realized that far fewer of these strange carts that run these rails arrive these days."
"And that means?"
"Those warriors were all killed by single shots, neither by these guns that never stop shooting or those who shoot bombs high into the sky."
"Aha, so"
"I think that the dandelion eaters receive less ammunition. That was my suspicion and these died so that I know, not suspect."
"Ah, my commander is indeed wise. And what will you now command in the light of this knowledge?"
I have a question @Wolf1965 i know Bretonnia is going through rough times because of Germany but can you tell me what happens to them did they change or gone to the brink of civil war oh and you never did finish Morgan mailipuate Germany
I have a question @Wolf1965 i know Bretonnia is going through rough times because of Germany but can you tell me what happens to them did they change or gone to the brink of civil war oh and you never did finish Morgan mailipuate Germany
I am not sure how far you have read at this point. Bretonia is not undergoing rough times because of Germany, at least not mostly. Yes, emports of wine have suffered and serfs have a safe haven if they run, but the damage comes from within. Not too few serfs want to run as the nobles shit on them with religious fervor. They have an ultra-hard time adapting to the new times as their mindset is dead set against several of the changes. Their Lady of the Lake is certainly part of the problem, not of the solution. Actually I used her as the reason for the shift of the nobles towards a..hole towards their serfs. The Lady despises her subjects, she would prefer the Asrai. That bled over to the nobles who pray to her.
MKO, the founder of this story stated that there are two Ladies of the Lake, I expanded that into twins. One was in Germany for a while, got a dose of new ideas and concepts. That made her buckle up and start the Breton Civil War by her own. That one is over by now, Bretonia is in two parts: The Kingdon of Bretonia in the south, the Breton Republic in the North. The Kingdom might indeed see another civil war as the Lady can no longer appoint a king and thing in the Kingdom are not exactly looking up. (unless you are a serf. Now that the border is closer, open and Bretons are on the other side the nobles have to treat them better)
So the kingdom of Breton is done for in the next civil war well that's the death of the twin and only one can survive yeah and I have just about one more page in a-h site before fully catching up and I now see the chaos god that thought that the Germans were nice key player in his game turns out their not and he's not very happy his future vision on a death of a god was intervine and he's losing much of his holdouts of his game we don't really see the other main four gods pov much or not at all
So the kingdom of Breton is done for in the next civil war well that's the death of the twin and only one can survive yeah and I have just about one more page in a-h site before fully catching up and I now see the chaos god that thought that the Germans were nice key player in his game turns out their not and he's not very happy his future vision on a death of a god was intervine and he's losing much of his holdouts of his game we don't really see the other main four gods pov much or not at all
Lileath, the twin that lost her side of the civil war is currently masquerading as Maria (yes, that one) and receiving the prayers of the Breton serfs in the Kingdom. She is surviving on a low level and will change considerably.
Khorne gets what he wants, lots of bloodletting in battle presently, so why should'd he be happy?
Tzeentch is couples to Gotrek and stepping very carefully presently.
Slaneesch is currently engaged in Naggaroth and Nurgle is still smarting from Cathay.
Godly POV's are hard to do convincingly, I try to keep it at a minimum and still this story shakes up the Warhammer Pantheon considerably.
Oh okay hey there's something that I saw in the story that interests me that is when WHF is linking up more to 40k and the two earth are separating because they are losing their simuilarties will that story line be mention
Oh okay hey there's something that I saw in the story that interests me that is when WHF is linking up more to 40k and the two earth are separating because they are losing their simuilarties will that story line be mention
According to GW the two Warhammer franchises are somewhat connected in the warp. The Liber Chaotica shows something that is quite likely Chaos Marines, the 2006 campign in Lustria allowed the winners to capture weapons that were clearly Bolters and Lightning Claws. With a few exceptions we took the 2012 state of fluff as gospel.
That Earth is slowly getting apart from the Warhammer World is due to their warpstone/magic content. One has too much, the other too little....
The tent had been assembled from modules that would normally yield three separate tents and was heated by two ovens. Their chimneys doubled as tent poles and together with oil lamps, the many bodies in the tent and the insulation they managed to keep a decent temperature inside.
The tent's walls were ripped inside and out by ferocious gusts of wind and the oil lamps swayed under the onslaught.
While the ovens and the tent's insulation shielded from most of the storm's fury, gusts of wind managed to find their way inside. They were a mere shadow of the weather outside, but it reminded the beings inside that Naggaroth's winter wanted to kill them all. It was the least of the threats the tent's denizens faced.
The cold-weather gear worn by all made all present look very similar, the artistic spikes and ridges so beloved by the Druchii absent due to necessity. One being still managed to stand out.
Herbert Hertel, the only human in the tent, found himself the center of attention of a bunch of psychotic killers. Normally unfazed by this due to experience and similarity now he cringed.
Malus Darkblade's voice was syrupy sweet and contained such undertones of lethal threat that Hertel tried to crawl into his jacket.
"Herr Hertel, would you be so kind and tell us about what is going on in Neustadt?"
"There is a message on long wave radio that speaks of a slave revolt. It used none of the established codes, It is en clair. I cannot vouch for its veracity."
"A slave revolt? In Neustadt? Have your countrymen become that lax? "
"My Lord, I have no information beyond what is in that wireless message. That is spoken by a slave who states they have "gotten rid" of their Druchii guards and ask the Reiksbund for rescue. I have tried to contact my friends in Neustadt and have received no answer at all. We do have good long-wave reception from Naggarond, so the wireless is working well. I have to presume that they are not in a position to answer."
The general's voice added false humor to the sweetness.
"You did not seem to be that well regarded with your fellow Germans. Could it be they shun you?"
"My tastes and needs are not for everybody, but I had a professional relationship to all and while some try to keep it confidential a friendship with some. That all decline to answer me is unthinkable my lord."
"Be that as it may, what does that mean for our supplies?"
"The warehouses at Karkan station no longer hold ammunition or modern weapons. They state they have no indication what is in the next supply shipment and when it will arrive, which is unusual. I suspect that we will not receive any for the foreseeable future."
"How very unfortunate. How much does this leave us to work with then?"
"Less than a week of ammunition at current rate of use. Or one major attack."
"And that is it?"
"That is all we have, plus what the troops carry themselves."
The syrup in Malus Darkblade's words was laced with disappointment.
"Herr Hertel, maybe it has occurred to you that we are surrounded by an army of Chaos? One whose numbers never seem to dwindle, no matter how many we kill? One that is getting stranger and stranger with each and every passing day? That will do things to us even you cannot imagine if they capture us? Care to enlighten us how we should fight these masses without ammunition?"
"My Lord, I cannot conjure supplies from thin air and I cannot do more than informing you of the situation. The slave revolt in Neustadt baffles me completely. The slaves were treated better than anywhere else. We had simply no runaways, not even attempts except for those slated for me and my friends' consumption.
Something must have changed in my absence. The message from Neustadt itself says that they were in no danger, but that the Druchii want to oppress them again. Last time I checked Torsten Breitkop was Neustadt's Dread Lord and treating the slaves harshly would not fly with him. Maybe you do have an idea?"
Malus' voice changed to a toneless whisper heard very well in the silence that suddenly filled the tent
"Maybe I have and maybe I have not. It makes no difference. This army is Naggaroth's best, small as it might be. If we stay here we will be quickly overwhelmed with no benefit to the Witch King.
Herr Hertel, stop all trains from Karkan station here. Load all equipment and ammunition we can on them, they will accompany our retreat. We will make for the coast and if needs be obtain our supplies from Neustadt ourselves if we have to. Tuvid, have the wireless operator inform the Witch King of our intent, dismantle the station immediately after that. Ivil, form a rear guard from the wounded, place them in the trenches before we leave. This time tomorrow we need to be on the march. And we really, really need to make sure the Chaotics out there do not realize what we plan.
If you value your lives make it so my Lieutenants. "
Leviathan, 2000 Kilometers from the Kislevite Coast
Raimund Scheer watched Leviathan's wake through his binoculars and was more than a little happy. The wake was straight, or as straight as it could be when wind and waves were accounted for, as far as the eye could see. Quite the change from the beginning of the voyage when the ship's wake curved like a tortured earthworm. By now the helmsmen had the knack of it and they had found the right rpm settings for both tugs so that they did not have to compensate with rudder..very much. If this were any other ship Raimund would have recommended sending it to a shipyard right away. That this improvised icebox built by a junior engineer and Kislevite peasants floated at all, let alone made the trip, was a miracle in her captain's mind. He doubted that he would ever develop any great affection for his current command, but it was a fascinating endeavor nevertheless.
A roar took his attention away from the beautifully straight wake and towards the flight deck. A single biplane had started its engine and soon taxied to the launching position. He could not understand the commands, but saw the halting ballet of mechanics around it. He had never seen aircraft carrier operations up close, but this evolution probably has some way to go before it passed muster. Still, the crew distanced itself from the small plane and the engine noise became much louder. Slowly at first and with ever-increasing speed the wooden wonder accelerated down the flight deck. At the end of the deck, it encountered Leviathan's newest modification, a ramp of ice and wood chips. When the plane left the ship, it launched itself upwards already, which was probably a good thing.
The plane circled the ice carrier a couple of times before a long white streamer with silver stripes emerged from its back. The biplane continued its lazy circles around Leviathan while a couple of radar antennas first rotated and then pointed to the plane. Soon gun barrels rose and the shockwaves of their firing hammered against Raimund Scheer's eardrums. There were explosions high above Leviathan and also far behind their target. That went on long enough that the biplane could orbit the ship twice. Then several airbursts showed that his suggestion of putting aluminum foil on the cloth banner would provide enough of a radar target to register on the shells' radar fuses.
The towed target was still in good enough shape to provide for more training though. A sort of deep barking indicated that the new autocannons tried their luck. Firing the same 35 mm ammunition that the German Gepard SPAAG they had been introduced into the Reiksbund after the Flugscheiben had shown everybody that 0.5" quads would not kill everything in the air. The tracer ammunition made the exercise a bit more spectacular, with green lines clawing to the sky. Many were quite close to the target, some actually pierced it.
Things came to an abrupt end when the banner suddenly dropped into the icy waters below. Raimund's binox allowed him to see that the rest of the cable still attached to the plane was very short. He expected the pilot to be a bit cross towards the gunners when he landed.
Artikel in Handelsblatt (business newspaper)
T2 is finally dead
Like the cyborg played by Arnold Schwarzenegger T2 died a voluntary death so to secure the future. The second Treuhandanstalt, which really, really should have been named differently, will close down by the end of this year. Like the first one, it was a government agency founded to handle all the assets that fell into German hands by fickle fate. The first one's task was to sell or close the GDR's state-owned companies. The chaos that reigned after the Weltensprung and rather uninspired civil servants conspired and called the new agency "Treuhand". Given that its first iteration did not do very well its successor tried to make everybody call it T2 and mostly succeeded in that. By all accounts, it also did a better job than the first one. Among the reasons for that was that nobody expected this one to make a huge profit.
The Weltensprung stranded lots of foreign-owned companies in Germany. Cut off from headquarters, often products and spare parts they had problems. Left to themselves they would have gone bankrupt in short order, leaving more Germans without a job and others with no needed equipment or services. Somebody had to take care of them and that somebody was T2, which had credit and legal standing where they did not. Some of these companies could just be liquidated, others merged, and the rest made fit to stand on their own feet.
There was a lot of pain in that process. The taxpayer had to take up the commitments of several large foreign insurers and sell their assets to German insurers. Neither the taxpayer nor the policyholders were happy with that. Given how many Germans invest in life insurances it had to be done though. Car makers, in particular, lacked designs and parts. Some of them live on as sub-brands of more successful makers, other birthed daughters that tried to provide spare parts and customer service before fading into memory. Software companies got a shot in the arm when the Versailles link provided the base for further operations. Microsoft managed to do so, Apple had the problem that their hardware and that on the Warhammer World has grown apart too much.
A decade after the new Treuhand was founded the vast majority of foreign-owned companies have been merged, sold, or shut down, The few that will be transferred to the "Andere Welten Media AG", the agency which sells the rights to the movies, books, and other media that reach us from Earth.
The initiative to establish a currency for the information trade with Earth has fallen on its face again after Earth's governments could not agree to the exchange ratios. Maybe in 2535?
Naggarond Gulf, 76 km north of Hag Graef
The gray sky above Ernutan Doomshackler was full of racing clouds, driven by a wind that hammered the gulf's waters against the shore to the DawiZharr's right. The air was full of the sea's smell. None of this mattered to the newest true dwarven general. He considered the terrain before him and saw the future burial ground of countless DawiZharr warriors.
A bit behind him was the wreck of Hashut's Flame. No great battle had claimed her, no mine had ripped her open to the sea. Two of the damned Druchii mortars had penetrated her deck armor and found a magazine. She had taken most of her crew with her and the very few who had made it off the ship had perished in the ice-cold waters.
So Lord Mordred in his infinite wisdom had granted him even more troops and the rank to command them. He had also given Ernutan a task and he could not refuse like he could not ask his heart to stop.
He had to clear the mortars from both sides of the Gulf, open the way to Naggarond and finally clear the way for Lord Mordred himself.
The binoculars revealed the terrain before him well enough. On one side were the black waters of the Gulf, and less than a kilometer inland huge cliffs rose hundreds of meters. The Druchii would defend this narrow front and he would attack it frontally again and again. He knew how to do that; he knew he had been given the means by Lord Mordred. He just did not know how many stout warriors he had to send to their deaths to do so.
Bundeskanzleramt Berlin
The security cabinet was at it again and to say the frustration level was high was an understatement.
Uwe Junge, the secretary of defense, gave off the air of a man annoyed by being asked a question where the answer should be clear to all.
"I mean the gal is nice to look at and all that, but why should we? These slaves are not Germans, they are not even affiliated with the Reiksbund. Intervening on their behalf will gain us nothing but more refugees, something we have more than enough of, thank you very much."
Chancellor Markus Söder spoke with the slow voice usually used to convey meaning to those of limited mental capacity.
"Uwe, the question was not whether we should intervene, but if we are able to do so. Could you answer that question please and remember that there are no cameras in this room?"
"When I still served the Bundeswehr we told fresh Lieutenants out of answers to look at the map, it would provide them. So, if you'd look at the bloody map the answer will be equally bloody obvious. Naggaroth is too far away for us to intervene. Does that answer the question?"
The temperature in the room seemed to cool down a bit when the chancellor fixed Junge.
"I had your job for quite a while Uwe and while I did not have your elevated position in the armed forces I served too, as did most here in this room. I dimly remember that we had the Hag Graef Raid more than 10 years ago and tore the Spitzohren a new one. Given that the Bundeswehr has far better capabilities than then: Could we successfully intervene if this cabinet says so?"
The defense secretary was about to explode and then visibly calmed himself. "Ok Markus, if we need the long version: It comes down to two different issues: time and need.
Yes, we sent a task force to Hag Graef and it did well. But you will remember that the navy needed a year to put it together. And yes, we have far better equipment than before, we do not need to build an ersatz-carrier among other things. But the other side gets a vote too and both the Druchii and the DawiZharr have gained vastly better capabilities. It is not that we can send two Flensburg-class DEs there and ask Malekith nicely. We would have to assemble a task force including a substantial ashore element. That would take a while and I am very unwilling to risk service members' lives by doing it on a shoestring like the Hag Graef raid. I would not be too surprised if such a task force would sail in four to six months. And now let us be realistic: These are former slaves. They may or may not have some weapons, they will not have much training or leadership. They go against one of the best armies in this world which is not affiliated with the Reiksbund. They will not last.
Even when we assume that the slaves would hold out two months or three: We could only go with very limited forces, which would be at risk.
We have discussed what Earth called the Powell Doctrine in here and the General Staff and I do believe it provides good criteria on whether we should mount such an operation.
First, we have to make sure that our operation is backed by a large part of the public.
Second, we have to go in with overwhelming force to achieve our aims quickly and with minimal losses.
Thirdly, we need to have well-defined aims and an exit strategy when they are fulfilled.
Let's have a look at these, shall we? First off, we could certainly win the voters' approval for a mission to rescue slaves from the evil, evil Druchii. Unless we have the light forces that we can send there in a hurry massacred that is. Or we come too late because we try to muster a serious task force. Which takes care of the second: I can muster overwhelming forces, but only if I have the time. And slaves who are holding a rifle or a spear for the first time in their lives will not grant us that time.
Last, but not least: The aim of such an operation. Let us say we manage to send enough soldiers into Naggaroth to stare down the Witch King, then what?
Do we ask Malekith not to torture, bred, and kill his slaves, scouts honor promises only please? Do we push the whole kingdom of torturers over and start nation-building?
Or do we simply ferry half a million slaves to Germany and grant them asylum as we did with a few thousand after the Hag Graef raid? And I can tell you right away that the Kaiserlichen will not stand for another wave of refugees, not after Bretonnia."
"Shouldn't we open up the scope of such an operation? I have read the Trevayne presentation as most of us should have. The picture painted there is a bleak one. Shouldn't we do something about this and use the slaves' plight as a way to rouse support for such an operation?"
Christian Lindner was, by now, the old hand of the cabinet. His time in government had not diminished his cynicism any. His relationship to Uwe Junge was not the best, given that their respective parties jousted for the same voters. Which caused the secretary of defense to go for it hammer and tongs.
"Are you really sure you know what you are talking about? We are looking at taking on two of the more capable armies on this world very, very far away from home. If and when we do that we need to occupy a territory the size of the Old World. We have to reform beings which have murdered, tortured, and slaved away for millennia while taking care of countless slaves and improve everybody's lives. And the cherry on top of that shit cake is that we receive another long border with the Chaos Desert free of charge. We would need to station half a million solders over there for a long time to come. Of course, if we want to take it easy, we could actually ally ourselves with Malekith, the bleeding Witch King himself. Will give us bases, boots on the ground, intel, and occupying forces. I just have a hard time dreaming up a worse asshole than this old torturer and our best chance of making this work would make him our ally ally. What was in that coffee Christian?"
Everybody was sitting back for the return barrage when the chancellor intervened.
"Sorry Christian, I see the same things that you do, I am not saying that you or this presentation was wrong. It is just more than we can do presently. Given that the Spitzohren and the Chaos Stumpies kill each other off, we should have some breathing space. And if push comes to shove, we can still tell the survivor that he should behave himself or else."
"The Chaos Dwarfs are about to win and soon Markus. Pretty soon after that, we can no longer threaten the Stumpies with cutting off their foodstuffs as they can raise them in Naggaroth."
Markus Söder's shoulders went into a shrug.
"I would not be too sure about that. First off, the BND asked the Celestial Order about Naggaroth's future. Their answers were pretty vague, something about a sundering, but there was no great threat in the futures they see. And the mercenaries Malekith hired will arrive soon. They could very well turn the tide of this war. They have done so for Cathay, I do not see why they should not repeat that feat."
"But they won't help those slaves."
"Nobody but God can help those slaves."
Quay, Kar Karond
The ship was an ugly box. Whoever had built it had priced utility and ease of production over nearly any other aspect. Several plates on the bow and between frames were dished in and a steady stream of water pumped overboard indicated that safety had been one of the secondary concerns. Its payload was currently unloading itself, an unending stream of DawiZharr warriors walked down the plank and formed up on the quay. Many of them had stumbled down the gangplank, most showed very pale skin coated with cold sweat. Obviously, they had not enjoyed the trip from the Dark Lands. That should have lifted Theros Fatewaver's spirits, but the need to hide any elation from his masters and sheer exhaustion prevented even this simple pleasure.
He was the last true Elf in the chain gang that waited for their turn, all the others were humans and a Dawi. They did not harm him too much, but that his place was very low on the totem pole was very well established. They all had to work hard at loading and unloading the unending procession of ships that came from whatever hell the DawiZharr called theirs. The invaders had enslaved any able being regarding neither rank nor race. Whoever could not perform to their standards was taken away and never seen again. Most Druchii males did not last long, many had been injured in Kar Karond's defense. Others could not accept their new station in life or their new comrades in misery made sure they died.
Theros had survived that long as he was afraid. Nobody had seen any true elven women and children since Kar Karond had been taken. Even most males were missing, and each rumor about what might happen to them was ugly. Theros would do anything to keep from learning the truth the hard way. And so, he pushed himself to haul any weight, he would eat the worst of food and endure the indignities his chain mates heaped on him.
"Must be a nasty sight, all these DawiZharrs coming to kick your oh-so-strong-and-noble elven asses. What goes around comes around I say."
That had been Brunin, the Dawi in their chain gang. If the rest of the gang would not have to haul the same load with or without Theros Brunin would have killed him a long time ago.
Be that as it may, he had to hide his face.
It was true that more DawiZharr warriors arrived every week. What was also true was that neither he nor his chain gang had to unload more ammunition or other supplies. To Theros Fateweaver that meant that a lot of DawiZharr died in Naggaroth.
The Druchii smiled when nobody could see his face.
Pi=3.147 Naggaroth
Malus Darkblade's world was dark, streaked with white. It was dark like this Khaineforsaken bit of Naggaroth was so far north that the sun never rose for months on end. And it was streaked with white as he was marching through a snowstorm. It tore at his uniform; it made the Cold One under him more aggressive and gusts crawled under his cold weather gear and felt like blades cutting his skin. There were already cases of frostbite, the first warriors who could not continue the march and had been abandoned. Others sweated and cursed while they helped to free the rails of snow so that the train that accompanied them could clear the rest. Malus Darkblade did not cuss the storm as he had asked for it. Lady Virrion, who headed the mages of his army had called on a storm that would cover the retreat and she had succeeded in spades.
And while this storm would kill his own warriors it would save many more. Let the Chaos Army hunker down under the storm and find him gone when it abated. They would probably take some time amusing themselves with the wounded of the rearguard he had left in the camp. Some might even succumb to the poisoned food he had left there, but he did not think it would be many. The army that had besieged him had been very low on ordinary beings and very large on denizens of the warp recently.
No matter, he would bring his army back to Naggaroth proper, he would end that slave revolt himself if he needed to and he….
At first, he did not know what stopped his thoughts dead in his track. When his brain parsed it, a cold shiver ran down his spine and his whole army tensed. Silence.
The storm's fury had abated within seconds, leaving only a stark, clear night. Morslieb and a breathtaking starfield illuminated the Druchii, the windswept plain, and the Chaos army that surrounded them.
There is no word for coward in the Druchii language. The only words approximating that were always compounds with some of the lesser races. A coward would simply not survive childhood in Naggaroth.
Each and every solder in Malus Darkblade's army knew he or she would die. The army that surrounded them was vast, they had fought them often enough during the last several months. Then they had been on the other side of a wire belt and the true elven warriors had been protected by properly emplaced support weapons. Now they were caught in the open, in march formation and the enemy was already far too close. There was only one thing left for the true elves and that was killing as many enemies as possible. Their god was the god of murder and they would please him mightily.
A human general's heart would have swelled with pride when the warriors broke the marching columns of four abreast into lines of two each. Filled with despair at the approaching doom regardless of his soldier's skill, determination, and courage. Maybe crippled with self-doubt at having been cornered by an army of this size or perplexed by the question on how the enemy anticipated his plan.
Malus Darkblade was many things, human he was not. He was Druchii and so much more. His heart was filled with hate. Hate at the enemy who would kill him, hate at the Germans who failed to supply him, hate at his very warriors that would not be able to save him. And while his emotions raged in his chest an ice-cold mind looked for ways out. Preferably with parts of his army, but alone if needs be.
He saw many things. He saw the waves of Chaos Warriors, surging forward with the eagerness of soldiers who had been on the receiving end for too long. He saw the rapid fire his warriors poured into them at such close range. He saw so many shots, but no misses. He saw so many dead, but no end to the living enemies. He saw the baleful flickering light of the train-mounted machine guns and more death. He saw the arching trajectories of the first hand grenades that ripped Chaos Warriors apart. He did not see a single Druchii trying to flee. But try as he might, he did not see a way out for the most important being in his universe, himself.
He should take command. He should inspire his warriors and reinforce the steel in their spines. He should take the measure of the enemy and devise a stratagem to make them pay for every true elven warrior they ended.
He could not do any of these things. He was becoming something greater than the sum of his parts.
Pi= 3,147001
Barak ar Varbadaudassoda saw the fulfilment of all his wishes, the culmination of so much effort, death, and pain, the miracle that made it all worth the while.
For so long he had seen the enemy, but could not touch them. For so long barbed wire had kept his troops away from the dandelion eaters and their armaments had much better reach than his troops. He thought he had known hate before, such was the nature of the Chaos Desert. The war against the new Druchii had taught him better. Now he knew what hate was. It was a burning thing that ran through his veins and his heart. It gave power when he should be exhausted and endurance when he should have given up. It gave him a target, a focus, and the means. It also burned away caution and rational thought. Like fire, it was a good servant and a terrible master.
Serving all four gods had given him the strength to rein in his hate and be its master most of the time. Never had it been harder not to succumb to hate's siren call than now and yet he had to. Here was the one chance to best the damned Spitzohren, now was the time to capture the weapons that made them mighty and learn their lore. If he were to give in to hate, to storm forward and collect the blood the Druchii were due he would die. And that would be the end of this Chaos Crusade, that was not to be.
Barak watched the Daemonettes charge on their strange mounts. They were so few meters from their foes and so fast. They would rend their enemies with claws and sword, would feast on their flesh, and sate themselves on the corpses. They were also targets, brightly colored, high on their mounts, and unable to take any cover. Barak could hardly make them out from his vantage point, but the muzzle flashes were just too clear. There were the baleful, flickering lights of the fast shooters, and wherever they pointed warriors died. His education in the new form of warfare had been an expensive one, paid in blood, pain, and lives. It had shown him that these were the weapons that broke armies. A few of them could reduce regiments to companies in minutes if they were allowed to ply their trade.
Here there were few of them, they were close and there were only frail Druchii weapons between him and them. They would be silent soon enough. Till then they could expend their wrath on the strange warriors N'Dhama had enticed from the Chaos Desert's depths. And the strangers paid for every meter they closed with the enemy. Yes, the Druchii were so much closer this time, but that meant that they were not missing much. From where he stood, he could see each warrior shoot a dozen times a minute or more. And most of these shots hit something, as his warriors were packed so densely.
A mortal would not have heard the clinking of metal and the creaking of leather over the din of the battle. Barak ar Varbadaudassoda had not been merely mortal for a very long time. He knew that Sodalane was watching him and the battlefield at the same time. Sodalane, who had accompanied him on so many campaigns, one of the few both capable and loyal at the same time, a true gift from the gods.
A companion who understood the slight shake of Barak's head well enough. Both could see that the Daemonette's charge was about to hit the thin Druchii line. Both wished to use the moment, the moment when the elven formation would shatter and the glorious slaughter begin.
Only Barak had seen enough war, the old and the new to anticipate what would come next. Small objects sailed half-seen through the dark night, ending their short flights under the Daemonette's mounts. The objects might be hard to spot, the explosions that ended their existence were not. Throwing razor-sharp metal at the speed of sound they eviscerated the steeds and flayed the riders. The lucky ones died then and there; the others cursed every second they had to spend on this plane of existence.
"They have three or four of these things on them when they march, no more. Give N'dhama's favorites another go or two Sodalane. Then we can show the dandelion eaters what war is about, shall we?"
"Yes Lord."
Barak's closest followers thrived on war, had willingly given up any chance of salvation, many earthly pleasures and parts of their sanity to become the best at war. This new war had challenged them like never before. War had a tendency to weed out the weak, the slow, and the unlucky. Now it also killed those who could not wait for the right moment and remain in cover till then. Barak's army had always contained followers of all four gods. Those who followed Khorne were very thin on the ground these days. Those who were still behind the Chaos General had learned the worth of discretion and observed. The scene before them was certainly worth watching.
The Druchii had learned that not all their enemies would go down by hot lead and cold steel. They had adapted and their bullets now contained a bit of phosphorous which would burn inside their targets. That usually killed the victim with lots of pain, something the dandelion eaters enjoyed even more than Barak's people. The shots left glowing trails in the air and showed how many bullets were going out. They also indicated the ebb and flow of Chaos attacks, of warriors and demons surging forward and dying, of demons releasing their grasp on reality and those who fled when they were too few. Lines of explosions walked through the Chaos lines where the few mortars the Druchii could unlimber weighted in. Spirited assaults led by beautiful beings failed when machine guns were turned on them. Barak saw all that beauty, but he looked for something special. It took quite a bit of suffering and dying for the moment to appear, he watched for a few seconds more to make sure of it. More and more Druchii fumbled at their belts and packs, something was passed to them from the rear, but not enough. The elves had used up whatever made their rifles work and needed more of it. Now was the time.
Lifting his axe, he and the weapon shouted in unison: "For the Black Legion. For victory and glorious slaughter. Charge."
And charge they did. Like hounds slipping their leash, they charged as one towards those who had hurt them so much while being safe from revenge. This was the moment every one of Barak's warriors had dreamt about ever since the never-sufficiently damned Druchii started to fight with their new weapons and bury them under artificial avalanches. They were big, strong, and stout, far past the limits set on mere humans. Still, the speed of their charge was not all they wished for. They were clad in heavy armor and wielded weapons too heavy to be used by lesser warriors.
Their boots were not so much bigger than those worn by lesser warriors, their weight was very much so. Like his warriors Barak sunk into the top of his armored boots with every step he took. He certainly had enough power to do it again and again without stumbling, faltering, or exhaustion. He could not do it very fast though. And so, Barak ar Varbadaudassoda had all the time in the world to see the Druchii receiving boxes from their rear and opening them. Could see the dandelion eaters stuffing their pouches and reloaded their weapons. Watched as they shortened their line when some of them were overrun and massacred those who had killed a few Druchii.
He had the best view to be had when some elven asshole waved in his direction, and could see the barrels that turned towards all too well. The shots were hard to hear above the battle's din, but the muzzle flashes and the projectiles' glowing paths were easy enough to see. The first ones seemed to vanish into the night behind Barak, but soon enough he heard sounds like a hammer meeting iron. Some of these would waste themselves against armor. Some of them would burn otherworldly flesh and provide nothing but fuel to the hate, many of them would kill.
Barak ar Varbadaudassoda was as experienced a warrior as any he would name, fast, strong and good. All he could do was pull one boot from the snow after the other, lean forward like into a storm and hope. It did not matter how good he was or what rank he had. If a bullet decided it was his time that would be it. A life lived for a thousand years or more would be over without any chance of revenge. Oh, how Barak hated the new face of warfare.
Even when it seemed he was running at the same speed as his nightmares, fated to never reach his target, he was much closer now to the enemy. Every one of the last hundred steps had been paid for with the life of a warrior he had known for a century at least. Now that the hated elves were finally nearly close enough for his axe to feast he saw a barrel turned right at him. He saw it as clearly as he had seen anything in his long life. The gloved, slender fingers that turned and pulled the bolt, the shiny brass cartridge that tumbled into the red-colored snow, the face contorted by a hate equal to his own that disappeared behind the sights again. The muzzle blast blossomed directly in his face and he was too close to the Druchii to miss. There was a hammer blow, felt as much as heard, and a strangely muted pain in his side. The fastest of glances showed a glowing trace on his armor where the bullet had ricocheted off.
Barak ar Varbadaudassoda felt so alive as rarely during the last years. Fresh energy coursed through his limbs and he jumped nearly all the distance to his foe.
"The four gods are with us. Black company and no mercy." Left his lips and carried wide over the battlefield. And then he was between the elves.
The oh-so-slender Druchii turned fast and a bayonet searched for his helmet's eye slit. A minor movement made the blade meet steel instead of flesh. His axe descended in an arc that went through arm, shoulder and chest in one mighty go. Parts of the Druchii disappeared inside the hungry weapon while Barak stepped inside the thin Druchii line.
A fast shadow went through his field of vision in a moment barely perceived. Barak ignored it, there was a glorious revenge to be had.
Pi: 3.147
Malus Darkblade had not slept for two score years. It was not that he no longer yearned for rest, there had been times when he was so very deadly tired. And yet he was not allowed to sleep again, ever. Sorceries and potions both forbidden and dangerous kept him awake at all times lest he be taken over by Tz'arkan. The Slaaneshi demon was entwined with his life and soul in such ways that they could never be untangled. Would Malus let his guard slip just for one night his body would go on, his soul be a plaything for Tz'arkan for however long the demon wished.
Both had been so very close to the Chaos Desert this year and the demon had tried his shackles more often than usual. Malekith's chosen general had hoped that this would cease when his army retreated towards Naggaroth.
Tz'arkan had thought of himself as close to a god, once. He had had such plans, once. It had taken a full coven of mages and beings of untold powers to bind him, once.
Now he was bound to this mortal, a single soul with no insight of the world beyond the veil. Oh, this Malus Darkblade was quite extraordinary, when it came to a complete lack of morals. His planning was cunning and free of the many restraints that mortals bound themselves in. And he had the most extraordinary luck he had ever seen.
But now there was the chance to end this ignominious situation once and for all. And given that Malus Darkblade commanded such a powerful force there were such delectable opportunities to be had.
The demon had bathed in the Chaos energy that wafted in from the Chaos Desert like a fog, becoming thinner with each step one took away from it. Now it had risen to a power Tz'arkan had not felt for a long time.
And so, he opened his assault on Malus Darkblade's soul when Malekith's chosen general was as distracted as he could be.
The trick in such a takeover was to isolate the soul from the body that served it. Mortals were so taken up with their flesh, were defined and constricted by it. Especially those who had no sense for the Empyrean became as helpless as babies in a cradle.
The Demon shaped the forces of the Warp to his liking. He could not have named the molecules and cells he touched, but he managed to change the exchange of chemicals and the flow of ions. Instead of reporting what the senses told them and sending commands back to the limbs Malus Darkblade's nerves just transmitted an unintelligible hash to him.
Tz'arkan savoured the moment. Now he could avenge the many years he had been in this fleshly prison. Now he could reduce Darkblade to a whimpering entity that looked helpless from his own eyes as a prisoner while the Demon would use his flesh.
Tz'arkan pushed a needle of energy into the place where the soul had to be. The pain it would cause would just be the beginning of a payment….The needle penetrated Malus Darkblade's soul about as well as a metal needle would pierce stone: not at all.
The demon unleashed more pain, more suffering just to find his intended victim either bearing them with the tolerance only a Druchii could show or not feeling them at all.
The voice was Malus Darkblade's and yet it was not, as it did not need such crutches as pressure waves.
"You stole my soul once, remember? I had to kill my father without paying him back what pain he owed me to make good on that on top of running all over Naggaroth. Do you think I would not do that job properly and let you do it again? You have no entrance here."
Tz'arkan would not let such a statement stand by itself and tried to pierce and torture the Druchii into submission. The dry chuckle he got in response hurt.
"I am not sure about you, but I regard standing still on a battlefield as not conductive to continued existence. Maybe you should let me back at the helm or we will both perish."
It was of course the wrong thing to say to a frustrated Demon and Tz'arkan's attempts at besting Malus Darkblade started to threaten the body they both inhabited.
The battle was at a stalemate until it was decided by the third party unwilling to sit out the battle. Neither conscious in the conventional sense nor intelligent in the way biological beings understood, the Warpsword was very, very powerful.
It tried to nudge the battle the way it liked. Yet, it was a weapon, a tool of destruction, not of healing or improvement. Burning down the defenses Malus Darkblade had erected about his soul as well as whatever means Tz'arkan used to attack it left ruin in its wake. The two beings inside Malus' body would not have been viable by themselves. Both did not want to end and were hurt so much that they were looking for any way out. They found one that the sword really liked and fused.
The burning creature that stepped down from the wagon lifted the sword to the uncaring stars. Its scream echoed in the real world as well as in the warp.
"WE BURN"
PI: 3.147
Barak ar Varbadaudassoda was losing warriors at a frightful rate, but finally, he gained something for the losses. Before every assault was wading through fire, trying to cut through spikes, the damned wire, and guessing when the avalanche would come. If he had been very, very lucky he would take the dandelion eaters' position. For that, he would gain the grand prize of trenches and foxholes in the snow and a few bodies once in a blue moon. If the fell gods smiled upon him his troops might find a few weapons that would quit working once their ammunition was done. More likely his warriors found the bodies were laced with traps to kill a few more of his men.
Now he lost a warrior for every step forward. Now his very entourage died at his side at a frightful rate. Now his own armor had dents and gouges left by the Druchii rifles. One of these bullets was lodging somewhere in his body. It might have slowed a mortal, but his flesh obeyed different rules. All of that was worth it, as finally, they could slaughter the damned elves. The two lines they had formed had been broken in many places, leaving groups of Druchii in ever-shrinking squares. Any elf that was caught outside one of these was torn apart by the Daemonettes on their steeds. The squares that endured were centered on the never-sufficiently-damned machine guns. Groups of dandelion-eaters were deadly, taking down Chaos Warriors regardless of strength or skill. A machine gun team was a frightening thing, something that could turn a charge with the blood up into a bloody failure all by itself. And now one of them turned its attention to Barak and his entourage. Glowing tracers sped through the night killing warrior after warrior starting from Varbadaudassoda's left and coming ever closer. There was a battle of rage and fear in the general's chest as he had rarely felt in a very long life. And when Sodalane received no less than four hits into his mighty chest the mélange of fear and rage gave Barak the strength to do what needed to be done.
Letting his axe fall into its sling he grabbed his old companion by collar and belt and pulled the dying warrior between him and the enemy. Rage gave him the strength to continue the charge, fear made him hold on to the corpse. It jerked and shuddered with each impact and still stout armor and dying flesh slowed the bullets down till they flattened themselves uselessly against his plate.
Barak ar Varbadaudassoda had not been with a woman for many lifetimes. The moment when he was among the Druchii, when he dropped the corpse and lifted his axe reminded him a bit of those times. He finally got his fulfilment that had been kept from him for such a long time. Mere bayonets and cloth would not stop him, not now. His axe pushed the slender rifles away and parted limbs, armor, and flesh with equal ease. Covered with blood and gore Barak could not remember when he felt this great.
Pi: 3.147
An hour ago, Malus Darkblade had been an exceptional swordsman with a magic sword that made him a better fighter and ignored most armor. None of these things made him an important factor on the battlefields in the new world the Germans had wrought. His leadership and his ability to gather the best weapons and supplies had mattered. The Warpsword was a badge of status and a threat to his underlings, not to the enemy. His sharpest weapons had been the binoculars and the wireless set.
That had been an hour ago. Now Malus was more and less at the same time. All the parts that made him Malus were still there, but new ones had been added and made themselves felt in so many ways.
He did not care about that, he did not care for the future, for his army or his own fate. He cared about the killing and there was so much of that to be had.
The world around him moved so slowly, as if the battle around him was taking place underwater. He had all the time in the world to step aside and let an oafish Chaos Knight pass him by. His sword was now a part of himself as were his arms. It went through both shins with ease, leaving a legless corpse-to-be. Coming up the blade went under an arm, passed through the weak chainmail, and removed the limb with all the ado of pulling a chicken leg.
None of the enemies around him managed so much as to touch his armor. Once or twice an arrow aimed at something different glanced off or a bullet forced sparks from it. None of it really mattered.
What mattered was that each kill invigorated the being that had been Malus Darkblade. It fanned the flames that seemed to live in his chest that that emerged whenever he opened his mouth to shout his elation to the world. The Warpsword funneled what life energies were to be had from slain enemies, the Demon made use of them and Malus picked the targets.
It did not matter whether the enemies were Daemonettes, Chaos Knights or Hung warriors. He did not even spare the Druchii who were so insolent to be in his way as such sensations were to be had. The resistance of flesh when the Warpsword parted it, the screams that were so deep in this slow world. The look on the faces of Hung who one moment thought themselves safe and faced death the next. The energies the sword liberated from Chaos Knight armor filled with the ashes of the men they once were and sheer Chaos. The screams of a Daemonette he left limbless in the snow. The rush when he killed faster and faster.
He managed to step behind a double column of Chaos Knights and lopped off head after head before the warriors registered any threat. Whatever had powered them was now at his disposal. The claw of a Daemonette drew a line along Malus' arm. It filled with eldritch light where blood would have been expected and closed fast. Before it ceased to bleed light the Daemonette was missing her arm and most of her torso, while her ride was headless. Malus could not say if his senses were becoming even faster or if the world really slowed down the more he killed. He did not care, not one bit.
One of Darkblade's soldiers changed a magazine while Malus attacked the rest of the Daemonettes. He spent the time to look as the warrior disengaged the catch that kept it in the rifle while he ran the Warpsword through one steed and halved the Deamonette when he pushed the magazine forward and down. He stepped forward and removed a claw-bearing arm that might have been dangerous when the first gap appeared between the rifle and the box. The magazine had barely cleared the shaft when he vaulted over the lowered head of a ride, taking the head of another Daemonette. He used the ride's back as the starting point of a jump that ended on the next rider, the warpsword pierced a chest and slowed Malus down enough so that he could land safely. By now the Druchii had released the magazine to grab a new one, the old one tumbled as it dropped into the snow. Before it buried itself in the red-speckled whiteness two more victims died.
When the being that had been Malus Darkblade turned away in search of more victims his skin dropped off in black flakes. It revealed orange embers and flames flickered whenever Darkblade moved. He left in search of better prey, the footprints he left in the snow contained flames for a moment before they died.
PI: 3.1471
N'Dhama was an Exalted Keeper of Secrets , a favorite of the Prince of Pleasure. The Prince himself had elevated him to such a lofty position for two reasons: S/He was able to partake in excesses of pleasure and pain mortals could hardly fathom and still possessed a core that never changed. S/He consumed drugs that opened the mind to such otherworldly realities and sensations. N'Dhama could use them when s/he liked and had powered through any withdrawal symptoms with ease. S/He could love with wild abandon and murder her partners the next day. S/he could see the world as it was and enjoy it to excess. That was rare enough, but a being that did all of that and fulfilled the Prince's commands with neither failure nor distraction was a price to behold.
And Slaanesh's command had managed to be both challenging and dreary. He was to support this Barak ar Varbadaudassoda, who was not even able to decide which god to pay fealty to. A good warrior and a decent enough general, even by the standards of the Chaos Desert, but so boring.
He had given the general Daemonettes, Marauders and all other manner of beings the Lord of Excess commanded just to keep up an extended siege. Instead of ending this boring, painful exercise in an orgy of bloodshed and magic he had to play at being an underling of Barak boring ar Varbadaudassoda. And all of that so that the best Druchii army was bound far away from Naggaroth and consumed ammunition.
This was so that the Prince's real plan in Naggaroth could commence without meddling by Malus Darkblade and his army. N'Dhama had done as he was asked, but now the Druchii retreat had given him an excuse to end the charade. Now he would indulge in the pleasures that he liked to give most: pain and death. And there were enough Druchii around to provide quite a bit of that. The Keeper of Secrets was about to end a duel with a Druchii assassin when something fast and burning entered his view.
Pi: 3.147
The being that had been Malus Darkblade counted two swords, a claw and a near-human hand holding a whip. Malus was without a shield, had melted and burned most of his armor and his weapon was now part of his body. No problem at all.
He used a corpse as a jump-off point and hurled himself at the Demon like a bolt shot from a catapult. He turned slightly sideways and bent his legs to avoid the swords that were moving oh-so-slowly. His sword cut a glowing wound into the Keeper's torso. It was not deep enough to kill, but certainly, enough to hurt mind and body. Malus dived under the claw that wanted to pluck him from the air and rolled forward with the impact. Turning he resumed his attack from a sprinter's stance running so that that all of the Keeper's slow attempts to block were far away from him when he added a deep cut into a leg to the demon's injuries. He had such momentum that he needed more than a few meters to slow his charge, leaving a wet trough in his wake that quickly filled with ice. This time he stayed on the ground, this time he met blade with blade. Putting his blade against the side of the Keeper's sword he pushed up and to the side. If he were fighting a true elf his blade would now point at the enemy's face, here it plunged into the demon's belly.
The scream that reached his ears was off, sounding too deep and slow to convey the agony that his blow had to cause. It slowed his enemy down enough that he decided to make a stand. The Warpsword left the Keeper's belly in time to intercept a claw that went for his face. Instead of burying itself into Malus' head, the appendage dropped into the snow that had all colors except white.
Darkblade had all the time in the world to think about whether he wanted to cut the Keeper's throat or make another incision to extend the suffering when something wrapped itself around his legs.
The world had slowed so much since Malus had become more than he was before. Now he had all the time needed to lament his own stupidity. He had forgotten about the whip used by the Keeper of Secrets. It now coiled around his boots and legs, the barbs on it biting deep into the limbs. His legs were pulled upwards, tilting the world around him on its head. Something in the whip tried to poison Malekith's general and burned before it could do any additional damage. Still, Malus was helpless to evade the strikes that were sure to come.
The whip did not immobilize his arms though and he struck at the first target that presented itself. He had one chance to wound the Keeper's of Secrets sufficiently and aiming was difficult in his position, so he went for center mass. The Warpsword went for the point where it would do the most damage all by itself.
Time seemed to slow even further for Malus and he had the opportunity to watch the sword go for the red, glowing jewel that hung from the Keeper's harness. Something was not right about this and he was about to pull his arm back when the tip of the sword met the jewel. Then it was too late to do anything.
Most of the army that N'Dhama had led from the Chaos Desert were denizens of the warp. Their ability to exist in what mortals called "reality" was strictly limited. Slaanesh had allowed for this and had given N'Dhama a gift like no other. The jewel that had been sewn into the Keeper of Secret's chest was a direct conduit to the Warp. It gathered untold energies there and transported them to this plane of existence. Within a few kilometers, it allowed the elder Children of Pleasure to act.
Now it was pierced by a weapon that cut both in the mundane world as on the other side of the veil.
Malus Darkblade's world had slowed down so much that he could perceive the initial stages of the jewel's eruption and experience a measure of fear. He was no longer around when a mushroom-shaped cloud hid most of the battlefield.
Neustadt, Naggaroth
Kouran Darkhand had taken the halberd from the hands of his predecessor after he had killed his old mentor in a duel he had manipulated the old Druchii into. He carried it for more than a century now and had used it for training and combat every day of this time. Missing a target with it was as unthinkable as voluntarily stopping his heart. The blade smashed the thin metal protecting the innards and spilled them on the floor. Buttons, multicolored cables and batteries dropped into the snow.
The Black Guard's commander fixed the fortifications before him with a long gaze before retreating back to his lines.
He was watched by several humans through several binoculars and at least one high-powered telescope. Torsten Breitkop's shoulders heaved and a breath left him that he could not remember holding. Squaring his shoulders and straightening his back he turned towards the others in the observation tower.
"That was hardly unexpected, wasn't it? Still, worth the try. Let's get on with it then. You people call me the second something changes over there, will you?"
There were several variants of "Yes Patron" and the German made his exit accompanied by Anja. All those who remained were more than happy that their patron had not sent anybody to negotiate with the Druchii and had provided a field telephone instead. Breitkop was still making his way towards his office cum headquarters when "I still don't get it." left his lips.
Anja, who might not know a screw from a bolt, but wise in the way of men beyond her years decided that stewing in his own thoughts would do her lover no good.
"You don't get what my love?"
"Why Kouran Darkhand and by extension, Malekith refused my offer. I am no general, but even I know that they cannot afford another front. And even they have to see that if they manage to take Neustadt they will kill so many workers and damage so much equipment that they will receive less than what we offered. "Ship us raw materials and semi-finished products and we will make as many weapons and ammunition as possible." That would work best for them and they can "take care" of us when they are finished with the Chaos Stumpies. But no, the high and mighty Malekith has to have it his way or no way. So yes, I do not understand. Is it just because they are Druchii?"
Anja's laugh was like a crystal bell and world-weary bitter at the same time
"No, it is not because they are Druchii and therefore different than us. It is because they are torturers. The human kind is no different and I would think the same goes for any other."
Breitkop's forehead creased impressively and he stopped his stride to look at his lover.
"And now I do not understand you as well. Am I getting old?"
"No, not that. It is just that you lack experience in some things and that is a very good thing. We have our little games lover, but their goal is to excite each other. A real torturer would despise them or think them of a mockery. Excitement for him or his victim is usually the last thing on his mind. Every time he or she hurts a victim, binds them or humiliates them, it is about control. They want to control every movement, every sensation and every breath so that they get inside their victim's head. They want to remake them in their image. They try to make them afraid of doing anything their "master" forbids them, of spilling every secret and betraying every friend they have. That is common to all of them, but the bleeding Druchii made this the core of their society.
The boss regularly tortures his underlings so they are too afraid of coveting his position. Fathers try to educate their children by such punishments that they will quake at the thought of murdering them. Even arguments in their marriages are settled that way. They crave control, because they have made themselves a world where those without control at all times are bound, hurt and humiliated. They cannot relinquish it voluntarily as you cannot stop breathing."
Anya searched for understanding in her lover's face and found the beginnings of it. And the resolve to deal with it, no matter what.
"Jesus, I should know how fucked up they are, but trying to wrap my head around it is still difficult."
"Not so difficult when you have been the victim of their ministrations, believe me."
"And they will never do that again. Let's go where its warmer love. Did you hear anything from Germany this morning?"
"Nothing of any substance. It is up to us for now."
The morning shift close to the Blankensee airport was by no means boring, but it was far from being as busy as the airspace around Hamburg or, god forgive, Frankfurt. The old-timers never got bored of telling their younger colleagues of the "old days" when things were really busy. The recipients of this wisdom nodded and went on with it.
The second cup of coffee of the morning made its way to the traffic controller's lips when the radio lit up. The transmission was so-so, with high frequencies missing and a deep gravelly voice emitting from the headphones.
"Blankensee ground, this is Papa one seven nine, request VFR advisories"
"Papa one seven nine, this is Blankensee ground. As you roll out of your turn, traffic will be a Doppelstorch at your 11 o'clock and 3 miles, entering the downwind. Report that traffic in sight."
""Blankensee ground, this is Papa one seven nine. Traffic in sight. Request landing instructions."
"Papa one seven nine, you are cleared for helo space 01. Be advised wind is 012, 5 knots."
""Blankensee ground, this is Papa one seven nine, copy Helo space 01 and wind 5 knots."
A few minutes later the traffic controller watched the huge dragon settle on the ground. Falrauch had finally mastered decent radio procedure and kept to flight plans. Two intercepts by the Luftwaffe and a close encounter in the Empire with a Falke interceptor had made inroads on the dragon's hoard and finally made an impression.
The controller sniggered at the excitement the dragon still caused in the old timers…
Great Forest
The ruin had been a tower once. Who had built it in this Sigmarforsaken part of the Great Forest was well forgotten, what it had protected lost in an unfathomable past. It had been sturdy, a construction of huge stones and stout trees. Time and nature had probably taken longer than usual, but had taken down the edifice as they did to all things. The wooden supports had rotted and broken away. Rain had entered the building, lichen, creepers and moss had attacked the mortar between the stones. The iron of brackets had rusted away, leaving holes in its way. Storms and minor shits in the ground had shaken the weakened structure till parts of it collapsed on itself. Plants twisted and turned everywhere, insects crawled all over the place, ate and died.
More creepers had made a start and small trees had taken root in the dirt that filled the gaps. Plants twisted and turned everywhere, insects crawled all over the place, ate and died. By now the ruin was a picturesque picture of the victory of nature over man, of the value of human achievements. It was also a lie.
Below the tower were caves, vaults and tunnels. These had been restored and maintained. They were full of ancient furniture, of dusty tomes and arcane apparatus. The halls were mostly shrouded in darkness, but their denizens never missed a step. There was bustling activity, of mending, of managing resources and removing of wastes. Life, such as mortals understood it, there was none. Skeletons pushed carts and brooms, other undead performed tasks which seemingly made no sense. Some of the undead had exceeded their mortals' forms, having gained more useful limbs, sometimes quite a lot of them. None of them dared coming near the central chamber when the time was right. And by the eldritch flashes that emerged from under the door and the baleful light of the wards that time was right now.
The chamber beyond that door was filled with wisdom that exceeded mortal understanding. Dusty books vied for place with relics of ages forgotten. Vials, spanners and less identifiable tools and potions cluttered the benches around something a bier. It contained something that looked like the remains of a human, a Ragnarök Spider and an EMC Power Edge server. Metal rails were attached to the forelimbs and might carry weapons in the future. All what was needed was the ritual to tie them together and entice the force beyond the veil to take residence in the construct.
The being that called the fastness his was ugly beyond imagination. As any other member of his line the Necrarch was deeply into the lore of the dead, having inherited the most complete lore from great Nagash himself. Such knowledge was not meant for any being that resided in the mundane world, be it alive or undead. It pushed on the limbs and the skin, on the face and anything else, twisting it into caricatures of what they should be. Nevertheless the vampire moved with energy and purpose, preparing himself and his lab for the ritual to come. The stars were aliened right, the indigents prepared and the subjects well chosen. He just needed to bring his mind to the right place and…fuck.
The Nerarch hurried to a chest protected by both wards and locks and disengaged them one by one. How could he be so forgetful, how could he miss such an important step? He unwrapped a flat box from a piece of fine leather and pushed his claws to the right places. Moving under the one place where his lab was open to the night-time sky he impatiently waited till the right runes lit up and showed their readiness.
Only then would he open the "Magie Melden" (Report Magic) app on the smartphone and keyed in what kind of magic he was about to use and when. This was absolutely crucial, more so than nearly any other step in his experiment. Two of his competitors had either forgotten about this requirement of the treaties the Necrarch had concluded with the Reiksbund or thought they could ignore them. One had a visit by a bunch of very rough, power-armored warriors, the fastness of the other was a crater now.
No way he was going to take such a risk.
Goethe Schule (Goethe School), Seven Heavens, Cathay
Li Fen Chang could simply not understand why she had to read and interpret "Emilia Galotti". This was a story about a world that she had no connection to, of a time even her German classmates could not remember. Both she and the chang bizi had a hard time taking the plot seriously. Really now, a young woman that would reject the advances of a noble? That would just hurt her, reduce her chances for advancement and endanger her family. Her German classmates seemed to have more problems with the noble just kidnapping a girl he liked. Which just got to show that they were terribly sheltered and naïve. It would be nice to live in a world where she would have a choice, but that was just a dream wasn't it?
Germany and the Reiksbund had a ravenous appetite for raw materials and needed markets for the many products it offered. Mines had to be built, harbors maintained, maintenance offered and hotels operated. In the year of Sigmar 2534 more Germans were abroad then at nearly any other time during the last 50 years or so. And where they went, very often so did their children,. They needed schooling and so the Goethe Institute enlarged its mandate from offering German culture abroad to operating schools for German expats all over the Warhammer World. These schools were open to anybody who paid tuition and able to speak enough German to follow the lessons. Needless to say there were more than a few traders and nobles who paid to send their children to the place where the Germans taught their secrets.
Li Fen's father would have no problem at all understanding the point of teaching about Emilia Galotti if he had known about it. He would not have approved, but would only listen when his daughter referred to German lessons about their politics, science and technology. This "literature" stuff was just boring, the German writers lacked the polished elegance of the Cathayan poets. Had he paid attention he would grasp the message of capricious nobles with too much power and commoners are humans too right then and there. Given that he enjoyed the privileges of an Imperial Mandarin very much he would rethink his decision of sending his third daughter to the chang bizi school, if he had known.
All over the Warhammer World the children of the rich and mighty learned of a very different set of values, of science and indeed of very different ways to think. The Leopard Tank and the Seeadler Carrier had left their mark on this world. The Goethe Schools would surpass them in importance by far, they would just take longer.
Northern Chaos Desert, 250 kilometers from Kislevite Border
The ritual circle was well hidden, deeply in a cave and hidden by a carefully crafted illusion spell. The staid followers of the four gods would not understand, not really. None of the robed beings assembled around the shrine were about to forego their oaths to their gods. Yet, it was hard to forget what they had seen, seen for real. There was a new power in this world, one that could not be ignored, an Angel of Death. It was of terrible beauty, showed no mercy to those it considered heretics and consumed all those who stood in its way . It was clear it was not of this world, so prayers and sacrifices might indeed still its hunger for souls. And some of the cultists dreamt of the day when the Angel would intercede on their behalf. Oh what an epic sight that would be.
While the blood of the last sacrifice made its way down the altar the cultists abased themselves around the ritual circle. The sigils around its border glowed in the dark and sometimes changed shape. The likeness of the Angel in the middle was of otherwirdly beauty. The artist had caught the image burned into every mind around the circle perfectly. The Angel's rump was straight and slender, being a flawless silver body. The wings were fixed at a rakish angle and eight pods hung under them. A great mouth was gaping on the underside of the likeness as it had been in their visions and fire dropped from it, burning all below,
The ritual was lengthy and asked for much sacrifice. It was a successful one though, all cultists agreed they had heard the voice of the Angel. All of them could describe it, yet none would be able to name the TF-33 engines that produced that howl.
The Angel of Death
A tower in Frankfurt, Germany
The sight from the top of the tower was breath-taking, even if the city's lights diminished the stars a bit. The telescope on the roof was an expensive high-end model, capable of great resolution and able to gather minuscule quantities of light. The white and stainless steel instrument had been much modified by sigils and wards. Additional cogs and pointers made from brass were clamped to it. The man that bent over it was clad in a blue robe bedecked with stars and comets. He watched the stars and their movements intensely, Truth to be told, it was not the movement of the stars that offered a glimpse into the future, they were a way to concentrate the mind of the Azyr mage. When he finally straightened his back his eyes needed a moment to focus on the well dresses men and women before him.
"The stars do not lie, I advise you to go long on aerospace assets."
Lustrian Jungle
The first sign were the tremors that travelled through the ground. They were strong enough to be felt even through feet clad in scales and thick skin. The light that lit the horizon with a false dawn was the next portent, rousing the beastly minds with alarm. The deep rumble brought the herd together. They were fearsome beats, huge sporting rows of long teeth and even longer claws, clad in scales the hardness of iron. Still, something was challenging the apex predators of the Lustrian Jungle and they would not let that go unanswered. Long necks lifted scaly heads to the heavens and the night -time air carried the Stegadon's roar far and wide. Only a few heard it, as on a brilliantly blue flame Phoibus-06 clawed upwards to orbit. All the fury of burning nearly a thousand tons of volatile fuels a second provided acceleration to the huge spacecraft and drowned out the cries of Lustria's largest predators.
Kopernikus Station, Orbit around the Warhammer World
The room had no windows, but the few operators inside could see everything. Kopernikus was the primary communications node for most of the spy satellites orbiting the Warhammer World as well as many secure communications sent via satcom by various sources. The few men and women in the room were not tasked with interpreting any of it, that was done groundside. They still needed to be able to tap into the channels to see if something was off with the connections. And something was just very much off, something had activated all kinds of sensors and alarms. It fell to the eyes glued to several screens to see if this was glitch or data.
Several tried to take in as much data as they could and matched what they saw with their experience and the data banks. When several sources reported roughly the same thing the likelihood that what they saw was really there they looked at each other before three heads nodded in unison. A slender hand punched a rarely used button and waited for the connection to be established.
"Madet, Madet, Madet. Kopernikus station reports a magical explosion of at least eight kilotons yield 500 klicks north-east of Ghrond. We see a release at least 250 Megarandi, all Winds. No sir, this is a one-time release, we see no further activity. Yes sir, we will assign all available sensors on this right away. We will report ASAP Sir."
"Jeez, that was a big one."
Close to Neustadt, Naggaroth
The warriors around Kouran Darkhand were the best true Elvenkind had. They had been taken from their families at birth, they had been trained to be Malekith's finest soldiers ever since they took their first steps. Their resolve in combat was legendary, their abilities with all manners of bladed weapons unquestioned. Often they had stiffened a faltering offense or defended when all seemed lost. Nearly as often they had taken the life of the hapless commanding officer who had forced them to rescue Malekith's cause. They were stationed at Naggarond itself when they were not needed in combat. They had received modern weapons and training during the last few years and formed an impenetrable bodyguard for the Witch King.
Until now.
Now they were asked to quell a revolt of slaves. Only their legendary discipline kept them from rejecting a mission fit for the lowest grade of troops. That this mission had the highest priority was a salve to the Black Guard. If this den of revolt was not taken soon the true Elves would find themselves without the new model weapons which alone promised victory. Warriors of lower skill might accomplish the task as well, but they would not take this Neustadt undamaged.
Distasteful as this mission might be, it had to be done. Kouran looked at the rows of barbed wire between him and the city. There were low-slung bunkers and some zig-zagging trenches. Nearly nothing could be seen of the defenders, Darkhand had expected nothing less.
He did not even bother to turn towards the Tower Masters which attended the briefing. He did not try to hide his disgust and contempt.
"They are hiding from their betters as they should. No Elves they, not even warriors of some kind. They allowed themselves to be slaves and that they shall be again soon.
Isanth, your company scored best with the rifles. Form a firing line at that ridge and let them have it when the horn is blown. Every slave you kill will please Khaine, but mostly we need to keep their heads down.
Dergast, your halberds will make short work of that barbed wire, open a path.
Sil'da, your flame throwers need to go to those bunkers. Kill those who do not run.
Remember, these are slaves who have been pampered by stupid humans. They now think they have rights, that they have a say on what we can do to them. This cannot stand, if this gets out to others we will have to put down a rebellion every other day. Try to kill as few slaves as possible, these have valuable skills and we need their production as fast as possible. Others cannot do this we are the Black Guard, we carry out Malekith's will. Get to it warriors."
Inside Neustadt, Naggaroth, 15 minutes later
Sigmarslieb was no warrior, never had been. He had dim memories of being a ship's boy until the black ships had found him. The Dark Elves on board had done such things to him. He had to work hard at not thinking about them, then he would collapse into a useless shivering pile. If he failed like that they would do even worse things to his fellow slaves. Sigmarslieb had become much better since he had been brought into Neustadt. Still, the thought of just looking at a Druchii sent shivers down his spine, thinking of fighting them was beyond ridiculous. Fortunately, he neither had to fight them, nor see them. All he had to do was lift those bombs and drop them into the waiting mouth of this mortar thingie when he was told to do so. He could do that very well, he had worked so hard for the Druchii that he had ropey, strong muscles. He did not mind the loud blasts that followed, he just cared to drop as many bombs down that hole as he could.
Sigmarslieb was very good at doing that.
Hern was not so strong, but he could read numbers and had fast fingers. He set the dials on the mortar to whatever numbers were screamed at him in record time. And the same ex-slaves who had worked on a production line like well-oiled machinery now supplied Herm and Sigmarslieb with an unending stream of bombs with propellant fixed around the tails and fuses set just so.
None of them were warriors. Nevertheless, they killed Druchii in carload lots.
Bunker before Neustadt, same time
Gernod knew that he could never face a Druchii warrior in direct combat. He had tried that, a long time ago. The thrice-damned Elves moved with the grace given to cats and the speed of lighting. They had disarmed him in seconds and pinned him to the ground so that he could watch what they did to his family. Nothing they did after that could burn away his hatred. After all the years of working and learning arcane skills, like working a lathe, he would still be overwhelmed by a Spitzohr in short order. It did not matter at all. The closest Elf was about 300 meters away from him, or so the range card said. And all he had to do was to line up the clumps of wannabe torturers in his sight, make sure that the right elevation was set, and push that butterfly trigger with his thumbs.
The machine gun would convert all those lovely rounds in the belt into fire, fury, and a most satisfying recoil. The tripod kept that in check and the first burst toppled several Druchii with no problem at all. The tripod also put limits on his hate, he could not swivel the gun as far as he liked. He had been assigned a field of fire, he served that with a gun in the next bunker. It was just a small cone that needed his attention. That was not unlike working in the factory, he was always only responsible for a small part of the whole. There he could perfect the few tasks he performed again and again. Here he had more than enough Druchii in his sights to quench the fire of his rage in blood, for now.
Other machine gunners might worry about stoppages, but not him. His loader was Kuan Ti, the sweety with two kids she talked so much about. Every round in the belt was checked and checked again and her nimble fingers made sure they were fed straight into the machine gun. Gernod no longer had children of his own and killing Druchii would not bring them back. He could help defend hers though.
Druchii camp, a kilometer before the Neustadt front line, two hours later
Kouran Darkhand's face did not move a millimeter when the medic removed another piece of shrapnel from his shoulder. He had taken and caused far more pain and would kill any weakling who would react to such treatment with anything but disdain. Still, it would not do to ignore the wound as this had the potential to reduce his worth as a warrior to Malekith. The thought of that nearly made him wince, he and the Black Guard had failed the Witch King badly today.
He had made a very basic mistake and underestimated the enemy, badly so. He had been so sure that no slave would dare to stand against any Druchii, let alone the Black Guard. Maybe he was even right, but he had hardly seen any slave during the two assaults. Explosions had rained down here and there with next to no warning. Single shots and machine gun salvos had come from emplacements hard to spot and harder to suppress. Any warrior who had stood up to cut that damned barbed wire had been cut down in short order. He had to call his warriors back, they would have died trying, and retreating was not in them.
It was his mistake, a mistake that had killed nearly a hundred Black Guards and wounded many more. This hurt and the thought of calling for reinforcements made his stomach churn.
The medic had finished his stitches soon enough and Kouran stepped from the tent when his ears started to twitch. Waiting a second for his consciousness to parse what his ears had already detected he heard a faint, off-tune whistling. He had heard that before, on several demonstrations and just an hour before. He was making for the next available cover while he screamed for his warriors to do the same before he had fully understood that more mortar bombs were on his way. The first salvo went short, giving him a stinking, fuming, blessed piece of depression where Malkeith's chosen warrior could hide from the slaves' wrath.
Bundeskanzleramt, Berlin
There had been a time when meetings of the Security Cabinet had been few and far between. They usually had been about issues that were driven by greater powers than the good old Bundesrepublik and most of the time the decisions in those sessions had not meant life or death for a lot of people. The more experienced members of the cabinet missed those times, others reveled in their newfound importance.
The colonel who gave the briefing came to a close with a final PowerPoint slide.
"To sum it up, we observed a detonation of at least nine kilotons 250 kilometers north of Karkan Station. It was concurrent with the release of 250 Megarandi of magical energy, of no discernible Wind, which indicates Chaos energy. We do not detect a rift into the Warp at the place of the detonation. Normally we would not expect such an event at the relatively low energy expended, but there were doubts whether that would hold true so close to the Chaos desert.
The incident happened in an area contested by substantial Druchii and Chaos forces. Satellite recon cannot find many survivors of either force. Neither are there any large-scale movements towards Naggaroth proper, nor do we see trains resupplying the Druchii. Given this outcome the most likely explanation is the failure of a major spell that wiped out both armies."
Uwe Junge's voice managed to carry both vindication and Schadenfreude.
"Told you that this mess would clear itself up, no need to endanger a single serviceman's life. And they manage to off themselves with style, what more can you ask?"
"Maybe a better explanation what the fuck happened there. I for one would not like to see an accident or whatever that was happen in Berlin or anywhere else."
Markus Söder was more than a little exasperated.
"Christian, please contact the Asur, they are closer to this mess than we are and magic is their hat. Maybe they have better answers. Lothar, push the intelligence weenies, I do not like what happens in that icebox. This might not be the last unpleasant surprise from there."
"Will do Markus."
Camp Joy, close to Kar Karond
A chain led from Lady Heles Jeres' iron collar to the bolt on the wall. It was long enough to allow her to use the bucket for wastes. The cell had a window high up in the wall, too high for her to reach and too small to wiggle herself through, it was barred by iron bars still. She had a threadbare blanket to cover herself and a layer of thresh between her and the stone floor. She shared the small room with four other Druchii women who were in the same state as herself.
Lady Jeres knew she should not complain, she had it good for now. If she needed any reminder of that, the screams and other sounds that came from different parts of the former slave pen would remind her. Whenever she heard the sounds her nether parts tried to clamp themselves shut in the memory of the past months.
Heles was Druchii, she had prided herself that she knew how to give and take pain and humiliation. Oh how wrong she had been, she had experienced things that she had not even imagined before. For now, she was free of such things, as long as she took care of herself and…them. Her experiences had burrowed themselves into her mind and soul, the mere thought of resisting or harming herself too much brought an involuntary whimper to her lips.
Whether it was remembering the last months or simply their wont the denizens of her womb started moving again. Lady Jeres had given birth to several children, she could not remember any of them being so energetic at this stage. Whether this was so or not, the movements brought the pressure in her bladder to the point where she could no longer ignore it. She no longer cared that the other Druchii in the room could see her, they were all long past such niceties.
When she made it back to her thresh she made sure to lay on her right side, becoming unconscious would not do. This pregnancy was the hardest she ever had. She still wished that it would never end. If she successfully gave birth to what she thought to be twins she would be available again. And then they would be back.
Lady Heles Jeres shuddered at the thought.
Gulf of Naggarond
Ernutan Doomshackler could still not believe that he was worthy of Lord Mordred's trust and praise. Even so, the proof of his trust was all around him, in insignias of his elevated rank and far more DawiZharr warriors that were his to command. Only recently had he received two new gifts. One kept him alive, the other would hopefully allow him to fulfill his mission with fewer losses.
The first token of Mordred's affection was a set of periscopic binoculars. They allowed him to observe the battlefield-to-be with leisure, to note the strong and weak points of the dandelion eater's defences without getting his head shot off. Ernutan was dead sure that he had used up any luck he was due in this life with the Druchii snipers during this campaign. They managed to be absolutely invisible until they took their shot and nearly always hit what they aimed for.
He loved the new binoculars, but he did not like the picture they presented. The space between the cliffs and the cold water of the gulf was filled with defenses of some kind. There were the half-seen, half-imagined lips of trenches and foxholes, There were the low mounds of bunkers with cleverly concealed firing slots. Some places were covered by barbed wire, others were dotted with spikes and some places, most worryingly, were empty. Whether they held concealed traps or were simply bottlenecks that were to funnel his warriors in front of the machine guns Ernutan was not eager to learn.
If things went as planned, he would not need to. Stepping back from his observation post he was met by his brigade leaders.
His voice indicated that their answers better be the right ones.
"Are all troops in their starting positions?"
He received several "ayes"
"Is the wind favorable?"
"Yes Sire."
Then what are we waiting for? Go to your troops, lead them well. Taurid, open the valves in five minutes, and then we shall see if this works."
Five minutes later Ernutan heard a deep hiss emanating from several positions in front of his observation post. It was not as loud as the roar of a dragon and had a higher pitch, but it still managed to sound at least as threatening.
A greenish fog came from several pipes that had been laid last night. The wind went towards the Druchii and so Ernutan watched as a cloud of Chlorine moved to kill them all. If this worked he might be able to grind through the elven defences between here and Naggarond without killing another army of DawiZharr.
The green fog was not stopped by the barbed wire, it hid the bunkers as they had never been. He might imagine it or he might actually hear the screams of confusion, fear, and pain. He had seen what this chlorine did to slaves and imagining this happening to the Druchii warmed Doomshackler's heart.
He looked at his watch and saw that there were about two minutes of gas remaining when the howling started. One second there was the fog, the next one something that might be a localized winter storm. It pushed at the gas and dispersed it all over the landscape, including the DawiZharr lines.
Ernutan coughed his attack order instead of making a bold statement.
He could just watch as his warriors left their assault trenches and made for the Druchii. For a long, long moment he could hope that the chlorine had killed the defenders. His troops crossed most of the no-man's land without taking many casualties. They started cutting the wire and were only inconvenienced by a few stray shots.
The DawiZharr started going through the breech they made when a machine gun started firing, followed by another. Ernutan's warriors were in the open, hemmed in the wire, and could not really take cover. They had to go through and enough of them made it through to roast the bunkers with flame throwers. Ernutan saw the next wave of DawiZharr stepping on the bodies of the first one. They made it through the defences mostly alive and vanished into the interior of the Druchii stronghold.
They had been there for less than half an hour when huge explosions rose in the middle of the fortifications. The elven stronghold on the other side of the gulf used its huge mortars against something other than a ship.
In the evening the true dwarves had carried the day and captured the Druchii position. Measured against the experiences of Hag Graef the casualties were low. They had brought Lord Mordred five kilometres closer to Naggarond and would have to repeat the effort soon enough.
Neustadt, Naggaroth
Anja huddled herself to Torsten Breitkop. Not in the nice glow of having enjoyed themselves, but for warmth and comfort.
"We did good enough Torsten, didn't we?"
"Better than I'd hoped actually. And if nothing else, that lifted morale like no tomorrow."
"I hear a but?"
"But now they will call for reinforcements. I have seen this Black Guard before, at theTower of Cold. If I remember right they did not fight in this war. They have rifles and some heavy weapons, but they have not learned about the new way war is fought. Sooner or later they will bring in the guys and gals who have seen the elephant.
And while our people fought well I fear what happens when they breach our lines."
"Isn't that what your new project is for?"
"It is. But the first trial of a weapon rarely goes well. And we will die if we need it and it does not."
"I hope we are that lucky."
"You say the nicest things, my love."
This TL has seen its share of specials, it never had a Halloween one. And yet, here it is. As is appropriate for a special that is set on Haloween's evil brother, Geheimnisnacht, this is full of fearsome things, of murder, blood and mayhem. I fondly believe it can compete with the horror flics I watched so long ago, there is only a little twist....
Beer takes us to the carnival and Geneva. What could possibly go wrong....
Andyheong proofread large parts of this update, thanks. What errors remain are mine.
30 Kilometer from Haltdorf, the Great Forest, Empire
Dusk started to leech the light from the small clearing. Colors shifted from bright green and rich brown to darker tones and grey.
Sunlight did not reach the bottom of the clearing often, so moulding and rotting and plants and foliage covered the ground. Worms and insects burrowed through the mulch, trying to find sustenance.
A stone stood upright in the middle of the clearing. It did not fit into the middle of the forest and bore mute testimony of the unknown forces had brought it to this place. One of its sides was smooth, rounded by whatever liquid had taken eons to whittle it down. The other was coarse, with many sharp edges. It looked like something had cleaved the stone in two, its other half nowhere to be seen.
Even the smooth side had lines. They were washed out, nearly gone in some places, well defined in others. They conformed to no known language and might as well be shaped by natural forces. If one was to look at the lines for too long, they seem to move and wiggle in a dance that is both unnatural and hypnotic, drawing the eyes and clouding the mind.
The fading light allowed the lines to shine with a greenish glow that seemed to grow more intense as the sun finally went down on the unseen horizon. When the last light of day was finally gone, a dark liquid seemed to spill from the stone. If there was someone to examine the phenomenon, the person will find that the old saying of 'getting blood out of stone' came to pass.
Jagdfalke T, in cradle of Airship Carrier Graf Zeppelin, 4000 meter AGL
Hauptmann Eberhard von Roon was able to watch the sun a moment longer as he was that high up. Spectacular as the view was, he had little time for it. As long as his plane had been inside the airship's hangar, it would have been madness to start the engines.
The Jagdfalke had brought its wings to the flight position before it was lowered through the launching hatch. Now it was time to rouse his steed from slumber.
He and his observer could both cite the checklist up and down, left and right and drunk on Dwarven ale. He still listened while Norbert vom Bruch read the checklist line by line. Launching a plane from the Graf Zeppelin was like defusing a bomb, there was no room for errors.
"Fuel pump to on"
"Fuel pump is on"
"Fuel Pressure 2 bar"
"Fuel Pressure is 2.05"
"Prop to feather"
"Props are feathered."
"Initiate Ignition sequence."
"Sequence is on."
"Left engine first, prop to full pitch."
"Left engine, prop to full"
If the Empire's wooden wonder had been on an ordinary runway, high-pressure air would have been squeezed into the engine. While underway under the airship Eberhard had other options. When he pitched the propeller blades just so the slipstream turned it quickly indeed. This moved the turbine blisks that usually powered the prop, pulling air through the engine.
There were enough electronics controlling the engine to make up half a smartphone. It was more than enough to recognize the airflow was sufficient, and so fuel was admitted into the combustion chamber.
It ignited at once and when that stabilized, it powered up the compressor blades up front, increasing airflow considerably. Without needing any input from the pilot, the engine ramped itself up while fathering the propeller again, lest the Jagdfalke tear itself from the cradle.
The second engine needed no longer to spool up than then first, while the crew went through more checklists.
And then came the divine moment
"Graf control, this is Falke 01, ready for drop at your mark."
"Falke 01, this is Graf control. Copy ready for drop. Dropping now, now, now."
And on the third "now" Eberhard von Roon lost all weight and dropped like a stone for a moment. Pointing the Falke's nose down he pushed the throttle all forward and the plane accelerated very nicely indeed. By now the airstream over the wings was more than enough to provide lift and the pilot pulled the Jagdfalke to the right. It certainly would not do to collide with the carrier while gaining altitude.
Falke 02 dropped a minute later and joined Eberhard's plane when they made their way to the part of the Empire that was theirs to patrol. The landscape below them was bathed in an eerie light provided by two full moons.
30 Kilometers from Haltdorf
The stone's coarse side had started to glow green ever since the sun went down. The green glow intensified as the light from Morslieb crawled across the clearing reaching towards the stone. When the fell moon's light touched the stone, there was a brilliant green flash which bathed the clearing. After the flash died, the clearing was lit with a sickly multicolored light that shifted hues in a random and unnatural ways.
The light was broken up by shadows produced by the things that crawled from the rift into the Warp. The shadows crawled over the ground, misshapen and shifting all the time. They did not lie or distort too much, the beings that emerged into the Great Forest were obviously not of this world.
Most lacked symmetry, were covered by scales, feathers, rough skin or none at all. They had all colors of the rainbow and some that were hard to describe. Snouts opened, revealing long, uneven fangs and what might be noses tried to sniff every scent. Some indeed managed to detect far-off scents, while others sensed souls.
Misshapen heads turned here and there before they all agreed on a direction. A discordant howl rose up to the two moons in the sky, and the horde started to run. Usually, these denizens of the Warp would not remain stable in the mundane world without considerable magic. Tonight, however, was a very special night. A night blessed by the True Gods. This would be a time when they have free reign and could hunt any mortals unlucky enough to be in their path.
While the demons were able to spot any mortal for many miles, they could not detect the new watchers that were looking for the ripples of their passing into the mundane world. From fixed stations in fortified cities, planes that patrolled the vast Empire to Kopernikus Station high above the world, the discharge of magical energies was detected. Locations were triangulated, warnings sent and armed forces placed at even higher levels of readiness.
Armored train Hammer,120 km from Altdorf
Captain von Pfeilstadt listened to the scratchy voice that emerged from the loudspeaker. Given that the voice originated from a Spatz observer plane lighter than a car and using a wireless set older than the pilot the quality of the connection wasn't that bad.
"Hammer, this is Auge. Adjust fire, over.
"Auge, this is Hammer, Adjust Fire, out."
"Grid 345781, over.
"Hammer copies 345781, out"
"Hammer, target is many demons in the open, moving west at about 20 kph."
"Hammer copies demons in the open. Gun one and two, five rounds HE out."
"Auge copies five rounds HE."
Pfeilstadt gripped the edge of the table before him without thinking. It took less than 20 seconds for the 155 mm howitzers closest to roar their challenge to the world. Their flash did not penetrate the command car's blinds, but the train shook with the power needed to accelerate 50 kilogram packages of hate to twice the speed of sound.
His artillery team had started clocks when the first rounds left their barrels and contacted the observer 30 seconds later.
The ground was smashed with overpressure and razor-sharp shrapnel filled the air, creating instant circles of death. Some shrapnel ripped in the warp denizens, banishing them back into the Empyrean, while others wasted themselves on dirt and foliage.
"Auge, this is Hammer, Splash, over."
"Hammer, Auge Splash out."
Quite a few kilometres from Hammer, the sky was ripped apart by a rumble like a passing freight train. The shells fired by Hammer's guns dropped back into the Great Forest. Some emitted radar waves and detonated when they were still 10 meters from the highest treetops. Others used superquick fuses and exploded when they so much as touched a tree.
All produced beat down on the ground below with overpressure and razor-sharp shrapnel, creating instant circles of death.
The Spatz's infrared camera might be a commercial model usually sold to fire brigades, but it managed to show the hits and misses well enough.
"Hammer, this is Auge, Direction 2,500, add 100, left 50, over"
"Hammer copies Direction 2,500, add 100, left 50, over"
The huge barrels changed their direction and azimuth minutely before flash and muzzle blast assaulted Hammer's crew again. The shells arched over many kilometres of dense forest before dropping down again. This time the winds that had pushed the shells around were accounted for, and the enemy's movements were anticipated better. The shells exploded above a concentration of demons, ripping some apart and leaving others bleeding various fluids and sickly light.
The Spatz's pilot had covered the lens in time, there was no whiteout. When he uncovered the optics, the picture was a grim one. His mouth pulled up into something resembling a smile but it was from anything humorous.
"Hammer, this is Auge. Fire for effect."
"Hammer copies fire for effect. 50 rounds HE."
So far only two of the train's guns had ranged on the enemy, now all four went at it. While the turrets had come from former Paladin SPGs had neither power rammers nor automatic loaders the crew had a serious dose of hate. They shoved the rounds into the waiting breeches like ammo would go out of style tomorrow.
The effects on the warp creatures were beyond horrific. With no way to fight against the artillery, with no understanding what hit them at all, even demons could not endure the pounding. Many were ejected back into the Warp when their bodies were destroyed, even more demons released the hold on the mundane world on their own.
They were assaulted by something they could not see, could not understand and certainly could not fight. The mundane world held no prices that made being flayed by razor-sharp shrapnel worth the while.
Five minutes after the fire mission ended Hammer made its way back towards Altdorf. Aerial recon had spotted another demon incursion, and it would cross the railroad at a place the armored train could reach in time.
That massacre would put the artillery strike to shame.
25 kilometers from Haltdorf
Desiretornix ran as fast as his legs would propel him. The forest around him, the squishy ground below his hooves, the wind that passed his scales and the branches that tried to grab his three horns were all unfamiliar sensations.
He could have them only now and then and doubted he would want them every day. It was just too different from the well-known Warp, but for such an old being like the lower demon, anything different than the usual was to be savoured. Yet as refreshing all these sensations were, they were just the appetizer for what was to come.
Like all denizens of the Warp, Desiretornix was fuelled by the thoughts, dreams and emotions of the mortals in what they thought to be the real world. And while the thinking and the unthinking beings provided sustenance, nothing could beat the more specialized variants of thoughts, feelings and dreams.
Those who styled themselves gods would bask in the prayer of the faithful, others would partake in acts they liked and sponsored. Desiretornix and his kind ran on pain and fear. There was a surfeit of that in this world, but so few were exclusively for them.
They were not so mighty that they had a name in the mundane world, no foul deeds were done in their name. But on the rare exciting beautiful occasions when they could enter this reality, when they could inflict themselves on the mortals, then the pain, the fear and the desperation was theirs. And the survivors would leave such a nice aftertaste that lingered forever.
Tonight was Desiretornix's night, it was when his kind reigned supreme and took what they wanted. Before the demons otherworldly senses flickered a cluster of multi-colored lights. Those were the souls that he and his would dine on, he could taste their fear already.
Desiretornix tried to coax more speed from his legs; a feast awaited him.
Haltdorf, the Great Forest, Empire
The sound of the bell filled the village to the palisade and beyond. On any other day Father Hark might have mused on the fact that his village had been too poor to buy a bell. When the money finally turned up a sound system costed less and had more use. The Sigmarite told his flock more than once that he was sure Sigmar himself approved. This might have swayed them, or the grandiose music it would play on demand, he was not sure which.
Now he did not ask his flock to pray or to reflect on the deed and commandments. Tonight was about the core commandments of his faith, protecting the people. And tonight was the night when they all came. Some came full of swagger, maybe convincing themselves, but none else. Others were pale faced and tried to control their panic. All clutched weapons of some sort. In the old days this would have been spears, clubs and flails. Now it was shotguns, single-shot rifles and revolvers.
Father Hark entered the pulpit facing his community. The hammer that was his weapon as much as his badge of office glowed in an orange light, indicating that they were not alone.
"People of Sigmar, hear me, for I am here to proclaim his words and will. We have come together as this is Geheimnissnacht. The night when both moons are full and the Empyrean is closer to our world than any other time. Now is the night when small rifts open and the creatures of the Warp can enter our world.
This was the night when the wise closed their doors and prayed. Those who were lucky looked which of their neighbors survived the night and whom they had to bury. There seemed to be no defense against the demons that entered our word, but for the prayer.
Tonight is not that night. Tonight we have been warned that demons want us, tonight we have mighty weapons. And as always we have Sigmar's aid.
Sigmar protects"
"Sigmar protects"
The congregation answered as one. The young brash and confident, the older ones trying to show their fears.
"I am done with talking for tonight, now I will do my part as member of the militia. Karl Hermsdorf, lead us."
Haltdorf's teacher might no longer be able to march, but that did not mean he had forgotten what he had learned as a Sergeant of the Reiksguard City Detachment.
"I will not waste our time on a speech. You all know what you fight for, your lives and those of your loved ones. You know the plan, we drilled it a thousand times. Remember that bullets fly where you aim them, not where you wish them to go. Watch your comrades back, keep your posts and your wits. I know you, all of you and know you can do this. Now go to your posts and wait for the signal. And when this is done the beer is on me."
Now that brought a cheer and Karl Hermsdorf lead the Haltdorf militia from Sigmar's Chapel. When he passed Father Hark he stopped for a moment.
"None will pass, this I swear in Sigmar's name."
"I know that Father and that is why you are here."
"Thank you Karl."
Sigmar had been a warrior, first and foremost. It ran through his church like a backbone and every priest could fight with the Hammer that was their badge of office. It was just that some did that better and others..not so much.
Father Hark looked after his flock, tried to keep up with the new times, loved sweets and had a friendly word for any of his flock. He balanced the books of the Raiffeisen cooperative and gave sound advice.
He would never lead a platoon of warriors into battle, he would not rouse the faltering spirits of warriors in the midst of combat. So he had left the battle to a professional soldiers and would defend the Sigmar's chapel for all that was worth. Now that the able bodied of his flock had cleared the building all who remained were either too young, too pregnant or too old to be of any use in the coming fight. He had sworn to be their last line of defence and that he would do. It was an open question how much that was worth.
When he turned to check whether all shutters were indeed closed he saw the widow Marks. She had been widowed twice and had buried more than one child. Her first farm had burned before she had taken the chance and joined the then-new Raiffeisen community. The only thing that bent her spine was age, nothing else ever managed that. She was the right woman for the most daunting task of them all and her hand was never far for the still-secured switch.
Haltdorf's children, mothers-to-be and the old ones would live or they would be with Sigmar before the night was out. They would not be demon food, not as long as Marks had her hand close to the detonator connected to many kilograms of dynamite.
She looked straight at Hark and the priest felt checked and weighted. After a long second she nodded and broke contact.
Father Hark was no great warrior, but he had a flock to look after. He squared his shoulders, straightened his back and made his way to his place behind the closed doors. The hammer started glowing more brightly while he made his way.
Silvania, 20 kilometer from Eisigfurth
Manfred von Carstein needed no Magic Detector to see the rifts into the Empyrean. No spy planes were needed to spot the demons that had crawled into the mundane world. He just needed to close his eyes and use the senses he had inherited from his sire. He could see the souls of the living and the shadows the undead left in the Warp.
Silvania had many places where the barriers of the mundane world were gossamer-thin when things were as normal as they got in Carstein's realm. When the two moons were both full at the same time, they were definitely not and so many beings who wanted could do so.
In the old days, he would have amused himself on such a night. Manfred would have sent anything back to the Warp that threatened what was his and left the rest for amusement. That would no longer do, the mortal citizens of Silvania were far more important these days.
Woe betide him if the Reikstag would hear complaints about a ruler who could not protect his subjects. He already had enough Reiksbund troops in Sylvania, protecting the oil wells of course, and keeping a discreet eye on him.
That von Carstein had to protect his investments into infrastructure and a trained workforce that was far too valuable to lose. If nothing else, he needed money for blood; so he would go hunting demons tonight.
The vampire count's sight had revealed more than a few making their way towards the Leichenbad suburbs. He had left one of his lieutenants with a mixed force of militia and undead to cover one side of the town, he would take care of the rest. And truth to be told, he needed a good scrap these days and he itched to try some of his new toys.
The first demons to emerge from the forest were the small ones. Fast and skittish they tried as much to escape their stronger brethren as to find victims. They were a threat to his citizens and to his weaker Undead, but could be dealt with by his soldiers.
The real problem emerged behind them. None of the beings that came into view were alike, but they all possess tough skin, scales or clad other forms of armor. All had long claws of some kind, and beaks or fangs to rend filled too-big mouths. Bringing these down was a much harder job as even with the rifles that his militia had received might not kill them before they had closed the distance.
Time for his new toy then. Von Carstein had all kinds of Germans in his employ. Some he had to send home quickly, as they thought themselves much cleverer than they were. Others brought such interesting lore and allowed him to adapt to the new world the Germans were making.
One thing he had learned quickly was that it paid to listen when one of them asked "why don't you..?" Far too many ideas were outlandish, impractical or grounded in a distorted idea of what he was capable of. Far too often they had ideas which seemed so obvious when asked, but somehow had not occurred to anybody before. Now he got to test one of them.
A swarm of Undead rose from the ground between him and the denizens of the Warp. They were the remains of wily foxes, of dogs and birds. None of them would have any use, but for scouting in the past.
The first of the Undead to strike had been an owl. The forces behind its movements, motivations and flight were as fascinating as they were intricate. Muscles moved despite being dried and bereft of the chemicals that once powered them. There was definitive electrical activity in its brain, but it no longer obeyed the paths described by neurons.
Its connections to the Quantum Sea were quite different from those of mortals. Many of the feathers were no longer present and energies of the Warp had to provide lift where aerodynamics would no longer suffice. All of this presented the German scientists with a sense of wonder and had opened such new fields of study.
The 50-gram charge of industrial dynamite inside the bird's rib cage was far simpler, easier to understand. It detonated when the owl's brittle bones snapped upon impact, removing the head and utterly destroyed the upper body of a towering demon it briefly met though.
Before the demon's remains even hit the ground more detonations lit the night. They converted hard scales and long claws into projectiles that speared many of those who had not met an exploding Undead. When the last bang faded, the horde approaching Manfred was severely reduced in numbers and lacked any cohesion.
The time to attack was now, when the enemy was reeling from the shock and losses. In the old days, he would use his abilities or attack from a chariot. Now he preferred his new Brabus G-Wagen and the machine gun mounted on it. When one had to go to war protecting his subjects one could look good doing it, couldn't one?
Jagdfalke T, Great Forest, 3000 Meter AGL
Hauptmann von Roon pulled his plane into another lazy turn. His wingman was a black dot against a sky illuminated in the darkest green and some 200 meters off. So far this night was an exercise in boredom, yet like any Imperial he knew that would not last.
The radio crackled into life before he had the chance to complete the next racetrack pattern.
"Falke 01, this is Graf Control. We have business for you at coordinates 349698, demons in the open moving north to Reichendorf."
"Graf Control, this is Falke 01. Solid copy on 349698, will take care. 02, follow my lead."
"Falke 02 copies."
By the time the radio went silent, Roon's observer had punched the coordinates into the computer and a steering pip appeared in the pilot's HUD. He pushed the throttles far forward and the Falke accelerated smoothly to 750 kph.
Ten years before von Roon had been happy if his horse carried him over the battlefield fast enough to keep his pistol-toting squadron from melee combat. Now he thought the turboprop fighter-bomber was slow, but it still allowed him to cover a great deal of real estate very quickly.
He still loved his first Falke he had flown against the Chaos Dwarfs, but that bird had been next to useless at night. This one was very different, sporting a very decent set of infrared sensors among other improvements.
Eberhard von Roon had to fly his plane through the night and make sure his wingman was where he was supposed to be and have an eye for the status of a host of systems. That was why the "T" model had an observer, in air-to-mud combat they were a godsend.
"Skipper, I have something on the infrared at 323 degrees, could be our customers."
The pilot did a fast calculation in his head, it was at least possible their targets made their way to this point since the contact report.
"Fast fraggers aren't they?"
"Looks like they really want to party. Got a better pic now, definitively out guests for Geheimnissnacht."
"Show me"
"Yes, Skipper."
Eberhard von Roon watched as his left TFT changed from showing information about the plane with the whites and greys of an infrared picture. White-hot blobs moved through the marshy terrain in jerky jumps and loping runs. The greyscale varied greatly in the beings that moved, ranging from barely warmer than their surroundings to hotter than living organisms should be.
"Looks like the party guests have indeed arrived, let's give them a warm welcome."
Pushing one of the many switches on his throttle he shifted channels.
"Graf control, this is Falke 01. We have found many demons at 349696, moving fast on Reichendorf. Request weapons-free."
"Falke 01, Graf control. Copy demons at 349696. Weapons free, repeat weapons-free."
"Falke 01 solid copy on weapons-free. Falke 02, we go in. Norbert, give me a steer."
"Yes, skipper. Come left to 010, altitude 3,000."
The pilot watched the white blobs change aspect in the TFT when his plane flew right over them. The pod under the Jagdfalke's nose contained an infrared camera that swivelled to keep the targets in sight. His observer could plan the course far better than him as he was less occupied with keeping the plane flying.
"Come left to 260 on my mark, now, now, now."
Bombing a target with unguided ordnance, especially one that could not shoot back, resembled a landing approach. Roon led the plane through three more turns until the Jagdfalke's nose was pointed at the enemy again.
"IP coming up in three, two, one, IP reached."
The pilot pushed the plane down and watched an ellipse move in the TFT, indicating where the ordnance would hit if he were to release now.
His observer read him speed and altitude so that Eberhard could concentrate on aiming.
"2,500 meters, 720 klicks, 2,000 meters 750 klicks, 1,500 meters, 750 klicks, 1,000…"
That was when the ellipse covered the most blobs and that was when Eberhard von Roon unleashed hell. When he pushed the pickle two slender canisters under the wings of the Falke dropped away and started to tumble immediately. With standard bombs that would have been a bad thing, here, not so much.,
When the canisters hit the ground the thin aluminium skin ruptured with all the elegance of a pustule venting. Together with two similar cylinders dropped by Falke 02, viscous liquid covered the demons and the marsh around them. Bits and pieces of white phosphorus lit up as soon as they were exposed to oxygen.
The ground below von Roon was converted from a marshy swamp full of demons into a crematorium in mere seconds. Napalm burned every bit of organic material, mundane or otherwise to fine ashes. The fire consumed any bit of oxygen it could possibly convert, taking breath and life away in similar measure. The few demons that had been outside of the conflagration had one look at the grave of their brethren and released their hold on the mundane world.
Von Roon pulled the now much lighter fighter-bomber into a steep climb combined with a curve that allowed him to observe the effects of his bombing run.
"Graf control, this is Falke 01. Target neutralized, will …fuck me."
"Falke 01, this is Graf control, please repeat, Falke 01 come in."
Hauptmann Eberhard von Roon was an experienced pilot, an ace and the Emperor's flying sword. Even his breath caught when Morslieb silhouetted huge leathery wings and a sinuous body. A head at least the size of the Jagdfalke's cockpit rose on an immense neck and a fanged mouth screamed its challenge into the night-time sky.
The pilot firewalled both engines and pulled his plane away from the winged demon.
"Falke 02, break left, I am taking the shot. Graf control, engaging airborne target."
With the plane lightened after dropping the napalm, it managed to accelerate even when climbing. Roon forced the Jadgfalke into a tight turn with the cockpit pointed half downwards.
The manoeuvre might be uncomfortable but allowed him to keep the demon in sight. A ball of blue lightning broke from the beast's mouth, hopelessly lagging behind the speeding plane. Pushing a button on the joystick changed the picture in the HUD markedly, it was now mostly taken by two lines forming a funnel.
When the plane had taken a 360 degree turn Roon pulled the wings level and put the demon's wings between those two lines. When they matched the wingtips he pressed the firing button firmly. The two 30 mm cannons shook the wooden plane despite their mountings.
Originally developed for the Puma IFVs, they were beasts, firing 600 rounds a minute each at a velocity of 750 meters per second. Each round was able to break through moderate armor and contained a filling that managed to mix explosives with incendiary effects.
Enough of them hit to amputate one of the great wings and fill the mighty chest with fore and shrapnel. Cast from the heavens, leaving a trail of burning fragments all the way the demon ceased to be a threat.
Haltdorf, Great Forest, Empire
The fields had been the first sign that the feast was near. The humans needed these crutches, so they might have food they might indeed eat. They were connected by dirt roads so their carts helped their weak backs. Everything was neat and just so, Desiretornix saw only signs of weakness. The True Gods gave their followers the ability to live on what unfettered nature provided by its own, and a mind that could thrive in a chaotic environment. The cowards and weaklings that lived here were just good to feed Desiretornix and his kind.
The few houses the demons found on their way here had been empty. Their owners had probably thought it clever to hide like rats with their equally weak fellows in the village before them.
They might hope that the simple palisade might stop demonkind. Desiretornix would gladly show them how wrong they were. Lowering his head he ran even faster than before, waiting for the arrow or the single bullet that would hurt him enough to rouse his anger. None came, neither for him nor for any other demon that assaulted the village.
He jumped and legs propelled by strong muscles and magic propelled him up so that his clawed hands could grab the top of the palisade. Pulling himself over the obstacle he found the parapet empty. The cowards were indeed hiding in their homes and hoped Desiretornix would still his hunger with others. They were out of luck then, the demons were not in a mood to spare anyone.
Jumping to the ground below, he found a broad way that lead to a central plaza. That was where his otherworldly senses told him the prey huddled together. He was one of the first to reach the place and had crossed it mostly to the big hovel on the other side when his world ended.
All around the plaza things exploded with sharp bangs and something flayed Desiretornix's brethren like an angry god. There were several bloody gashes on his arm and sharp stones lodged in the wounds he could see.
The survivors needed a second to find their wrath again and then stormed the houses all around that plaza. Before they could reach them, shots rang from many places, from cellars low in the ground and from roofs above. Something drew a burning line across Desiretornix shoulder, something else smashed into his right hoof.
It slowed him down enough that another demon grabbed through the wooden shutters and pulled an old man right through it. Before the claws fully pierced the dodderer's chest he managed to discharge a double-barrelled gun right into the demon's chest. It seemed impossible that such a puny weapon wielded by an old man could fell a demon, but it did. The smoke that rose from the chest indicated why, something burned inside. Desiretornix could not have named the red phosphorous that coated every ball of the buckshot load, but he could fear it.
He wanted off this place, to a place where no unseen cowards could shoot him. Running away was not him and so he smashed through the double doors before him. The door gave easily and he stumbled forward into the room beyond, a room full of children and the old. He could see no weapons, only fear. Oh yes, he would sate his hunger and…
His eyes saw an orange glow for the briefest of moments, far too short to turn around, before something hammered into his back with incredible force. Desiretornix spine was the diameter of a small tree, it still gave before the hammer. The demon fell forward on his face and before he could do much he was hit again and again. His legs were hammered to mush, his right arm struck so hard that he no longer felt it. Turning himself on his back with his good arm he caught a glimpse of a pudgy robed man wielding a glowing hammer screaming at the top of his lungs.
It was a short glimpse and darkness filled his vision when the hammer dropped on his brow.
He awoke much, much later. The parts of his body which were still able to feel anything told him that he was outside again, he had been moved while he was out. His vision was blurred, but his ears worked fine. It was just that he could not understand what he heard. There was a ratcheting sound, something blubbered and failed to catch. There was a human voice, but what did "Now start up you Sigmar-forsaken piece of trash, run you…" mean
And then there was the scream unlike anything he had ever heard before. It was hardly surprising, there are no Sachs-Dolmar chain saws in the Empyrean. The pain too was unlike anything he had ever felt. His last thought, before he was thrown back to the Warp, terribly reduced and weakened was:
"How can they be so cruel…"
30 Kilometer from Haltdorf, the Great Forest, Empire, two weeks later
The first things to hit the clearing's floor were ropes which slithered around like snakes for a moment. They moved in sych to the helicopter that hovered above the trees tops. They guided the descent of armored men and women who fanned out and looked for threats. They found none, so others followed them. One of them was not like the others, he wore a robe bedecked with stars and comets.
He examined the stone that was inert by now, tuted and hemmed before declaring his verdict. He had found another rift anchor, an item that rested half in the mundane world, half in the Empyrean. It would allow the passage to the Warp when the time was right. It had shown up on several magic detectors when it had allowed Desiretornix and his brethren passage into the real world.
It had been a small incursion and one of many, so that it had been ignored. Until now.
The helicopter took the soldiers and the mage away, but the place was marked and more people would arrive soon. It was an open question whether the stone could ever be activated again when they finished their work. But even if it did, it would open the passage into three meters of steel-reinforced concrete, sealed by wards.
Geheimnisnacht by Geheimnisnacht more such portals were found and sealed for the time being. Those which remained were far from Reiksbund settlements. Even those did no longer birth the same amount of demons as they had before. The demon's minds were quite different from human ones, they could still learn. And many learned to fear the mundane world, it had such dangers to the uninitiated.
A flat in Düsseldorf, Germany
You could say many things about Johan Schmich, witch-hunter and Inquisitor of the Order of Sigmar, but he LOVED carnival season.
It was a time where he could go out in full hunter regalia and not being suspected! But beside that fact, Johan found carnival to be fun. The Empire or better several member states had some roughly comparable feasts, but it still was different.
Schmich had had a hard time when he arrived in Germany 14 years earlier. Sent by a hard-line faction of the Sigmar Church to lead Germany onto the right way, he was a witch and Chaos hunter through and through. Filled with righteous mission and staunchly convicted to cleanse Germany of any murderous infection, his entrance on the scene could be compared to a bomb coming in.
That Schmich was coming was not unknown. In fact, he was the first witch-hunter sent to help the German police learning to sniff out Chaos, witches and critters in the established exchange program of the two nations.
His secret orders stayed secret. Namely helping the Sigmarite religion taking root in Germany.
When Schmich had arrived in Berlin first, the little temple of Sigmar there had a "massive "congregation of eleven people, seen of them Imperials on various official business. Even a hardcore believer like Johan Schmich could find some humour in this situation.
Personally, he did not consider the order to add new believers his main one. That was something for after. He was a witch-hunter, one of the best, not a fraking bell-ringer handing out invitations!
In the beginning he was attached to the Berlin Police Department and damnation, was this an incident-rife time. Like so many Hunters and Inquisitors "shoot first, ask questions later" had been a thing of life and death for millennia in their chosen occupation.
So Schmich was all for drastic, quick actions. Not that did happen often, the police held him back most times, insisting that in all places which came from Earth, be it Germany or for instance Wang Chan, this was not the way to do it.
While nobody held him back two times at the Cottbusser Tor, the officers seemingly looking elsewhere despite it not being a Chaos occurrence, Johan learned the hard way that things WERE different in Germany.
Witch-hunter Schmich had considered it simply rumours or misdirection, but over the years it became clear to him, that certain kinds of Chaos-Influence simply did not get a foot in the door in Germany. And more, with the Empire´s steady "modernisation" some influence of the not sufficiently damned Chaos-Gods would become weaker and weaker there as well.
To seduce you, the Chaos Gods needed something you wanted or feared excessively. When you had enough to eat, medicine when needed, schools for the children and these were just a couple of the most obvious things, the lure of Chaos lost much of it's appeal.
As such, Johan Schmich had far fewer run-ins with his chosen foes in Germany than he estimated before his travels. And he learned to love the new equipment and help he got. Fingerprints, Magic Indicators, DNA-Testing, official Duty Car, Police Sorcerers or minor talented magic helpers like the "Spökenkieker e.V.", such things made his work a lot easier than before.
And it was not a one way street either. Despite their heavy-handed, brutal and indiscriminate ways of operation, the really good witch-hunters were capable investigators and streetwise. How to sniff out Chaos and get rid of it, Johan gave many police stations throughout Germany the needed lore, examples and backbone.
Nowadays Johan normally went out to work clothed like a typical civilian Beamter, blending in. But today, on Rose Monday, Johan Schmich once again wore his old uniform and full Hunter regalia. Not only because of the old times and since it was carnival without undue attention, but especially because of the free time after work.
Then Johan Schmich would become "Inquisitor 007/8 (double O seven-eights), secret witch hunter with the licence to blabb" and getting "in die Bütt", as one of those giving humorous, sometimes sharply worded, speeches and puns.
Meeting of the G20, St. Moritz, Switzerland
Mats Lindström´s dutiful service in the "Earth-Whereever Germany happens to be-Contact Group" had led to his rise in Sweden´s officialdom. Due to this, now his last year with the Contact Group was nearly over and he was busy training his successor, a Walloon. Gaston LaGaffe, whose first words after introducing himself were "Do not ask! I did not name myself.", showed a lot of promise. (Google Gaston comic) As had become custom over the years, meetings of the major Earth nations included a briefing about what was going on with Germany, Wang Chan and the other Earth pieces teleported away by "the Event". Including theories about what the displaced Earthers might do in secret.
Mats had scoffed in private about this constant questions for most of the time, but now with his time in the Contact Group nearly over and his last big briefing, he knew he could be a bit more open than usual.
"Well, as I have been asked before this briefing to start with this particular topic, as nearly always I start with Germany´s projected military situation. I have to state that not only I, but most people in the Contact Group consider this extreme interest in a military not even present on Earth, bordering on obsessive-"
"Dear Ombudsman Lindström, while we agree that it is not a very probable scenario, it might happen someday that the magic powering all this will stop working and Germany, Wang Chan and the other parts of Earth might return. After that everything geographical has to return to as it was before."
"Ah so, then I fear I have a newsflash for you. That won´t be as easy as you believe, even if I read your implication of doing so at gunpoint! Germany, Wang Chan and the other pieces of Earth over there have grown since arriving there. If what knowledge we gained in cooperation with the mages from Marienburg is correct, this kind of magical ritual is big on corresponding, sympathic and similarity effects as well. Meaning that with a surety of 97.7% all Earth-based regions would return to Earth at their size as of that moment.
And this is not trivial. Germany might be the major part of the Earth regions transported by this magical mishap, but the results can be seen better elsewhere.
Ever since a Nipponese trade convoy stumbled over Wuvulu Island two years ago, contact has been made with the other Earthers on Warhammer. On Earth, Wuvulu had about 900 inhabitants and was 14km² in size. Since they lucked out more than any other part of Earth over there and ended up in a hinterland even Chaos seems to find boring, they held on without being wiped out. Today, Wuvulu became part of a larger island on arrival, the Island itself measures 2600km², has 4.000 citizens and controls a further 25 islands with about 3.000 inhabitants. This might be small numbers, but compared to the starting point, this is massive.
Our hosts lost the villages of Tamins district in the Wärldhoppet and while their inhabitants moved to Germany, the villages are now used by some Orkoid tribes since roughly a decade. Reichenau-Tamins would return with their new 'citizens'."
"What?!", came from several delegates of the briefing,"more of this green pest would come to Earth? But they are not Swiss boys and girls?"
"No, not at all. While there is a chance people would be deposited back where thy started out in the beginning, this is not a likely scenario, considering the changes in the meantime.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand. As of today, Germany has a land area of a bit over 446,000 square kilometers, roughly 90,000 more than on Earth in 2012.
Most of this growth, about 3/4, is in the West and South-west, the rest in the East and Nord-East. For those of you returning to this meeting, this should be old news, since Germany holds these new territories for quite a time already. Not included in this figure are outposts and colonies, like Saratosa and Neupapenburg. Neighbouring nations are the Empire in the East and South and the Kingdom of Bretonnia in the West.
Population wise, Germany has 94 million inhabitants. Largest minorities are the Nipponese and Imperial-descended citizens. Locally, the Bretonnian migrants in New Silesia are a sizeable minority there. As far as we know, behind the Empire of Cathay, the Kingdoms of Ind, Germany is the third-most populous Human- majority nation, neck to neck with the Empire.
Current government is a three party coalition of center-right CDU/CSU, national-conservative Kaiserlichen and the pro-business-liberal Freisinnigen under Chancellor Markus Söder from the CSU.
For those among us returning to the post here in the contact group, it is not new information that the progress made by the displaced Earthers on the other world is a weird one.
Germany has many great scientists and engineers, but their number is a lot smaller than those here on Earth. Another factor is that Germany once produced for billions of people, today their top of the line products might be accessible for about 120 million people, if we are magnanimous.
This makes a lot of things expensive and slows down research. Due to these factors, Germany and the further Earth parts on the other world are stagnating or falling behind in many scientific fields. This is partly, but only partly, mitigated by plans and blueprints they buy during the contact windows.
On the other side, their new home has varied, rich and nearly untapped resources to use, new things to discover in the future and functioning Magic. While the local societies were Early modern Age at best, many just Medieval or not even that, you cannot completely discount their advances outside of High Tech. Case in point, major powers like the Empire, Cathay, Tilea or Nippon have developed an exceptional concrete.
Looking at it from Earth, it is difficult to estimate how potent the Magic factor is when it comes to scientific research. Likewise skewing the picture are developments Germany has to research quickly due to geopolitical necessity or belief of such pressure.
Here the example is the German Space program. It is no question at all that Germany had to jumpstart their Space program to keep the satellites they came to 'Warhammer' together, running.
But here on Earth opinions vary much about what could be the reason Germany is still pumping generous founding in the program after securing the satellite situation.
Even the first version of the 'Greif schwer' rocket, a derivative of the Ariane program, outclassed the lift capacity of anything we have here on Earth by a margin. The 'Greif' has been upgraded 4 times already, not to speak of their newer designs like the 'Zwilling' or 'Morgenstern' classes. Their .Kopernikus' Space Station is comparatively huge and they visited the two moons Mannslieb and Morrslieb. And the Germans made at least a flyby of Tigris and Verdra, the neighbouring planets. According to news in the newest data package, 'Morgenstern', the Type ship of the Morning Star Class, has started an exploration voyage of the whole star system!
As you can imagine, speculation is fierce about the reason Germany is pushing Space exploration so much in such a short time with their limited resources. Especially since for about a decade many German space vessels are armed. The experts are divided if there is a real need for this or if the Germans have, not surprisingly if so, become simply paranoid.
Much hints towards a form of paranoia caused by the succession of wars they had to fight. But there are voices which say that we cannot disregard the fact that there are factions on the other world, like the Asur, Slann or Chaos, which might be able to bring credible threats into space via magic.
And now, while I would like to talk more about the nation of Germany itself, but due to incessant requests, I continue with Germany´s Fighting Forces.
As best as we can estimate and project, the current strength of the Bundeswehr lies somewhere between their Cold War size and the peacetime strength of the Old Imperial Army, closer to the Imperial Army, around 680,000-700,000 members.
While all branches were enlarged due to necessity, the lion´s share went to the land and naval forces. The Luftwaffe saw a sizeable enlargement as well, but here the focus was on Air Defence and ground support. To be mentioned, even if it is not important for us on Earth, is Germany´s Space force of two or three armed space ships and a couple of armed satellites.
The German Army soldier of today is not equipped all that differently from the one of the various Earth armies. Typical differences are due to the situation on our two planets. Gas masks and several anti-toxins are issued to every soldier to be carried at any time. Their ballistic protection is tougher, yet lighter than ours, Earth simply lacks spidersilk to copy the design. Their steel helmets are reinforced via alchemical processes. With the help of Marienburg Earth developed a similar, if more rudimentary, process, but production is bottlenecked by costs and a small pool of expertise and raw materials.
While in the beginning the German Army did mostly just watch the development of powered Armor, now they are equipping quite a number of units with Power Armor in several variants. Their standard issue Mauser rifle has a much higher calibre than Earth standard battle rifles, as some of their potential enemies are tougher than humans usually are.
A Battle Armor carrier AFV is being delivered to their forces.
The Leopard 2A8 after two upgrades is now being phased out of duty or relegated to Landwehr and reserve units. The most numerous tank in their arsenal is now the upgraded Jaguar MBT. That is quite an interesting design, a modular battle tank, which can be equipped for various tasks beforehand, based on the Puma IFV. Elite and veteran Panzer units are equipped with the upgraded Tiger. The experts guess that it depends on the configuration the Jaguar is in, how well Earth tanks would fare against it.
According to them, the Germans named the new Tiger like this for a reason. In the estimation of combat power, Earth has nothing comparable to these 'Cat' rolling around.
Besides updating their designs to the changing situations, Kraus-Maffei-Wegmann and Porsche are experimenting with follow-up prototypes. The designs are going into the direction of the tanks visiting France a couple of years ago. More after the coffee break..."
Hey, I created an account mostly to post this message. I've been binge reading this story since the first lockdown, and I have to say that I've been enjoying every lil' bits of it despite some of the occasional experimental English (tho perfectly understandable) and some creative choices that I may not necessarily agree with. You pretty much made my whole lockdown and the subsequent recovery. Have all the support and appreciation from a fellow neighbor from Baguetteland ! (also can't wait for the next chapter)
Thanks for the compliment. This update was my attempt to turn the usual slasherfics on its head. Yes, it is full of blood and gore, but it is not the hapless teenagers who get the shaft.
And no, a stompfic was not what MKO and me had in mind. I am working on the next update, promise.
Hey, I created an account mostly to post this message. I've been binge reading this story since the first lockdown, and I have to say that I've been enjoying every lil' bits of it despite some of the occasional experimental English (tho perfectly understandable) and some creative choices that I may not necessarily agree with. You pretty much made my whole lockdown and the subsequent recovery. Have all the support and appreciation from a fellow neighbor from Baguetteland ! (also can't wait for the next chapter)
Thank you for the kind words. If I can make anybody's lockdown better this is a great compliment.
This is my first attempt at fiction ever, so many things including spelling and grammar could stand improvement. By now all parts I write (there are also contributions by MKO, the founder of this story and others) have to pass muster with one of two proofreaders and should be better languagewise.
And yes, we made a couple of decisions that are debatable, for example our treatment of the undead. If nothing else they will make for a change from the usual.
The stew had a yellowish-brown color, the vegetables in it were cooked until they ran into each other and the bits of meat were salted pork. Gernod knew that nobody would take his food away. Glancing from the corner of his eye he saw the other crew man the machine gun, so he had more than enough time. Still, he could not break the habits hammered into him during the dozen years he had survived under the Druchii yoke. Food, no matter how vile, had to be consumed right now and as fast as possible. One never knew whether one would be allowed another bite, and if the masters would allow more time to eat another hungry slave might try to eat it for him.
His time in Neustadt had been so much better in all ways that mattered, so much that he could at least reflect on the folly, but he could not break that habit. There were scars all over his body, ugly things that reminded him of Druchii cruelty. There were scars in his mind, ones unseen, but at least as horrible as those that marred his skin. He used a bit of bread to clear the bowl of anything edible and wolfed that down. Looking up he saw that Kuan Ti unsurprisingly had done the same.
Eating at that speed meant both had some time to kill before their spell at the machine gun was up again. It was Gernod who broke the amicable silence.
"So what are your plans when all of this is over Kuan Ti?"
His loader blinked a couple of times before she answered. "What is there to plan? We fight of course."
"Yes, we do that, but it won't be forever. If the Druchii win there is no need for any plans, we will be dead or they use us, no matter what we want. But what if they give us our..what was that..autonoma, no autonomy or the Germans evacuate us from here?"
"Work for the Patron?"
Gernod chewed on the answer for a second.
"Because you want to work for the Patron or because this is what you have been told to do?"
All of a sudden Kuan Ti' voice was a bit subdued "Do you say we should run from the Patron, go from here?"
"By the Lady, no. He is good, treats us fair and is our best bet anyways. But suppose they set us free, what would you like to do?"
Now it was the slightly pudgy loader who had to think.
"What does it matter what I want? The Patron tells me what to do."
"Is that so? You work extra-hard so your kids get extra lessons and so you have a room for yourself. Not to forget cinnamon rolls…."
"How could I not work hard for the kids, they are mine and when Anja bought them for me I just had to take care. I mean when the Fates allow you to keep your children."
Gernod looked at her and shrugged his shoulders. That he was not aghast at the thought of parting children from their parents at the leisure of their "owners" just said how long he had been here.
"Now suppose they take us to this place Anja speaks about, this Germany. I do not think they'll let the Patron continue there, not really. So then you have to make your own decisions. What would you like to do?"
Kuan Ti's eyes became even larger than before.
"No Patron? Make my own decisions? But what if I decide wrong?"
"Try to get the lore of that land first, then make decisions I say. And if you are wrong, then it is at least your decision."
"That is easy for you to say, you are a man, you have no children and…and you have been free before."
Gernod's Gallic shrug betrayed his origins better than his accent.
"Yes, that is so. But isn't being free better than this? Free to raise your children as you think fit, work for whomever will have you, live where you can?"
"Is it better than starving?"
"Uff. Tell you what, everything is better than having the bloody Druchii place the collars back around our necks. We keep them out first and worry about what to do later?"
"That is right and no mistake."
Before the wire, Neustadt, Naggaroth
Zeros' clothes had been made from hand-spun threads and had been woven through hundreds of hours of slave's work. The Druchii warrior had worn them for decades and they had been lovingly kept. Their cut, their colors and tabs displayed his elevated status among even the Black Guard. A position he had trained, fought, and murdered for with all his Druchii heart. His gear had also included intricately crafted armor, polished to a sheen with nasty spikes and a high helmet enhancing his height. It filled him with great pride and had looked the part. Now he had discarded the armor which was so useless in the face of rifles and artillery and even left his halberd behind. He had allowed a slave to darken his garments with root extracts. He should not have bothered, the black mud he crawled through would have defiled the uniform well enough. There was a lot of cold water in that mud and it had drenched the cloth thoroughly.
Like any Druchii Zeros would laugh at such discomfort, they were used to far worse abuses. He feared the cold though. If this got worse he might shiver or his teeth chatter. And sound, any sound was not conducive to continued respiration where the Druchii warrior was going.
"Going" was a far too generous term for what Zeros did. He crawled through the mud like a worm, trying his very best not to be spotted by slaves. Zeros hated the new times with a vengeance, he wanted to go to battle in a proud square with his fellow warriors. Still, discipline was everything with the Black Guard, and if Kouran Darkhand ordered him to crawl through mud and cut some wire, then by Khaine he would do that. And Kouran had the right of it, the wire was dangerous and needed to be removed before the slaves could be punished. Zeros had seen it himself and he marvelled how such a simple thing could be so dangerous and resilient. Just the thin wire, strung from one pole to the next in a haphazard manner.
And yet, the Druchii could not storm it, their halberds could not part it and even the mortars would just move it about a bit. Then it would still be there, waiting for anybody to get so close that it would catch and cut, to hold its victim till a bullet found his way.
The Black Guard did not ask for volunteers, that was not their way. Zeros and a dozen others had simply been ordered to go out and remove that wire at night, when the hapless slaves would not be able to see them. The Druchii warriors would still be able to find their way and do what was needed. Later tonight, long before dawn, the Black Guard would assault right through a wire belt that was no longer there, into a line held by slaves that were blind at night. Zeros had to keep himself from fantasizing about the revenge he would exact on those slaves he found.
And then all the cold wetness, all the humiliation of crawling like a worm through mud to avoid the attention of slaves paid off. The dark pole was hard to see in this moonless night, even for him. But he saw something all right and he could feel the rough wood well enough. He pulled the pliers from his belt and asked himself when that had become a valuable tool of war but for interrogations. Slithering closer to the pole he pushed himself up with his left hand. The cold mud swallowed it and black goo seeped through his fingers for the briefest of moments. Then the ground itself gave way with a flat wooden crack. The sensation was still travelling through Zeros' nerves to the brain when a nail that had been inside the thin board the Druchii just broke hit a primer. The primer exploded instantly, igniting a few dozen grams of low-grade explosives. The shockwave removed the hand, arm and large portions of Zeros' head before the brain had any chance to parse the information.
The remaining eye was open and reflected the light of the flares that descended on parachutes, bathing the landscape in an eerie, flickering white light. His pointy ear focused the sound of machine gun salvos and of dying, but no brain could make any sense of it. His erstwhile comrades cursed him and his fellow wire cutters when mortar shells descended on their marshalling area.
Kouran Darkhand watched his last assault falter before it really started. Other Druchii would have dragged their feet, but the Black Guard's commander was nothing but loyal to Malekith. And the Witch King would be ill served if he threw the Black Guard against Neustadt's defenses again and again till they were ground to dust. Subduing the slaves took far greater resources than he had available and a different set of skills. Kouran looked at the ancient halberd in his hand and asked what all the years he spent mastering his weapon were worth now.
Karond Kar, Naggaroth
Theros Fatewaver was sure that this day would kill him, and he did not care. Actually it might be a good thing given how much everything hurt and how exhausted he was. He was the last surviving Druchii in a team of DawiZharr slaves. The DawiZharr treated him even worse than the real slaves as he was one of the enemy. And the beings who he was chained to at night treated him even worse as even they had somebody to despise. That Theros was of the people who had treated the very same slaves far worse might have something to do with it.
Whatever the reason he had been given hind tit when it came to the meager food, been beaten by both slaves and slavers alike. That he was given the heaviest pieces to haul played a role as well. By now his slender frame was emaciated, nearly every inch of his skin covered with welts, fresh violet bruises or their yellowish remnants. His eyes were red-rimmed and his lips cracked in many places.
He had given up the fight some time before and that made him careless.
His death had been a certainty, the date had been close. What brought things to an end were the DawiZharr dreadnaughts. If Theros would still have the capacity to think about such things he would deem that fitting, the ugly ships might doom his entire race.
One of them was in Karond Kar at any given time. The never-sufficiently-damned dwarfs performed arcane maintenance and rituals on them. Theros and those like him had to carry provisions on board, others herded slaves on board who would never be seen again.
A few weeks before Theros would have feared being one of these slaves, now his only concern was taking another step forward, no matter how tired his legs were. He had to work at keeping his eyes open despite the pain and weariness and listen to the commands shouted at him.
Yesterday night four more dreadnaughts had sailed into the harbor, taking up all quay space. Ever since then the slaves had carried supplies from the warehouses into the ships. There were nearly no breaks and Theros had not received any food, he was too tired and exhausted to feel any hunger. When he reached the foot of the gangway again he caught a glimpse of shells lifted high by a crane. His mind wandered to that for a second too long and his right foot missed the gangway. He did not dare to drop his load and that provided the inertia that tipped him over the railing into the black waters below.
The moment he Druchii dropped into the bay the cold burned against his skin like a brand and drove all breath from his lungs. Theros' chains were so heavy that he would not be able to make his way to the surface again. Hypothermia and his exhaustion saw to it that he fought the impossible fight for only a few seconds. When he reached the harbor's bottom he was already immobile and dead before long.
He was just the first death in the battle that would decide Karond Kar's fate, others would follow before too long.
Ice Carrier Leviathan, 500 kilometers from Karond Kar, a few hours later
Raimund Scheer stepped outside, onto a bridge wing that gave a breathtaking view of the carrier and the sea around it. A quick scan confirmed that radar, the lookouts, and the magical detectors had the right of it: There was nothing threatening or even remarkable around Leviathan.
The preparations of another biplane launch were far more interesting, but were not his problem. Leviathan's wake had a bigger bearing towards his responsibilities and held greater satisfaction: It was as straight as wind and waves allowed for.
A few weeks back the bridge crew had found the right power settings that made the ship go more or less straight. Having happily reported this at the officer's mess he had been dumbfounded when the Chief Engineer and his ice mage proposed reshaping Leviathan's hull so that the differential power settings were no longer necessary. Three days later there was a bulge on the starboard side that corrected a trim imbalance and provided the extra resistance to straighten the huge ship out. Raimund Scheer was an experienced seaman, but using magic to change his ship's shape had not been a subject during his studies.
The biplane's deep rumble became a shriek when it was pushed to peak power and the chocks that held it were pulled. It still accelerated more slowly than the noise suggested, the plane was full of fuel for a long reconnaissance flight. It was fast enough when it hit the ramp and the deck's edge and jumped up when it hit. The pilot pulled his plane to the right as soon as he had sufficient speed to do so. Raimund nodded approvingly. If the engine failed and the pilot had to ditch his ride there was no way Leviathan could stop before running the pilot over. It was an open question if that mattered so much in these frigid waters, but it was good practice still.
The thought came unbidden, but still took hold. "Commanded an ice carrier built by magic, crewed by Kislevite peasants, with a complement of dwarf-built wooden biplanes" would provide a nice extra in his CV, not a trip into the looney bin as it would have in the old world. None of the bridge crew asked why he started giggling manically, but they gave him that little bit of extra space when he did not stop after a minute.
Pursuit 01, 300 meters AGL, 200 km before Karond Kar
The sky above Hartmut Klawitter was filled with towering clouds, leaving spaces for rays of light that seemingly supported the sky like the pillars of a titanic cathedral. The waters below his plane was filled with ice floes and dark icy blackness.
When he turned his head to the right there was the dark speck that was Pursuit 02.
There was no living thing in sight apart from his wingman and that made Hartmut Klawitter a very lonely man.
The wooden instrument board before him was filled with several beautifully detailed dials, brass knobs, levers and a TFT. The latter needed to come out whenever the plane was seen by anybody outside the Wild Geese. While the plane would neither have surprised Anthony Fokker nor the engine Sir Stanley Hooker the electronics on board would have fazed both. Neither the Antigua Small Arms factory nor the Dawi could produce these and they were very limited issue outside of the Reiksbund.
A very decent GPS system gave position, speed, and altitude with great precision, a satcom an internet connection and a line to his ship. There was space for a rather sophisticated Radar Warning Receiver that would allow the little biplane to avoid detection if needed. All of that was exceedingly useful and necessary for fulfilling the Wild Geese's mission. It would also hint at a much closer relationship with parts of Germany that both the mercenaries and their sponsors were happy with. Which just meant it would be dismounted when anybody from outside could have a look.
Hartmut steered his plane towards a point where satellite recon indicated the enemy might be. His flight was a bit superfluous, but served the same purpose as dismounting incriminating electronics. If the Wild Geese's air component just happened to find the Chaos Stumpies, that could not be helped could it?
Even with hours-old satellite data, the ships that Klawitter had been sent to locate were a very small needle in the haystack of the Great Ocean. That the ships supposedly did not smoke at all did not make things any better.
Still, Hartmut's flight would try as long as they had fuel and their electrically heated flight suits worked properly.
So far there had been a great lot of ice floes and nothing. Klawitter checked the TFT about the time to the next planned turn when something caught his eye. When he tried to spot what had caused the flash he thought he had seen, he found nothing but the black sea and white foam…
His thumb pressed the to-talk switch.
"Pursuit 02, this is one. Course change to 090, I think I spotted a wake. Over."
"Pursuit 01, this is two, copy course change 090. Out"
Hartmut Klawitter had been an observer before he had become a pilot. He had some very interesting memories and welts from that time. And one of the things he had learned was that the wake of a ship can be far more visible than the ship itself, at least from the air. Some truths do not change, be it from a plane or the back of a dragon.
Whatever he had spotted disappeared behind the biplane's engine cover for a moment. The planes closed the distance quickly, and before long a line of ships appeared before Klawitter's flight. The mercenaries shifted course slightly, there was no need to overfly the enemy. Even from this distance the ships were amazingly ugly. Their tumblehome hulls, the guns that struck out in many places and their overbuilt superstructures made them look less than seaworthy. He just switched his Go-Pro camera on to record the DawiZharr ships when his wingman exploded in a fireball.
The pilot wasted no time on recriminations or to look for the enemy. He pushed the stick to the lower left and kicked the rudder pedal as far as it would go. At the same time he moved the throttle all the way forward before fumbling with the lever that released nitrox into the engine. By the time slow-seeming fireballs raced by his cockpit he had switched the fuel mix to rich, just in time to avoid melting the engine. The V-8 roar became a shriek in seconds and the propeller adjusted to the new power setting. Gravity and 700 horsepower combined to accelerate the Pursuit Special to speeds that would nearly rip the plywood off the wings.
Hartmut Klawitter pulled up, aiming for the nearest cloud and then allowed himself a look around. Two Flugscheiben tried to keep pace with him and failed, but not by much. And that was bad, as in very, very bad. Currently he was a bit faster than the bad guys. To do so he used an engine power he could keep up for five minutes, if Murphy was in a good mood that was. He could already see the oil and coolant temps raising to their redline limits. Even if the engine could keep this up forever he was running through his fuel reserves at a breathtaking speed.
Judging the distance to the flying disks in his head and watching the needles rising he pulled the throttle back that little bit. Salvation of a sort was before him, beckoning with arms of grey mist that wanted to embrace him. Entering the cloud was like changing worlds. One second there was the bright winter sunshine, the blue sky above and the black water below. The next there was a formless grey fog, and all directions were the same. The engine sounded muted now and droplets accumulated on the windscreen before him.
Klawitter banked the plane into a turn before pulling the throttle way back. He barely saw the trails left by autocannon rounds that passed where he might have been without the course change. He tried to remember the shape of the cloud and the best way to use it for cover. Realizing it was a useless endeavor he changed course towards the far-off Leviathan.
To the best of his knowledge nobody on the side of the Reiksbund had fathomed how the damned Flugscheiben detected their targets. If it was something else than visible light he could die any second now and would have no warning whatsoever. And now that he did not need to do something every second the reality of the situation claimed him. He had lost his wingman, a comrade of several years. He had barely cheated death and would probably have to do it again before he had any chance to see the carrier again. He could not see much farther than his propeller and whether he lived or died was up to chance and the will of vengeful demons bound to steel.
He started shaking despite his well-heated flying suit and breathed far too fast. A queasy feeling hit his stomach, threatening to become more. The thoughts "how could I allow myself to be ambushed" and "how do I expect to survive this" chased through Klawitter's head. He turned his head in an attempt to spot something, anything that might threaten him. He saw only shades of grey, formed into threatening shadows by his mind. There was a pressure on his chest, on the place where the Wyrm's scales pressed against his shirt. It reminded him of the times he rode the dragon behind Yerena and of his mission.
The satcom needed a few seconds to connect him to the carrier, but rewarded him with a brilliant connection.
"Leviathan Control, this is Flight 04. Be advised there are five DawiZharr heavies at coordinates 971544, estimated speed 10 knots, course 110. Ships have Flugscheiben CAP, number unknown. Pursuit 02 has been shot down, no parachute. Enemy is following me. Over"
"Pursuit 01, this is Leviathan control. Copy five DawiZharr heavies and Flugscheiben. What type DawiZharr heavy? Out"
"Leviathan, three cruisers, two verdammte Scheiße…"
"Pursuit01, this is Leviathan control, please repeat. Pursuit 01…
As suddenly as he had entered the cloud the plane left it, leaving the gray funeral cloth for being presented in bright sunshine and a blue sky. And slightly below the plane was a flying disk. Hartmut Klawitter could not breathe for a long second, frozen at the stick of his plane. Something in his mind snapped and he pushed the throttle all the way forward, engaging the Nitrox controls that made his engine shriek. Pulling the stick at his chest Klawitter forced his plane into an ever-steeper climb till the biplane tipped over and the sea was below the pilots head. The cloud beckoned before him, promising safety for as long as his fuel would last. Still the stick remained where it was and now the plane raced for the black waters below. Pulling that little further Klawitter placed the flying disk's top right under the crosshairs. He screamed incoherently when he pulled the trigger.
The Flugscheiben were notoriously well armored, the very steel of their bodies the means of their flight. The .50 cal machine gun that protruded through the Pursuit Specials spinner would normally just bounce off the thick armor. And that was exactly what happened to the vast majority of the rounds that hit the flying disk. The tracers showed how they were deflected into all directions. Still they were shot at one of the few places the flying disks were vulnerable. Hartmut could not say if they bounced or if a few lucky hits penetrated into the Flugscheibe. He dropped past the Flugscheibe in a flash. Pushing a rudder pedal he turned his plane 180 degrees before pulling the stick up again. The Pursuit Special accelerated till it shook from aerodynamic forces it was not made to take. Hartmut randomly pushed the rudder pedals and changed altitude in an attempt to evade. A few autocannon rounds passed by his left wings, but nothing more followed. The flying disk's guns were notorious for being useless except at the shortest of ranges.
The next cloud embraced Hartmut Klawitter a minute before the engine forced him to reduce power.
Article in "Boote" (Boats, magazine for recreational watercraft)
"The Dropout boat"
The first purpose-built watercraft on Earth were made about 8000 years ago, by all likelihood the first ones on the Warhammer World are much, much older. How likely it is that somebody comes up with a completely new type of boat?
And yet, the last years have seen the advent of a new type of watercraft. While they look different, have different means of propulsion used in different water they have one thing in common: They are made for full time residency and they allow for cheap, off-grid living.
The boat makers and shipwrights of the Warhammer World find themselves in a difficult position ever since Germany entered their world. This goes double for anyone working in or with the Reiksbund. Nearly all made their craft from wood and powered them by sail and rudder. Once the German yards found their feet again they produced steel ships with diesel engines. They can carry so much cargo so much faster that they were not competing with the traditional shipwrights, they were on another level entirely.
Yes, many yards saw the signs of the time and either licensed German methods and technology, entered joint ventures or sold out to Germans. But still there are far fewer yards now then there were ten years ago and quite a few will join those already gone before long. Salzenmund used to have no less than 50 yards, now there are five. Some of those who survived have retained their principal methods, but looked for a new clientele.
The yards produce recreational watercraft at amazingly cheap prices. Their woodwork often combines beauty with function and their craft certainly do not suffer from the use of modern caulking materials and power tools.
At the same time there are Germans, who for the lack of a better word, can no longer take it. Surrounded by a world that changed faster than comprehension allowed for, a world that challenged core truths is too much to bear for them. They look for a simpler life that does not ask them to adapt to new realties every other day and that lacks the security of the old Germany on Earth.
First a few and now quite a number of such people have found themselves a way to live they can stand. An imperial yard builds them a hull, be optimized for riverine or littoral waters. Imperials provide for some of the fittings and furniture, Bauhaus and Second Hand shops do the rest.
The new printed flexible solar cells are fixed to every piece of available deck. Crashed cars provide the gigacaps to store their output. Electric motors drive the screw, sails sometimes complement them.
And that is: For the price of a family car you have a home, a means of getting around, to provide power, and given you like fish, part of your diet. Living on the Empire's rivers can be very cheap, doable easily on even a meagre pension or online employment. Taking the boat into the Sea of Claws will give the owner a much wider horizon and a young Kraken a potential food source. The Wadden Sea is usually deemed safe, but some parts of the Imperial coastline is quite definitively not.
They are getting popular these boats, let us have a look at some of them…
Briefing Room, Leviathan, 400 kilometers from Karond Kar
Hartmut Klawitter had a steaming mug of coffee before him and the attention of everybody in the room. His eyes were focused a million miles away and his voice flat and toneless.
"There were five of the big fuckers. Three are these French cruiser copies, two like the very old dreadnaughts. I only got a short look and no pics, sorry. The bloody Flugscheiben ambushed us from the clouds, did not see them till it was too late. They got Thivsha on the first pass, she never had a chance. I barely made it by going for the clouds. The machine gun won't scratch them at all and I saw at least four of them. My engine will need a rebuild, I ran it for at least ten minutes on nitrox. These things are faster than a clean Pursuit Special unless we use boost, we climb better and are more maneuverable. Does not matter though if we can't hurt them. Sorry boss, as long as the Flugscheiben are up we cannot attack the ships."
Wolfgang Böhler's face was set in stone when he heard the leader of his flight element.
"I think we discussed this before, didn't we?"
Klawitter's tone was between resigned and questioning.
"Yes, but didn't we decide we need the weapons for the Mechs?"
"We have different options for those, but none for the bloody Flugscheiben. So we will have to change the loadout of..,how many do you think Helmut?"
"Half the wing, at least. Will make the attacks more difficult. Not that there is much choice."
"Now that the Chaos Stumpies have gotten wind of us somehow, none at all. They are certainly faster than we are. And I do not fancy our chances in a ship to ship engagement with them. They have the big guns and can dictate range."
Hartmut Klawitter's shoulders sank even lower for a second before straightening themselves again.
"Then my boys and girls should better not fuck up, huh?"
"No pressure, no pressure at all Hartmut. But I know you can do it."
Ice Carrier Leviathan, 300 kilometers from Karond Kar
In most carriers many of the planes have to be to be parked on deck, so that there is space to work in the always crowded hangar. Leviathan was bigger than all of them and given the seas it was supposed to operate in and the planes flying off it this carrier was different. The cavernous hangar had rough ice walls, lamps and pulleys hung from the high ceiling. In a platform far above the floor a small crew shoved scale models of planes over a map of the hangar to avoid congestion. Below them a small army of mechanics and haulers worked hard on Leviathan's planes. About half of them were painted the flat gray used by the mercenaries, the others the red and gold livery of the Celestial Dragon's Air Corps. All of them were checked, fueled and received additional shackles under their lower wings. Some received slender missiles, others slightly bigger tubes that flared out at the end.
All planes had a complicated-looking shackle under their fuselage. Most held bombs, some the shiny droplets of fuel tanks. The bombs had an odd look to them. Their front was deep green with several colorful bands around it and twisted strips of soft iron. The back part was the flat red of primer and the metal had a somewhat coarse look to it.
Heinrich Klavitter shivered a bit when he saw them. The bombs used to be 203 mm AP artillery rounds. When the guns to shoot them had been held up in harbor their chief engineer had suggested welding fins to them, making their aerial bombs. Jacub General had cited historical precedent, apparently the IJN had converted AP shells into bombs for their dive bombers. And after a couple of failures his welders had indeed produced workable bombs. Last week Hartmut Klawitter had looked forward to the chance of using them on the DawiZharr. Now, after his close brush with death, he was not so sure. Still, he simply had no choice. If he and his pilots could not stop the Dreadnaughts coming for them everybody on Leviathan would take a swim pretty soon.
He made his way into the briefing room. The warrant in charge of it called everybody to attention as quickly as he dismissed it. He faced 48 pilots. Such a small proportion of the carrier's complement and still it was up to them to stop the doom coming for them. In an earlier life Klawitter would have relished that role, sure he was up to it. Now he was on the wrong side of 40 and such notions had left him. And he had to bring the pilots to the point where they believed they could do exactly that. Hartmut nodded to the warrant who dimmed the room's lights and started the projector. It started with a map of the Great Ocean between Leviathan and Karond Kar. About halfway between these were the pictograms of ships in red and a line that connected them with the carrier.
"Listen up people, this is it. This is the day we all trained for, the day we prepared for, and where we make or break it. And we will make it, not just because we are that good, but because we are in for a swim if we fail. Personally speaking I do not fancy the local water temperatures, so let's avoid that, shall we?
As you should expect this is an all-bird mission, both first and second flight will participate. First flight will attack enemy shipping, second flight will provide cover.
So what does the other company bring to the table and how do we deal with them? The enemy is less than 200 kilometres from here, at 351988, course 75 with a speed of about 10 knots. I have seen five capital ships myself, but spotted no escorts. These need to go, they are all armed with major caliber weapons. I have seen four flying disks, but there may be more.
We will launch immediately after this briefing and assemble around the carrier. As soon as we are all up we will go to a course of 255 till we make contact with the enemy. They seem to know where we are, no need for any doglegs. Altitude for the first flight is 12,000 feet, second goes for 15,000.
First flight, led by me, will attack the ships. We will conform to whatever course they assume and attack from their front. I do not think we need the go-around and I want to give those flying disks as little time to intercept us as possible. We need to hit the first time, and that means releasing no higher than 1000 feet."
There was a groan that ran through the assembled pilots.
Yes, that is lower than we usually do. But we get one chance at this. Oh, we can attack again, the enemy will not catch us so quickly. But if we need to do so there might be more flying disks. We have the weapons to fight them once, but not twice. So we have to make it count, and that means releasing low. Am I understood?"
There were some "dui" mixed with the "ayes", but Klawitter would not press that issue, not now.
Second flight, you have the aux tanks for a reason: when we meet the enemy you have all the fuel to turn and burn. Use the nitrox, but remember everything over five minutes is a gamble. Use altitude, use your wingmen and aim carefully. We have only a handful of the missiles, make sure they hit their mark. Protect the drop at all costs.
When we are done we come back via course 075. Remember the leg back will be longer as Leviathan will not keep station until we are back.
Let us show these Stumpies that they should have stayed in their caves. Let's do this."
And while the pilots, no matter whether man or Druchii cheered, Hartmut Klawitter mused whom of them he would see again.
Bunker, before Neustadt
The morsel was irresistible, it smelled sooo good that the rat started to salivate in anticipation. Its last meal was not that long ago, but its metabolism was a fast-burner, doubly so in winter. The giants were not directly seen and moved so slow anyway. A quick sprint from its hidey-hole and she could retreat. The whiskers vibrated nervously for a long moment before the rodent began its sprint. It accelerated to its full speed within the length of an arm, navigating the uneven ground easily. Its claws dug into the ground to slow it in an amazingly short distance and sharp teeth fixed the morsel immediately. The rat was about to turn when something hammered into its neck with terrible force. The rodent felt nothing at all of its limbs the short moment before darkness set in.
Gernod clapped his hands, even when this result would cost him some credits.
"Got it fair and square Kuan Ti. Not bad at all."
"I told you I just have to get close, then I can see the little fraggers."
Nobody doubted the loader's dexterity with her hands or her reflexes. But the thick glasses on her face said why she was loading the machine gun, not using it. The bunker was small and so whatever was in that space was definitively not safe from the sharpened spade that followed her wherever she went.
"Think you can fry that one up too?"
Dimitri currently manned the machine gun, not that this kept him from turning away from his observation post to look at their newest catch.
Gernod just looked at the former Kislevite and pulled up an eyebrow, that was enough to remind the gunner of his duties. He mumbled something under his breath when he turned back to the vision slit. Gernod could not make out what he was saying before Dimitiri's head exploded, sending blood, bones, and brain all over the bunker.
There was a small delay before a muted "crack" could be heard from outside.
The survivors froze for a moment before all but one dropped to the ground. Gernod's jaw clenched in frustration and he took a couple of breaths before he could speak.
"That was a sniper folks. Stay away from the vision slot for now, then you cannot be hit. Fuck this, Dimitri did deserve better. Kuan Ti, get the Sergeant on the horn, we need the medics and a replacement gunner. Then we..,."
"How could he see Dimitri, it must be some Khaine magic…"
"Stow it Hern, and help me with Dimitri, we need to man the machine gun again."
"Fuck I am not going to go near that thing as long as.."
"You will do it as long as I say so Hern. Help me pull him back, then I can do it myself."
Gernod tried his very best to ignore the warm, sticky, wet mass than ran down his arm while he pulled Dimitri's corpse down the bunker. Looking anywhere else than at the body he saw the flickering shadows cast by the two candles and the brighter spot of light projected through a vision slow (slot not slow). The spot went dark for a second when Hern passed it on his way to the machine gun. Immediately after that a "splat" announced a bullet that buried itself in the bunker's wall close to the slit he had just passed.
Gernod dropped the corpse when the thought hit him.
"Extinguish the bloody candles, right fucking now. And Hern, before you get to that gun you blacken your face. Scheiße, how could we be that stupid. Kuan Ti, do you have the Sergeant? Get him here, I need to show him something."
Gernod's idea how the Druchii snipers could know when to shoot through the ports by seeing when they were darkened was taken with far more enthusiasm than Dimitri's corpse. It left the bunker's crew shaken in the cold darkness, waiting for what the enemy might do next.
Leviathan, the Great Ocean, 305 km from Karond Kar
Hartmut Klawitter watched his Crew Chief lift two brake chocks and a number of wires with white flags on them. To his left another crewman lowered the flags he had so far left up and pointed one to the left.
His plane was now free to taxi and he pushed the throttle to the first detent. The Pursuit Special accelerated slowly from its parking spot on Leviathan's deck. Pushing the rudder pedals allowed him to align the plane with the white strip that ran down the length of the deck. The ramp at the deck's end was barely visible above the engine hood that aimed skyward. The ramp was a dark rectangle against a brightening sky. Watching the crewman to his right the pilot pushed the brakes and the throttle at the same time till the engine roared.
The flag in the crewman's hand waved three times before it dropped. Klawitter released the brakes, engaged the nitrox injection, and shifted the propeller's pitch. The engine's roar changed to a shriek and vibrations made reading the instruments nearly impossible. The plane accelerated like a sports car despite its heavy load and Klawitter tried to keep the biplane straight while having an eye on the airspeed indicator). He needed 120 kph for a safe takeoff at his current weight and more would be better. He had a bit more than 300 meters to attain that speed. If he realized that he would not be able to reach that speed in the space available he would quite likely not be able to come to a stop before the deck ended.
He was far too busy to worry about that much and the desired "120" came up a few dozen meters before his plane hit the ramp. That kicked him in the butt like Sigmar's boot and pushed the plane up. The Pursuit Special's ascent stopped for a second when the inertia from that launch was done before resuming when the airflow across the wings increased enough to provide more lift. A few minutes later the nitrox madness in the engine was quieted for now and he orbited the carrier in a wide circle. Every 30 seconds another plane clawed for the sky, every other minute another four-finger swarm formed up. It took nearly half an hour before the last plane formed up and Klawitter could lead the two flights towards the enemy.
The sun had barely cleared the horizon and would not get that much higher today. It shone through scattered clouds, leaving the sea striped with bands of darkness and light. The planes were arranged in a couple of vees and Klawitter could see the training of the last months paying off in good formation keeping. His head might have been mounted on a swivel for all the turning around he did. He would have done so anyway, most pilots were shot down by an enemy they never saw. On top of that he had 47 other planes he had to look after. He could tell this to himself all day long, but he knew that his close call with death and several Flugscheiben was the real motivator. When he thought about it too long the air seemed too thin and the heated flight suit too cold. And he was leading all his planes to the place where more flying disks were to be found.
The cruiser's boiler room was a hot place, no matter whether it was underway or inside harbor. If its reactor ever lost temperature very bad things would happen. Hashut's blessed lava kept it at 43 degrees and the leaky steam pipes made sure it was a humid heat. Even at rest, a human sweated miserably. Doing any physical labor exhausted anyone in heartbeats. The air burned its way down the slave's throat and joined the burn in his legs. He swayed from the heat and dehydration, but losing his step was death. Before him the huge pistons that drove "Hashut's Fire" rose and descended with each rotation of its crankshaft. The connecting rods had two bearings, one on the crankshaft and one halfway up to the piston. These needed to be lubricated constantly and that was what the oil can in the slave's hand was for. The can weighted some five kilograms when it was full and could have been made from solid lead given the pain caused by holding it. The slave had to do constant squats to follow the engine's movements. Every time he feared that he would no longer have the power to push himself up again. When he was lucky this would just earn him a whip stroke or two to add to the scars on his back. If he was unlucky he would slip on the mixture of oil and water on the boiler room's deck. Then the machine would maim and kill him horribly. If luck left him totally he would survive the fall and the DawiZharr would drag him through the hatch at the far end of the boiler room. No slave ever came back from there, but rumor said that his soul would feed the engine he now serviced with the last of his power.
Pursuit Special 01, 3000 meters AGL, 30 kilometers from Hashut's Fire
Hartmut Klawitter's neck started getting stiff, a reminder that he was no longer 20-something. It did not keep him from looking all around every so often, he just paid for it. Given that the price of failure was joining Tivsha wherever she might be, he endured. So far his exertions brought him the sight of a great lot of biplanes, some ice floes, a black sea and a cloudy sky. Just when he thought he had spotted a speck on the horizon his wireless started to crackle.
"Pursuit 01, this is Hawker 01. Enemy in sight at 11 o'clock, angels 20, several disks, over"
"Hawker 01, Pursuit 01, copy spotting several disks. All Leviathan elements, change course to 070, accelerate to combat speed. Hawker 01, you are free to engage."
"Pursuit 01, Hawker 01, solid copy on free to engage. Out"
It was fitting that Xune had spotted the enemy first, the fighter escorts were 2000 meters above the German and Druchii eyes were certainly helping. Now there was still time for proper radio procedures, so important when one had 48 wireless sets in the air. Hartmut Klawitter suspected it would not last. Pushing the throttle forward till it hit another detent and changing the prop pitch again caused the engine to roar louder and the biplane to accelerate. Not as much as Klawitter would have liked, not with the load under his wings and fuselage, but still to speeds the Red Baron would have thought impressive.
He spotted the ships nearly at the same time that the report came in. The DawiZharr ships might be smokeless, but their air cover gave them away. It was a bit hard to tell from here, but they seemed to be the same ones he had seen yesterday. He shivered despite the warmth of his flight suit. Breathing three times to calm himself he pushed the wireless button."
"All Helldiver elements, enemy ships spotted. Change course to 050 till the enemy is on 090, then we go in. We engage by elements, command element will attack last ship with me."
There were quite a few confirmations in his ears, but they hardly registered. What filled his mind were the dark shapes that became larger with every second. The flying disks were looking exactly like the one which had killed his wingmate and nearly offed him in the bargain. And his mission asked him to ignore them.
The seconds ticked by while Leviathan's planes flew perpendicularly to the enemy until they had them lined up.
"All Helldivers, course change to 076. We are going in."
And that they did. Turning to face the enemy Hartmut Klawitter saw the lead DawiZharr ship disappear below his engine cover, while the others became a bit blurry due to the propeller. And slightly above him to both sides were the Flugscheiben that wanted to kill him. Their combined speed meant that they got closer with frightening speed. One seemed to make its way towards Hartmut. His instincts told him to engage the nitrox and evade. His mind clearly stated that this would disrupt the formation and nix the attack. His stomach decided to do flip-flops.
And then a line of fire connected the flying disk with something unseen. It entered the Flugscheibe from above and caused an explosion that erupted from every opening the disk had. The remains dropped from the sky with all the elegance of a flying manhole cover. A high pitched shriek pierced Klawitter's ears and for once he did not call for radio discipline. The escort fighter's kill deserved the elation.
The 70 mm rocket had become a staple of all Reiksbund air forces during the last several years. Cheap, not too heavy and easily able to take a Flugscheibe or Battlemech Golem they could be mounted on the lightest planes. They were quite accurate if employed from their proper launchers which would not fit the biplane's wings. They could be shot from single tubes if one did not mind the inaccuracy. Or one could employ the laser-guided variant, which would hit the spot the pilot illuminated precisely.
Hartmut would breathe far easier if the Wild Geese would have more than a hand-full of them. And by the traffic in his wireless set, that handful had just been used up.
Hey (They not Hey) had not been spent in vain though, most Flugscheiben were either gone or fled the battlefield as quickly as they could. And now it was Hartmut Klawitter's turn to make sure that expenditure was not in vain.
The ships below were so far not making any course changes, which was good. Hartmut suspected that this would change when the attack began, but he had timed things so that all ships should get theirs at roughly the same time. He saw a few evilly blinking lights and lazy-seeming balls of fire that tried for the Wild Geese. They had probably next to no chance as long as the biplanes remained at this altitude, but that would change soon.
The last ship in the line was about to disappear under the spinner, which told Klawitter he would for five minutes cease commanding 48 planes and fly for himself. He closed the radiator flaps and feathered the prop. He wanted to fly home and an over-cooled, over-speeding engine would not do. Checking that he had done so he pulled the joystick sharply to the right. The world turned around him till the sky was below and the sea above his head. Now he could see the enemy again and he was ugly as sin. Pulling the stick towards his chest till the plane aimed directly at the enemy was the next step, turning the plane around so the world was right side up the next.
And then there was the glory of the dive. The struts that kept the wings in place shrieked with a speed they were not meant to take. The engine roared and his target grew with every second. The dreadnought's wake became individual waves, starting to bend to the right far too slowly. The black dots from which the fire balls rose resolved themselves into discernible gun pits and sailors could be seen. He was not sure if he saw DawiZharr pointing at him or if he imagined it.
It was am (a not am) moment off (of not off) terrible, frightening beauty, one that would burn itself into his memory till the day (he died. By now he was very, very sure that the plane was below the altitude for dropping, very much so. And still his traitorous altimeter insisted that this was not so. Klawitter divided his attention between the rapidly spinning indicator and refining his aim. And then he could finally grip the handle that had been fixed besides his seat and pull with all his might. For an eternal second nothing seemed to happen, and then his plane jerked. That was when he could finally pull the stick and change the prop setting back.
He needed all his strength to pull the stick all the way and keep it there. The plane was very close to speeds it was not meant for and so the wind that tore over his rudder wanted a fight. The ship disappeared below his engine cover, but the Pursuit Special was still aimed at the sea. The horizon came up at the same time when the elephant sat on his chest. The g-forces pushed the pilot into his seat and the wooden airframe groaned under the strain it was subjected to. And while the sky finally the filled Klawitter's windscreen the edges of his field of vision came closer with every second. All colors bleached from his sight and breathing became so very hard to do. Pulling up this hard meant that both Klawitter and his plane weighted five times as much as normal. That forced blood from his head into his legs and lower body, making it hard to think and see. The pilot could just try to hold the stick when his vision blacked out before him and hope he would regain his vision in time.
It was just not fair. Normally the slaver's announced all course changes, so that the slaves had a chance to grab something to hold. Such moments were to be savored, the blessed time when one could catch the breath and maybe swill a mouthful of tepid water. Now the ship had come to a new heading so fast that the engine room tilted to one side. One second the slave had poured oil into a bearing the next he had fallen to the deck and the precious oil can had dropped into the engine's innards. He could just stare at it and horror filled his soul while the connecting rod squashed it against the crankshaft. He would be tortured before they brought him to the place from which no slave returned. The slave saw the disdain in the slaver's face, saw him grabbing for the cruel whip and then standing up when the hammer of a god hit "Hashut's Fire"
The slave dropped all the way to the deck when the ship shivered and an explosion filled all ears. For a moment nothing else seemed to happen and then there was a hiss. The slave could not see the superheated steam that emerged from the now empty rivet hole. But he saw the DawiZharr's melting face all too well and heard the dying Dawizharr's shrieks. He was still deciding if he should rejoice when a stream of cold water entered the engine room and hit the boiler squarely. The resulting explosion killed him as quickly and painlessly as anything could.
Office, Platz der Republik 1, Berlin
Olaf Scholz's office was no longer inside the Reichstag, such was the fate of the main opposition party of the Bundesrepublik. It was still an imposing edifice, realm of one of Germany's most powerful politicians. The old Andrea Hermanns would have hesitated at the doorstep for a second. The old Andrea Hermanns had died in the rigging of a windjammer at Beaufort 8, a new one had been born in a duel ring in Estelia. She held her head high and her shoulders square, despite being on a mission she could only see as a forlorn hope.
"Good morning Andrea, nice to see you again."
"Good morning Olaf, thanks for seeing me at such short notice."
Olaf Scholz was a very old hand at politics. Even he himself no longer knew how deep the friendly façade went and how much it was really part of his personality. Normally there were avenues of approach a junior backbencher should use to approach the SPD's old man, they had not been used. His memory was still good enough to remember that she was a replacement for a long-standing party member. She had not been through the "Ochsentour", the hard slog that the SPD still expected of anybody who wanted to be elected to high office. She had not spent much time with the Jusos, she had not been the aide of a member of Bundestag for a long time or headed a local chapter free of charge for a decade.
Scholz had to fight the notion of disdaining her for just that. That had been the old Sozialdemokraten, and it had cost them badly when they were still on old Earth. If they wanted to regain their chances at governing Germany they would have to let new talent in. That was hard to do in any party, but the SPD was more resistant than most. And truth be told, Olaf sometimes felt uncomfortable with the new people. Their outlook at the world was so different from his own. His worldview had been formed on old Earth, the most important parts in the somewhat staid West German republic. He knew that this world played by very different rules, but his heart had yet to accept them, if it ever would.
Still, his secretary had a few cookies and some decent tea for both of them and Olaf even made them sit down in the lounge area instead of at his desk. He was not sure if Hermanns appreciated the gesture, the younger people were like that. Both had a sip and bit into a sweet while exchanging some titbits about the weather. When the cup was half-empty the old man decided to push the issue.
"So Andrea, what is it that brings you here? The committee on budget still not able to grasp Excel?"
"No, not that, they make progress now that I feed them smaller doses."
"Ha, tell me about it. So what is it then?"
"Naggaroth."
"The slave thing?"
"Yes, the slave thing. Lots of humans who do not want to be killed and tortured by the damn Spitzohren. I can understand that we did nothing when everybody expected them to be overrun in a few days, but now we have a chance. Put the screw on bloody Malekith. He has enough problems, he does not need us intervening."
Olaf Scholz's shoulders sagged a bit and he collected himself before answering.
"First off: You are right. What happens in Naggaroth is a shame and should be stopped. Unfortunately I do not see a way to do so. I was not involved obviously, but I know that the Foreign Ministry tried some unofficial contacts. It is not that we have an embassy in Naggaroth, but there are ways to reach Malekith if one really wants to. The whole enterprise was low-key as the coalition is against any intervention in this mess anyways. Turned out that Malekith is not having any of it."
"Why? He does not need a two-front war?"
"No, he does not. The current guestimates are either hurt pride, matter of principle, or that he fears that this would cause more slave revolts."
"So what can be done?"
"Nothing short of military intervention. And that is currently not on the table."
"Why for god's sake? The Bundeswehr would eat his forces for lunch."
"When they get there, which is very far away. Either they get there with very few, light units which might well be overwhelmed. Or they take too long to assemble and ship something substantial, that might arrive too late and the government has egg on its face, together with the army staff. And the big question is "then what". Imagine we would magically transport the 7th Panzer Division to this Neustadt, that would surely be enough to secure the place. But either we need to keep them in place indefinitely, replace Malekith, or transport all the slaves here. And none of that is acceptable to Söder, Junge, and company. Truth to be told, I am not sure how parts of our electorate would react to half a million refugees dropped here all of a sudden."
Andrea Hermanns was no politician yet and might never be. Frustration and resignation were displayed clearly in her face and her voice dropped scorn.
"So we do nothing?"
"So we do nothing in this matter, no. We are the opposition after all and if we push this matter too badly the government would take this as a mallet to hit us with. "The socialists want to waste the German taxpayer's money for foreign adventures and all that."
"And that is enough to let half a million people to be tortured and killed? Really?"
"Andrea, I understand you, I truly do. But one of the hardest things to learn in the Reichstag is choosing which issues to get behind. At this very moment there are a thousand worthy causes that call for attention. The caste system and the current food shortage in Ind. The way the Cathayans treat several of their minorities, the discrimination the Strigani still suffer in the Empire, or the fact that the majority of German pensioners are half a step away from poverty. All of these cry for attention, all of them are worthy but we have only limited resources to tackle them. And none of the issues I mentioned call for the Bundeswehr to march.
As the opposition we cannot say what resources are spent where anyways, we can try to keep the current government honest. But even when we do not have to decide where the Bundeswehr goes and where the taxpayer's money is spent even we have to husband our strengths. And at the moment far too few people care for the slaves of Neustadt, so this is not where the party will expend at least officially."
"And unofficially?"
"We have to make more people care for the slaves."
"And how do we do that?"
"Well, we won't get much done with an article in Vorwärts, that is for sure. Now, I am no expert on these social media things, that is for the youngsters. Maybe something could be done there, I have no idea. Just hypothetically speaking, if I were to see something worthwhile there might be a reptile fund to help."
"Uff. I am not sure I…"
"Don't be. Network a bit, that will do you some good anyway. See what help you can muster. And then go for it, if you think it is important to you and you can hack it."
Ice Carrier Leviathan, 350 kilometers from Karond Kar
Hartmut Klawitter needed all his reserves to step forward and present a confident commanding officer.
"Three out of five, and one of the survivors is certainly dinged. I have said it before, I'll say it again: Very well done folks, very well done indeed. Unfortunately the two ships have not gotten the memo and are still on course. And that means we have to do it again and make sure this time that the suckers sink. Again, an all-birds mission, again course 75, just distance is a bit lower. As everybody made it back we will use same chain of command as before. We will use the same method of attack, but two elements will attack this time. Element 02 and Command element on me, we take the second ship in line and leave first dibs to the rest of you guys. Xune will provide cover. Any questions?"
Nobody moved for a few seconds, then Xune Silvercrest lifted his hand.
"Sir, we have expended all laser-guided missiles during the last mission. What if the Flugscheiben show up again?"
"Well you know that and I know that, and I will not tell the Chaos Stumpies about it. So best bet is they won't show up at all, they fled quickly enough last time."
"And if not?"
"Then you have the light guns."
"Then we have four shots per plane."
"Then you should not miss."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence. I think."
"Oh I won't tell you how you do your job, but I have this idea…"
Close to bunker, before Neustadt
The Druchii sniper had not moved during the last two hours. That was not easy, given that his uniform was thoroughly drenched by cold water from below. The cold had one advantage though, it reduced the stink from the bodies around him markedly. They were the perfect camouflage, having the same uniform as those around him and the same pale face of death. He waited for the slaves to make the same stupid mistake again, of silhouetting themselves in their vision slots. He would punish them for that and please Khaine. At the same time the slaves would be less willing to watch from their bunkers, and wouldn`t that be a good thing?
The change was a small one, not as black-and-white as it used to be. Even the slaves could learn after he killed enough of them. But he was no human, to be deterred by a blackened face. He could see the human features behind the vision slot and still acquire a sight picture despite the near-total blackness. He pulled the stock against his shoulder so very slowly, no movement was to draw in a human sight. He brought the slit and the face behind it into view and breathed in deeply. He exhaled a third of the way before stopping. He pulled the trigger with care and the shot broke with the same suddenness as shattering glass. He heard a meaty impact, but no scream. He was about to crawl backwards when the whistling from above started.
Bunker, before Neustadt
Gernod pushed the butterfly trigger all the way, walking the tracers all over the place where the muzzle flash had erupted from. He had no idea if he hit anything, but he put enough lead downrange to kill a company of Druchii. The sight before him remained dark for a moment before flashes of red lit it up. The mortars were dumping some 20 shells into the small area before the bunker. Anything alive in that area should be dead by now. He stopped firing as it seemed superfluous given the violence before him. Looking to his side he saw the remains of the cabbage that they had decorated a bit with coal and paint. Normally he would not play with his food, but it had served well as sniper bait.
Hey @Wolf1965 i found something that can be explained about the world of WHF and the Chaos gods. The whole thing is a timeloop that happens when the Four reset the world it's actually implied to be if you look at it and same can be said about the Dwarf god leader who has a book about his previous selves time during those loops
