Wow what a wild ride these last few chapters have been I will really need to take some time to muster up all my thoughts and questions!
The big one for me though probably induced by forgetting earlier parts of this long running tail is thus though: ''What is lord Mordred, isn't he the spawn of dark elves? Why did he want to rule over chaos dwarves so badly?''
Thanks for the nice words, I can use them. These chapters are the culmination of so much I wrote and planned during the last years that I am happy if they impress. Mordred's fate and plans are extremely storyline, so I will not comment now. You will see the update after the next one though. Lets just say the Warhammer World will be different after that.
I have missed the date with last year's Christmas Special for reasons that were not good, but at least understandable. This year I have no such excuses and so, before Christmas Eve, there is this year's special. This one is not based on a Christmas classic, like the Little Match Girl or the alternate Three Kings. Today's is mine, and I hope it will find the reader's approval. Many of you have asked if so many children believing in Santa should not have consequences. Well, they have, but please remember that you should be careful with your wishes, you might see them come true.
This story had two proofreaders, one being our trusty Trevayne, the other is Joerg Ehrensberger, who held a workshop on how to write a Christmas story. Thanks lads, this story would be less without you.
The Empyrean has no coordinates, it is not a place you can visit in the flesh. It is the place where dreams go to and nightmares come from. And while they have no corporeal bodies, there are denizens in the warp, many old and mighty. They are the shadows of our hopes and fears, our prayers, aspirations and our failings.
The Warhammer world is so much closer to the Warp than the one the Germans came from. And so their dreams, hopes, and traditions write their design into the Empyrean.
For just a little more than a dozen years German children had dreamed about Santa Claus, had believed in the jolly red guy and longed for his visit. That was until they became older and more cynical. Too short a period for the children and the Warp to accept such hopes and beliefs as its own. Or was it, at least a bit? A goddess of healing and caring, Shallya, had adopted this Christmas thing, and who knew what that would bring.
Sister of Shallya orphanage, Nuln, Christmas Evening
Thorsten Böttcher looked at the guest room's mirror and found that everything was just perfect. The red robe with the white fur trim and matching trousers, check.
The red cap with the fur trim, set an a jaunty angle , check.
The beard lustrous, white and fluffy, check.
The huge bag and the long list, check.
The big belly…….pain.
The pain ran through Torsten Böttcher's chest like fire, sending fiery tendrils through the left arm which terminated in the left pinkie. His chest seemed to tighten, making breathing next to impossible. A cold sweat dampened the brow and his legs started to wobble.
Scheiße, not now. The kids were entitled to their show and if any children deserved it, it was them. A shaky hand grabbed the inhaler from the vanity before him and pushed the nozzle into his mouth. He had been warned that he should not take more than two or three doses of Nitrolingual in one go, and in case of a severe attack not use it at all. Deciding that he was a big guy indeed and competent emergency care very far away Thorsten pumped away without counting.
The spray was absorbed by his tongue and airways and the ingredients were inside his inside his blood stream in seconds. It widened all arteries, hopefully improving the blood flow in his heart.
Unless there was a thrombosis, of course. In the latter case he had just worsened his emergency considerably.
The medicine added dizziness to his woes and for a moment Thorsten Böttcher wobbled around, short of breath and about to fall.
And then his breathing became easier by the second, the fire in his chest reduced itself to an ember before dying down and each breath felt like fresh mountain air. He had never experienced an angina attack that severe and certainly never a recovery as quick and as complete as this one. Seemed that volunteering to play Santa in Shallya's own orphanage had its advantages. And it was a good thing indeed, as there were a lot of children he gave a big promise to. He would not fail them.
Taking up the heavy sack like it weighed nothing he left his room and went down the corridor. Nodding to the Sister of Shallya there he pushed the door open with a vengeance and stepped boldly into the huge room full of children.
"Ho ho ho" boomed through the hall as soundly as he had ever managed and after a moment of silence a hundred children cheered.
Thorsten made his way down the aisle towards the "throne" they had set up at the far end of the hall. Any other day it was the room where the children were taking their meals, their lessons and some of their work. Today it had been decorated as best as the Sisterhood of Shallya could. The candles that shone so warmly showed the flickering flames, the soot, and the uneven shapes of homemade rush lights. The ornaments showed fir twigs, straw stars, and lovingly carved wooden figures. There were sweets on each plate, a few dried fruits and nuts, cookies and cakes baked in the orphanage's own kitchen. None of them held a shred of chocolate, their budget would certainly not allow for that.
The kids looked reasonably clean, healthy, and by the looks of them moderately well-fed. That was a lot compared to the bad old days.
What the room lacked was family. There were no siblings to quarrel with, no parents to look for aid, no friendly grandparents bearing gifts and smiles. The Empire had always been a dangerous and poor place and lacked many things, but not orphans. Things had improved a lot during the last dozen years, but by German standards this was poverty.
It was the Sisters of Shallya who tried to make up the difference, to provide advice, to make them feel loved, to feed and to guide their way to adulthood. They tried to extract everything and then some from every penny they had to provide for their children. And in doing so they ran themselves ragged. Even in the candle's merciful light Thorsten could see the many crags and lines in faces far too young for them. Hands displayed rough, red skin caused by cheap soap never intended for human use.
The awkward stance of a sister told Böttcher a tale of a back that had carried too much. And it might be his imagination, but he thought their eyes displayed the resignation of doing their best for their charges and knowing it was not really enough.
He had heard about it, the Shallya's Helpers used these orphanages as a showpiece of their work for their donation drives in Germany. Böttcher had given them money before, but this Christmas promised to be a bleak one now that his wife had passed away. He had played Santa Claus for many a Christmas, he was delighted when his offer to do the same for them was accepted.
Friends and former colleagues had provided gifts, the Sisters offered lodging. He had thought it would be a nice opportunity, but now he saw what he had taken on and nearly despaired.
And yet, for tonight he was Santa Claus, he would not and could not disappoint and so Thorsten squared his shoulders, and strode towards the throne. He looked left and right, he smiled and greeted. And the many faces smiled, the eyes opened wide in wonder and the expectation behind them drove him forward. He made his way to his throne without mishap and settled in a dignified manner. More than a hundred children and their Sisters looked at him, not really knowing what to expect, but full of hope.
Böttcher made a show of donning his round glasses and glanced at the long list before him. Whatever stage fright he might have had was gone, this was what Thorsten had done countless times before. His voice was deep and jolly and it reached the farthest corners of the room.
"Thank you for the warm welcome you all, thank you. I have come all the long way to look who has been naughty and who has been nice. And I have brought gifts for those deserving.
And I just happen to know that you are all deserving, but what shall it be for you? Now Agnes, I hear you are a good child, come to me."
Agnes was slight, by German standards too slight for her age. For a long moment she was unable to get up and Sister Margarethe led her to the throne. She needed a second to climb his knees, but clung to his pot belly when she found he did not mind.
Long practice allowed him to read his own short notes, the ones he had taken when he spoke to the Sisters before.
"Hello Agnes, thanks for coming. I hear that you are a great help to the cooks and that you are really nice and polite to everybody. Such a great girl, I am so happy to know you. Stay as you are, and please accept this gift from Santa, will you?"
Agnes needed a moment to collect herself to say her thanks and grabbed the carton clad in colorful paper.
And before she made her way off Thorsten's knee she did the unexpected and pulled on Santa's lustrous white beard. Which stayed where it was, as Böttcher spent time and effort to cultivate a full white beard and a fantastic mustache.
He winced for a moment before Agnes released her grip and to his own surprise broke in the deepest belly-laugh heard in this room for a long time.
He was still laughing when the girl ran through the aisle shouting
"He is the real one, he is the real one."
The next one was a boy. He was short, even for an Imperial of his age, but his shoulders were broader than they had a right to be. Böttcher somehow remembered hearing about him, no need to consult his notes.
"Sigmarslieb, good to see you. Looks like the blacksmith is about to receive a worthy apprentice with you. You are a strong one, your strength will be much needed in the days to come. Come closer Sigi, let me tell you a little secret."
When the boy was closer Thorsten's voice dropped volume and any jolliness that it had held before.
"Sigmarslieb, strength is a privilege, it means you are made to help and protect others. It pains me to hear that you think that this gives you the right to push others around. Get your head sorted out, or there will be coal in your gift. So, will you stop bullying and help?"
Five meters from Santa's throne
Sister Martha watched the German in action. She had been one of the sceptical ones, being a Sister long before Germany entered the Warhammer World. She liked the new medicines and the aid a lot. She disliked being told that she had done it wrong for a considerable part of her adult life. That the Germans had been proven right had not really improved matters with her.
That the goddess whom she had dedicated her life to had decided to adopt this Christmas thing lock, stock, and barrel flabbergasted her. Yes, celebrating family, of nurturing hope that even the harshest winter would end and to exchange gifts: Those were things Shallya also stood for. And most Germans were not too insistent on this "birth of a future human sacrifice" thing. But it was foreign and she did not really see why Shallya had decided that way.
She knew that many other Sisters had far less problems with that, she could not help herself.
This Böttcher had promised to bring gifts and a show for free, who were the Sisters to deny their wards that chance to bring some light into their drab existence?
And this Ersatz-Santa gave a good show indeed. Seems that he put his beard and belly to good use in that regard.
When that little rascal Sigmarslieb left the throne for his place Martha blinked. The boy was an unashamed bully and the source of many a problem. And now he looked abashed and deep in thought?
At the same time she saw that Agnes had opened her gift, which was pretty large. It contained a large block of paper and a flat metal container that turned out to be an ink box. Martha had seen Agnes draw lines in loam from time to time, but she certainly had not mentioned it to this Böttcher. Now the girl looked like somebody had given her the keys to the kingdom and turned the block over and over.
Sigmarslieb had received one of these fancy multi-tools, only Shallya knew what kind of mischief he would do with that. Still he did not boast like he was usually want to do, but was unusually quiet.
When Martha looked back at Böttcher something was off. She needed a second to see what it was, but it became more obvious by the minute. The German was huge, like they are were in their well-fed country. But now he seemed to fill the throne to overflowing. He radiated joy and caring, his sack seemed to have no limits. One by one the kids came to him and even in the short time allotted to each of them he managed to say something special. Most children came back smiling or cheering, a few more subdued.
When they opened their boxes it was always something different. There were sweets, there were stuffed animals, and there were artwork sets. Whatever it was it seemed to fit the children like a glove.
And then she realized what was so special about this: The words and gifts were nice. But above all they showed the children that somebody cared about them, accepted them as they were and took the pains to pick up something special for them. They could feel good about themselves, they felt accepted and loved. And that was something this orphanage needed like few other things.
Even handing out Christmas presents for a hundred children came to an end and this Santa made his way back from his throne. But not the way the Martha anticipated. Instead he stopped at every Sister that was in the room and handed them something as well. That had not been discussed before, but who were the Sisters to say no.
When the jolly man reached Martha he had this huge smile and the wink in his eyes.
"Thank you so much that I was allowed to play my part Sister Martha. It was such a pleasure."
"No Santa, thank you for being here. Shallya's mercy is surely with you."
There was a chuckle and a shrug.
"I am pretty sure that I needed her mercy just to get here for this evening. Thank you for your hard work, may this small gift sweeten it a bit."
She opened the box a bit later. She had always wondered how chocolate tasted, everybody raved about it. But it was far too expensive to even think about it.
Now she no longer needed to wonder, she could indulge in what, a dozen different tastes? And for a long, wonderful moment life was a much warmer, nicer place, now that she knew that somebody cared about her and her wishes, as selfish as they might be.
Guest room,Sister of Shallya orphanage, Nuln, later at night
Thorsten Böttcher had finally gotten rid of the heavy robes and boots, had taken care of the little hygiene that was possible here and really longed for his bed. He had to move his now-empty sack from the bed when he found something small still inside. How could that be, he had certainly given out the gifts to everybody? Whom had he forgotten?
Opening the carton he found something that made him sit down in wonder. It was the beautiful, if slightly dinged Wiking model car he had received for Christmas so long ago. It was a red and cream VW bus made for a different Santa, the one which had so long and later been misplaced during a busy life. Oh how much he had loved that silly thing, it might even have led him to play Santa as an adult. One of his friends must have found a similar one and somehow put it in the gift bag.
There was a note inside the box, a simple handwritten one.
"Thanks for the assist, couldn't do it without you."
Signed "S&SC"
Oh you silly buggers, Thorsten would have a laugh with whoever had put this in his bag when he got home. He would muse about who pranked him so nicely another day though, this evening had taken from him as much as he could give and then some. Sleep called him big-time.
Thorsten Böttcher got himself in an unfamiliar bed, stuffed with straw instead of a seven-zone cold foam mattress. He managed to fall asleep within minutes, this evening had really taken it out of him. It was the best he could remember though. He awoke seemingly minutes later, refreshed and happy. He could hear his mother down below, she was decorating the Christmas tree. There would be a marvellous dinner and everybody would be there. All the family and Uncle Heiner would have a blast, it would be the best Christmas ever….
His heart should have stopped pumping hours ago when a thrombosis blocked a major blood vessel providing blood to Thorsten's heart. Shallya would not let her chosen Santa and her children down, so she had stayed Morr's hand for that long. Now it was time for Böttcher to move on, he had certainly done all that he could have been asked for as a father, husband, and beloved Santa.
The Sisters found Thorsten Böttcher late the next morning when he had missed on breakfast. They knew the signs, having seen more than enough death in their duties. His passing had been as peaceful as any could be and while it was hard to tell with the dead he seemed to smile contently.
Hapy Christmas dear readers, whereever you may be.
This is a massively better chrismass gift than I could have ever asked for.
Good enough to tempt me to reread from the beginning...however I do not think I have a full week to spare to do so...so I may have to content myself with rereading my favorite parts.
What a shame ;-)
This is a massively better chrismass gift than I could have ever asked for.
Good enough to tempt me to reread from the beginning...however, I do not think I have a full week to spare to do so...so I may have to content myself with rereading my favorite parts.
What a shame ;-)
Thanks greatly. As this is an original story by me, myself, and I am happy that you liked it. May I ask which are your favorite parts? I have a special fondness for the Wood Elf Arc, as it is the first one that holds up to my own standards and the Bretonn Civil War. So what are yours?
Well, I loved those bits indeed. However, my favorite parts were actually those covering: the aftermath of the Skavenblight campaign, the first contact era stuff with a younger Jasla and those of the new German space program especially the interlude about undead astronauts!
The Nagash Arc comes close to all that too though. I hope that helps.
Well, I loved those bits indeed. However, my favorite parts were actually those covering: the aftermath of the Skavenblight campaign, the first contact era stuff with a younger Jasla and those of the new German space program especially the interlude about undead astronauts!
The Nagash Arc comes close to all that too though. I hope that helps.
Sorry folks, health problems slowed me down. When I finally found my feet again, a war far too close to my home made me question if I wanted to write about fictional strife when so much real-world horror was so close. In the end, I decided that I want to give the faithful readers the two story arcs that I owe you, and here is the start of that.
Usually I do not crack jokes when long-standing characters die in an update, here this will make up for many missed updates indeed.
Great thanks to Trevayne who polished a long update seriously fast and good.
Great battles have soundtracks in this TL, may I suggest:
Morgenstern, far side of the Warhammer Sun, Christmas eve
Even the light itself took 16 minutes from the Warhammer World to the spaceship. Any message had to be relayed through two satellites, making the delay even longer and so making any attempt at real-time communication with the world Nathan Alpers had left behind was pointless. So he had sent a long video message back to his family, after he had recorded and edited it several times. He had still not been happy with it when he sent it, thinking it woefully inadequate as he was not home with his family for Christmas.
The most important people in his life, and he was not there for them. He had received a video in return and had retreated to the cubicle that tried to be his cabin to watch it.
Heinrich and Julia, the twins were great. They had grown again since their last video and Nathan could see more than a little of old Baron Heinrich in the boy. They were dressed for summer and told him how much they enjoyed the gifts they had received. They related to the great School Christmas party and that the nativity play was for the young kids only and boring for them. Nathan managed a wan smile at the aged wisdom of 11-year-old children before realizing they both played at being happy and upbeat. There was a sadness below their prattle and he felt guilty as sin that he was not with them. He was proud of them that they managed to do so and deeply wished that they would not have to.
He had to blink more than a few times when that video was done. It was a good thing that he had watched it in his cabin, the crew needed the illusion of the unflappable captain when they were that far from home.
He was about to shut the computer off when the placeholder picture was replaced by his wife's face. Hermine of Wolfenfels was as beautiful as she had been when they first met in the castle's great hall, it was a mature beauty these days.
"Hello lover. I won't say that I and the kids do not miss you, we both know it would be a lie. We all need you here, sharing the feast that is for the family with us. We all hope that you will be back for the next Christmas and the one after that. But while the kids do not yet understand, I understand why you cannot be here. You have given your word, you have to do your duty.
Father raised me to become the wife of a knight. Before I met you I fully expected that my husband would be away for years at a time, out of reach and unheard, off on some campaign he might not return from. When I met you, I learned that a better fate was possible, but I can take it if needs be.
I am not happy that you could not tell me what your mission is about. But that you cannot do that and some of the things I hear tell me it is more than a little important. Important enough in fact that I believe that there could be no Christmas for anybody if you fail. So, my champion, go forth to make us all safe if you can and come back, so we can have a good feast the next time. I'll hold the fort till then."
Oh, how he loved that woman.
Two days later Bashurr Rogach brought Morgenstern's Tungsten Rune of Fire Reactors up and a set of turbines produced more than 200 megawatts of power. They were fed into Morgenstern's VASIMIR engine and accelerated small amounts of argon to very, very high speeds indeed. They needed to scrub some of the spacecraft's speed off as they had a rendezvous to make.
Wolfgang Böhler's office. Leviathan
The Wild Geese's CO kept the keys to a safe next to his chest and its combination in his mind only. In case of his demise, there were instructions with several officers on how to open it, they could achieve this only in unison. Any other attempt to open it would result in the destruction of its contents. There were orders in there, the instructions on how to access several surprisingly large anonymous accounts and several memory sticks full of random nonsense. The latter were the most important things in the safe. Their data had been generated by monitoring the radioactive decay of a block of Cobalt 60, and exactly two sets of data had been written on a set of two sticks. One was with Wolfgang, the other with his real employers. Messages between them were exchanged via commercial Satcom these days, which meant that their exchanges could potentially be monitored.
Therefore, their messages and reports masqueraded as very different things, were hidden in pictures and videos. With the right algorithms and keys, the important bits and bytes could be extracted from owl and wyvern pictures, from porn and recorded prayers. And when that was done the extract was matched against the random data on the memory sticks. They would reveal the real message, erasing the codes while they were read. One-time codes were as close to unbreakable as anything could be, and that was a blessed thing.
The last set of messages had contained a changed set of orders that would have devastating consequences if known outside a very small circle and made any chance of them succeeding nil. Even so Wolfgang Böhler had to find a way to make them happen. Not only did he have no clue how he might accomplish what was asked of him and the Wild Geese. He had no idea how to survive that mission either.
Command Bunker, Neustadt
Torsten Breitkopf looked like he had been through a wringer, which was not surprising given the emotional roller coaster of the last several days. For far too long he had stared oblivion in the face when the Black Guard besieged Neustadt. Then the Reiksbund had come at last and he could relax that tiny bit. Then the worst assault on Neustadt, by Khorne's demons no less had threatened them all, just to be beaten back with heavy losses.
And now the damn Chaos Stumpies threatened them all. Which would not be a problem if reinforcements arrived in time. But they could not land unless the Druchii were evicted from Neustadt's vicinity, which meant assaulting a division or so of elite Spitzohren. Without armored or air support, over open ground. Enemies that Torsten had equipped and armed. So the three Reiksbund officers on the other side of the table were giving him the looks and he could hardly blame them. It did not really help that he had to count his sins in front of them. It might raise their chances of success minutely, but every bit helped.
"So, what did we sell to them? The Black Guard has the Mk2a rifle. It was one of the first rifles we made after the change to full-metal cartridges. It fires a bronze or brass-jacket round of some 12 grams at 650 meters per second. It has an internal magazine with five rounds and loads from stripper clips. It accepts a bayonet, but that bunch prefers their halberds when it comes to melee. Their officers often have a revolver, firing a 12mm round at roughly 280 meters/second. Most soldiers will have a couple of hand grenades. They will have the latest type, they can be used with a stick for more range or without, and they can also attach a frag mantle to the head.
I have heard that they use several grenades with a central stick grenade to make satchel charges. They are said to be quite dangerous to the user, but their only man-portable weapon when they encounter DawiZharr mechs.
As for crew-served weapons they have two variants of the medium machine gun. Both use the same ammo as the rifles and have a rate of fire of 600 rounds per minute. One has water cooling and uses cloth belt feed, the other is air cooled with a 70-round magazine. I am not sure if these Spitzohren have any of the 13mm machine guns. They have roughly the same kick as a Browning M2 and are a threat to the smaller mechs. They could give your weapons carriers a hard time too, but we never saw them with the Black Guard.
They have 80 and 120 mm mortars for artillery, also some 75 mm field pieces. We did not see any of those after the great assault, generally they seem low on ammo.
Last ,but not least we made a hundred or so of the combined mounts. They have a 13mm ranging machine gun and a 37 mm cannon, either semiauto or fed from ten-round magazines. We had not mentioned them before as we never saw them in action. We do not have anything that flies, so the Druchii have no reason to use them against us.
Joakim Vos breathed deeply a couple of times before he trusted his temper and voice again.
"You have been an eager beaver Herr Breitkopf, haven't you? Well, that is neither here nor there, thanks for the info anyway. We can use the intel when we plan our assault. We have to go tomorrow at the latest if we want to be resupplied before the Chaos Stumpies arrive."
Torsten Breitkopf's head sunk for a moment before he straightened up.
"Whatever my sins may be, what can we contribute to the mission?"
Joakim sighed before he answered.
"We will certainly need to talk about the use of your artillery to soften the Druchii up. With our drones we should be able to direct your guns when firing indirectly. I would ask you to accept one of my officers as liaison. I plan to attack following a creeping barrage and that has to be controlled very tightly. Apart from that I do not believe your people can contribute to the assault."
"And why do you believe we cannot fight for our own lives?"
The voice was undeniably feminine and contained more resolve than any other in the room. Anja had not contributed to that meeting so far, which was obviously at an end.
Vos swallowed once before answering.
"No disrespect meant to your people, but they lack the training for these kind of operations. They did very well defending fortified positions, militias are usually good at that. But now we have to go over the top, exposing ourselves to enemy fire. We are trained to do so and we have the armor to protect us, your people not so much."
Anja did not raise her voice and still every Reiksbunder in the room cringed.
"Oberstleutnant, we may all have been slaves a few years ago and our Patron, my husband, may have joined a rather questionable cause and horrible people. I still believe that our actions during the last years have proven that we will stand and fight and that my husband did more than could be asked of anybody as soon as he could make his decisions stick.
You have seen the trenches and bunkers that we have built and defended, fought from them yourself. We defended these fortifications as best as best as we could. But no matter how vigilant our people were, Spitzohren managed to infiltrate the trenches and attacked the bunkers. Sometimes there were a few, when Druchii assassins bypassed the defenses without being observed. And once in a blue moon they got into the trenches in numbers. We could not allow them to entrench there, so our soldiers counterattacked. Former slaves, with no armor and very short training went after the slavers. They assaulted warriors who had been through centuries of warfare, who had tortured their former victims till they broke down. And still they killed or expelled the Spitzohren every single time. They suffered horrible casualties with each counterattack, but they never lacked volunteers who made up the numbers. Do you really think you cannot find a use for our soldiers?"
Joakim was still searching for an answer when Thorgrimm Steinier's voice rumbled through the meeting.
"If all of your people are as good as those who tended the mortars they will do lass. The moment they will go over the top they will start to bleed like no tomorrow, but you know that already, don't you? You want to earn your safety and freedom, at least that's what you'll tell yourself. But in the end, this is about grudges, and you have more than anybody else that I care to name. Good for you lass, and we will take everybody willing to leave the trenches. We will just have to make sure the bullets fly in the right direction, that's all."
Briefing Room, Graf Zeppelin, 600 meters AGL Sea of Chill
The room they called the briefing room was also the officers' mess, there was simply not enough space on the airship to have a specialized room for that. The screen behind Andreas Hoppe had displayed "The Battle of Papenburg" yesterday, it showed the air components TO&E, loadouts, courses and targets today.
Some pilots before him sat on lightweight armchairs, others lounged on sofas. All balanced clipboards on their knees, all listened intently. If they missed something important they might kill themselves if they were lucky. They might kill their comrades and fail the mission if they were not.
Andreas Hoppe's voice was the result of many years of being a soldier. He was easily loud enough to be heard by all attending , but he never shouted or sounded stressed.
"All right Eagles, this is where things get serious. The Reiksbund contacted both Malekith and lord Astragoth during the last several days. The embassy at ZharrNaggrund was put off for a few days, now they are being told that they can't locate Lord Mordred and that the DawiZharr operations in Naggaroth were not covered by the peace accords. Malekith reportedly flew into a rage, told us he would kill any free human in Naggaroth and probably destroyed the wireless set at the end of the call.
That means that all attempts to relive Neustadt peacefully have failed, so now it is our turn. We currently have two targets, the DawiZharr column on its way from Hag Graef to Neustadt and the Druchii besieging the town. To start this off we confront out (our not out) old enemy, the Flugscheiben. We need to make the most of the limited air-to-ground ordnance on board, we cannot allow the flying disks to interfere."
The latter got an ugly growl from the pilots. The first ever battle by the Young Eagles had been against the Flugscheiben. Inexperienced and equipped with ordnance for a very different mission they had bled badly. Now they were better pilots by far and their Jagdfalke fighter-bombers different planes. Everybody in this room was hungry for a rematch.
"From 12:00 today we will keep a two-ship CAP in the air with two more in the launch cradles. This will be the job of First Flight. The Second and Third will carry out a strike against the DawiZharr, with Second providing top cover and Third going for the enemy's Battlemechs. If we can down these the guys and gals at Neustadt can take care of themselves. Then we will…."
Johann Prossy's Quarters, ZharrNaggrund
Martina Hartwig awoke in stages. Her brain took its time to parse the passage of air over her skin and the shivers that went through her, it finally concluded that she was naked. The sounds around her and the texture of whatever she was lying on was wrong, so she was not in her home.
Her eyelids refused to open as they were caked over by the dried remains of something she refused to acknowledge. When she found the energy to move her arms to wipe that from her face she felt something restraining the right one and it felt like rope when she pulled it over her skin.
The pain of freeing her eyes forced a ragged breath from Martina and her throat hurt from being abused by things that did not belong there. Her mouth was dry as parchment, but even so the taste of its insides drew memories of last night she desperately tried to suppress. With vision finally restored Martina found herself on a "bed" that was considerably bigger than necessary for two people and had enough attachment points for ropes to double as a quay. One arm still had several windings of rope around it. The other had marks and abrasions enough to show where her bonds had been and that she had tried to escape from them. Further inspection revealed her tights being soiled by liquids that she really did not want to speculate about. Her nether regions emitted a dull pain that flared up when she started to move.
Each pain and every mark she discovered on herself brought up flashes of last night and they started to form a horrible whole. Martina Hartwig shuddered and needed a moment to still her shivers. She listened intently and to her relief heard nothing of those who had done this to her. She found her clothes, but most had been ripped into uselessness. Martina wrapped her former tunic about her and fled the engineer's quarters.
She made it to hers without mishap and none of her slaves dared to question her, actually they tried their best to become invisible. Hartwig made it to the bathroom under her own power and began the painful process to remove last night's filth from her. With every speck of blood and every moment her mouth tasted of nothing but herself her resolve surged.
"See you soon?" She would show the raping bastards what she thought about her "enjoying" what they did. She had two derringers, she would go packing next time. And if this asswipe Prossy would approach her again she would shoot his balls off. She could explain this to, she could tell…
Jasla
And her problem with the storage at the Brot-aus Luft plant. Jasla would administer another "motivational session".
The thought hit her like a hammer and seemed to remove all the air from the room and all the bones from her body from her body.
Martina Hartwig collapsed on the bathroom's floor into a fetal ball and cried.
She did that for an interminable time, until her throat was hoarse again, until her face was raw from tears. In the end she picked herself up, clothed herself, gathered the gear and went out of her quarters with her head held high.
Druchii trench, before Neustadt
Kouran Darkhand ground his teeth in his anger about the idea that the Black Guard needed to entrench their lines when facing slaves. He immediately regretted that. The mage had worked her usual miracles, regenerating missing teeth and reshaping his nose. Even if she wanted to she could not have prevented the regenerated flesh from hurting like hell when stressed. Even he had to use every bit of self-control to keep the pain from showing. It would not do to display such weakness to his warriors. After the many failures in taking the slave's city some might get the idea that they would serve Malekith better than him.
Until the day somebody actually bested him he would serve the Witch King and a new opportunity to do so had offered itself. There was a DawiZharr army on its way to Neustadt, they probably wanted the same as him: The factories and the slaves to work them. He would occupy this place and keep the slaves and their lovers from being resupplied. He would then vacate this place under cover of the night and let the Stumpies and the humans murder each other. With any luck the survivors would be weakened so much that he could take them out and finally give Malekith his due.
Launching Cradle, Graf Zeppelin, 5000 meters AGL Sea of Chill
The launching cradle lowered Eberhard von Roon's Jagdfalke from a relatively quiet, orderly hangar into a storm below. For the first time since the airship had slipped its mooring mast for this mission the huge turboprop engines were lit and added a Banshee howl to the roar of the slipstream. Adding several times the horsepower provided by the Rune-of-Fire engine they allowed Graf Zeppelin to reach a speed and altitude that would have amazed the airship personnel of old. And every meter above the black waters added a bit of direly needed safety to the launch of the Young Eagles.
Unlike on a seaborne aircraft carrier the planes could not start their engines on the deck, which would have destroyed the zeppelin right away. That was fine if the planes were launched by pairs or four-ship formations. The engines could be spooled up in the cradle. That took a couple of minutes per plane, so the rest of the flight would circle the carrier until the last plane was dropped.
For a mass launch that would not work, by the time the last plane was airborne the first ones would be looking at their fuel gages. Had the Graf been a Luftwaffe airship the evolution about to begin would be utterly forbidden. As this was a Reiksbund airship and an Imperial air element the rules were very different.
He and his WSO went through a rather abbreviated check list this time.
"Fuel pump to on"
"Fuel pump is on"
"Fuel Pressure 2 bar"
"Fuel Pressure is 2.03"
"Prop to feather"
"Props are feathered. Graf control, this is Falke Actual. Ready to drop on my mark."
"Falke Actual, this is Graf. Read to drop on your mark"
Eberhard von Roon, Knight of the sky and the first Imperial ace allowed himself a deep breath.
"mark mark mark."
And on the third mark the cradle released his fighter-bomber. The moment of weightlessness combined itself with his uneasiness into a uniquely unpleasant sensation. Adrenaline surged through his veins, calming his stomach and making conscious thought that much harder.
Now he had about 4500 meters of altitude and a little more than a minute to light his engines.
Norbert von Bruch's voice contained a bit of urgency when he went through the next items on the check list.
"Props to full"
Eberhard changed the propeller's pitch from one where it would mill along causing the least wind resistance to a setting where it milked every bit of energy it could from the roaring slipstream. A gear box and a shaft transmitted that energy to a turbine stage at the back of the engine, and it started to suck copious amounts of air inside. The turbines at the front compressed them while Eberhard and his WSO were pushed into their seat belts by the deceleration from the props.
"Props are full"
"Injection on"
"Injection is on"
A white steam emerged from each engine and marked the Jagdfalke's descent to the black waters below.
Norbert vom Bruch's voice contained a bit of urgency, given that the plane had lost nearly 500 meters of altitude by now that was understandable.
"Ignition to on"
The pilot pushed two buttons side by side and relaxed a bit when he saw two green lights.
"Ignition is on"
Small flames, the size and intensity of welding torches lit inside each engine. The fuel mixture around them ignited immediately. The roaring inferno propelled the second set of turbine blades that had so far milled listlessly in the slipstream. That provided power to the propellers and eased the crews' stomachs. Eberhard gently pulled on the stick trading speed for altitude.
While Eberhard had gone through the emergency launch procedure Graf Zeppelin's launching cradles had dropped another fighter-bomber every 30 seconds. None of them failed to light their engines on time, but one plane had to make do with one engine for a terse minute before the second turbine deigned to work properly. The planes arranged themselves into their formations, so Eberhard von Roon decided it was time to get to work.
"All strike elements, this is Eagle Actual. Course is 060, keep it at 400 knots. Good hunting Eagles."
Eberhard flew one of the planes equipped for air superiority, which would allow him to stay in the air longer if he needed to. Once he had the Jagdfalke on the right course his head moved as it were mounted on a swivel. Checking course and speed, checking the position wingmen, looking for anything in the air that was not flying Reiksbund colors and back to the instruments. There was no time for deep thoughts or chatter when in Indian country, not if he wanted his men to live through the mission.
His eyesight was still excellent, a Jade mage had made sure of that last year, but the electronics still beat them. His WSO's voice broke his concentration for a moment.
"I have several airborne contacts at 061 to 062, profile is consistent with Flugscheiben. They are heating up, and I have bearing changes I think they have made us."
Eberhard's mouth was hidden by his oxygen mask, it kept a really ugly grin from the world.
"Second flight, flying disks at 062, break and attack. First Flight, keep your distance till we have cleansed the skies."
The pilot moved his throttles forward till the detent that kept him from emergency power. The powerful turboprops deftly accelerated the Jagdfalke to more than 700 kilometers per hour. After checking that his wingman kept position Eberhard uncovered a couple of switches and activated a pair of IRIS missiles. Taking a clue from the FLIR sensor the seeker heads of both acquired their targets within seconds.
The missiles warbled their readiness into his headphones, asking him for permission to start their final flight. He kept them from doing so for a few moments longer. The Flugscheiben were not particularly fast, but they could perform maneuvers that aircraft relying on aerodynamic forces could not. Better to fire at a range where the missile was still powered during the terminal approach and much more maneuverable.
Finally, he could depress the firing button and was rewarded by a clean launch of an air-to-air missile. He held off on firing the second missile until he saw the results of the first.
His call of "Fox five, Fox five" denoting the launch of an IRIS missile was joined by others within seconds of each other.
The missile obscured his view for a second before its smoke dissipated. It tracked true and hit the flying disk squarely. Its warhead contained quite a bit of high explosives with a tiny bit of Warpstone and killed being that powered the ungainly Flugscheibe right then and there.
His victory was not the only one, many smoke trails crisscrossed the cold Naggarotian sky and burning flying disks dropped to the black waters below.
Eberhard von Roon's breath caught when one of the Flugscheiben still flying shot a burst at one of his planes. The ones he was used to had ridiculously short-ranged guns, but this one came far too close at nearly a kilometer. Looked like the Eagles were not the only ones who flew upgraded craft.
He managed to keep his voice calm when he pushed the to-talk switch.
"All Eagles, this is Eagle actual. Keep your distance from the Flugscheiben, use missiles. I think the water here is a bit too cold for a bath."
Heeding his own advice, he pulled his Jadgfalke into a lazy curve that would allow to face the flying disks from a few kilometres distance. That brought the ground into view and he blinked twice. Something was seriously wrong there.
100 Kilometres from Neustadt
Erutan Doomshackler's howdah had been heaving this way and that ever since he left Hag Graef. It had been a strange feeling at first, and only the fresh air provided through the ventilation slits had kept him from becoming sick. It was far worse below, in the belly of the beast where a company of DawiZharr warriors were crammed together in hot, dark humid quarters that moved. Down there it had been a puke fest for a day straight and he hoped that the soldiers would do Lord Mordred proud when the day came.
Now the movement had ceased, the huge war machine had gone down on its haunches as it were. Once the DawiZharr force had stopped in place all Mechs had started to emit huge amounts of smoke that covered Mordred's chosen like a cloak.
Ever since the German bombers had forced the DawiZhrr into feigning submission, air defence had been a priority for the true dwarves. And while their pet Germans were unable to provide weapons to shoot down the aerial menace, they had developed the means to cover. The smoke that hid Ernutan and his forces was so thick that he could barely see the two anti-aircraft mounts on the Mech's back, even when they were only a few meters away. The smoke did not just block light, but according to the Germans, also something they called infrared. Small mortars barked at times, lofting bright metallic strips aloft which slowly settled on the ground. It was supposedly good against radar, whatever that might be.
The new ways of warfare as revealed by Lord Mordred had lifted the DawiZharr high and his servant Ernutan with him. But as with all good things there was the bad and the stout Chaos Dwarf warrior experienced one of its worst sides. He did not see the threats that might very well end him. He could no longer control this battle, he relied on others that they might save him. Being so helpless chafed on him, made him irritable and prone to mistakes. He could watch the two antiaircraft mounts the Golem carried on its back. They were served by DawiZharr, but the demon bound to the war machine aimed and fired them. It needed neither clear skies to see its enemies, nor a radar to estimate range and speed. It aimed at souls and no smoke could ever hide these. And so the slender barrels rose and bursts of autocannon fire assaulted Ernutan's ears. They turned here and there, firing at ever increasing elevations. There were explosions somewhere that briefly lit the smoke, and fragments marred the paint of the war machine's sides. None ever came close enough to rock the massive beast though and Ernutan lived through the encounter.
Brot-aus-Luft Plant, ZharrNaggrund
Martina Hartwig stood at the foot of the mountain that marked one of her greatest achievements and her doom. The DawiZharr had ruined their arable lands to the point where the very soil poisoned even them with its heavy metals. Their attempt at conquering new territories had been foiled by the Reiksbund.
It had been Jasla's son that provided an answer. He had magiced up a family of plants to cleanse the lands.
The flowers that Mordred had somehow provided extended surprisingly deep roots into the ground, leeching the heavy metals into their petals which then started to glitter enticingly. They were so poisonous that even the DawiZharr treated them with care, had them harvested by slaves about to die anyways and smelted metals from the ashes of both.
But that left the ground a well-watered desert, a place without nutrients that would support any mundane plants anybody cared to eat. It direly needed fertilizer to come to life. Unfortunately whatever dung or guano-analog was available was also contaminated to the point of uselessness. So the DawiZharr had to make the fertilizer from the very air around them.
It was an undertaking of epic proportions. Martina had designed reactor vessels that withstood the pressure of corrosive gasses of more than 2000 tons per square meter at interesting temperatures. She had to obtain all manners of semi-modern high grade alloys from people for whom metalworking had religious undertones. All of that had to be scaled up to industrial proportions, so that enough fertilizer could be had once the soil was finally cleared. There were only very few people who could have done all that and Martina Hartwig had succeeded. Most DawiZharr might despise her, but the inner core of those who worked for the bread-from-air plant respected her deeply for her knowledge and drive.
The chemist started to clamber up the off-white mountain before her while she thought about how everything turned so wrong. It had started with the discovery that the soil was far more contaminated than previously estimated, and that Mordred's flowers took longer to extract those poisons. And all the while the factory she had built produced ammonia in copious amounts. And all of that toxic, corrosive gas was then converted into ammonia nitrate, a very, very good fertilizer. That would be free of the poisons and finally loosen the noose of food shipments from Germany around the DawiZharr necks. A noose that had been tightened during the last several weeks when the German ambassador had hinted that those shipments might cease if the DawiZharr would not stop pursuing what they thought was their destiny in Naggaroth.
They had produced so much that the ammonia nitrate had to be stored in in a series of huge piles under what went for an open sky in ZarrNaggrund. The piles had grown together into a humungous mountain of fertilizer, waiting to be used. If Mordred's plants had done their job in time, if the air in ZharrNaggrund would have been less humid and full of chemicals all would have been well and good. Martina could have basked in the success of a job well done and reaped lots of benefits.
The way things had worked out the fertilizer had degraded under the conditions in ways that made it unusable. Not only was it no longer a powder of sorts, but it had hardened to the consistency of plasterboard. But it would not only require jack hammers and a rock crusher just getting it ready to load. It had also degraded chemically and if anything would grow on a field "fertilized" with that was an open question.
Jasla had heard that there was something wrong with the ammonia nitrate, but certainly not the size of the problem. She had warned Martina to "fix that" and the chemist was pretty sure that last night's group rape had not been a spontaneous outbreak of violent desire, but a warning.
Hartwig used a hammer, a chisel, and a small shovel to excavate a hole into the monument of her defeat. She had had quite a run during the last years. Not only was she allowed to invent new procedures and influence the course of major players. She had gained access to real slaves, not just people who wanted her to perform in the cinema in their heads .
Below the chemist a small crowd of humans and DawiZharr assembled, looking at what she was doing. She ignored them, never hearing them, not really. Her mind was elsewhere.
She had been able to perform her magic on so many, mostly humans, and so very few Druchii. They had all thought there were things they would never do, loved ones they'd never hurt or indignities they would never subject themselves to. She pulled the prepared charge from her bag and placed it in the hole she had just made while she remembered them. They had all done things she asked them to, had all hurt their loved ones, they had begged to be humiliated. They had given up the very core of themselves, only to gain a short break from what Martina did to them.
And when she had brought them to that place something within them had died. They might be amusing for a few more days, like dogs that performed tricks, but they were broken toys. The chemist had usually killed them within a week past that point. Their last torments could provide some entertainment, but usually they were too broken to be amusing any more.
Jasla would bring her to that place, she knew it for sure. The light behind her eyes would go out and her only goal in life would be to avoid her displeasure. She could not bear imagining what her "fellow" Germans would do to her once her status was reduced to this level. That thought made her nether regions twitch, and that was what provided the final motivation.
A group of DawiZharr was only two meters from her when she ripped the cord from the charge.
It had been coated with a phosphorus compound that violently reacted with the liner of the channel it was ripped through. It ignited a fuse which burned for two more seconds, then it reached a few picric acid crystals that exploded with enough force to take some 50 grams of TNT with them. Their shockwave had enough time to dismember Martina Hartwig, one of the worst sadists that ZharrNaggrund had ever seen. Before the limbs could land anywhere the huge mountain of ammonium nitrate got the message and ignited.
16,000 tons of explosives went up in a detonation that triggered every seismic sensor ever placed by Germans on the Warhammer World.
A silvery wave of destruction ran through ZharrNaggrund at several times the speed of sound and a fireball followed in its wake. It flattened every structure in its path for kilometers and filled the rubble it left with fire. It killed masters and slaves alike with supreme disdain for their status and incinerated their remains. It pulverized the huge pane of glass of Jasla's office and reduced both the Druchii mage and her German slave to a mangled heap of ashes and bones. It was channeled inside Lord Astragoth's Ziggurat by its V-shaped entrance and lifted the massive roof off. When it came crashing down it crushed the DawiZharr who thought himself ruler of all Chaos Dwarfs under it to a pancake.
The explosion flattened Johann Prossy's workshop while he bent over the drawings of what never would become the first submarine reactor powered by enchanted lava. The firestorm that followed fused his remains with those of the slavegirl under his table.
The shockwave raced through the many glass houses, converting their glass panes to so many razors to flay all working within them. It collapsed the walls of the many new factories that had sprung up around ZharrNaggrunds Ziggurats and dropped the ceiling on slavers and slaves alike. The fireball that followed the shockwave ignited their pyre.
Within seconds half of the denizens of ZharrNaggrund died and whether the survivors would stay alive for long in the hell of mortal making was an open question.
The explosion vented some of its fury into the ground and many foundations cracked under the onslaught. The silvery front that raced at the very tip of the shockwave sped ever onwards, the power behind it weakening with every second as it occupied an ever-greater volume. Finally, it stopped expanding and collapsed into itself. And for a very few, lethal moments it was replaced with a very low pressure where the overpressure had already wreaked havoc.
It tore the lung tissue of DawiZharr, men, and Greenskins, apart like wet napkins, leaving its victims to down in their own blood.
The greatest of ZharrNaggrund's temples was Hashut's temple. The Ziggurat had been erected above an open lava pit. A humungous statue, said to contain the tiniest piece of the god itself stood proudly above the boiling mess on a cantilevered plinth.
The heat and the chemicals released from the pit had not done the plinth any favors over the many centuries of its existence.
The heaving ground had capitalized on these faults and the partial vacuum had been the straw that broke the camel's back. There was a creaking and a groaning, a scream of tortured stone and the huge statue finally fell into the lava below. The bronze started to melt soon enough, revealing the remains of its builders as it did so.
The statue had indeed been consecrated by Hashut itself, symbol to its covenant with the DawiZharr.
The god felt the statue's destruction in the warp. It converted the ember of Hashut's anger at the Chaos Dwarfs who had taken another god besides it into a roaring flame. It would show the DawiZharr and the world to fear the God of Fire.
ZharrNaggrund might be largely destroyed now, but the DawiZharr might rebuild it from the ashes.
Let them try when the heart of their realm became a Trap volcano.
Command Bunker, Neustadt
Satcom allowed for both video and high-quality sound communications between the Reiksbund forces in Neustadt and the Graf Zeppelin
Joakim Vos would have gladly changed the broadband connection for a scratchy wireless call and better news. The way things were he could see the grief on Eberhard von Roon's face all too clearly. The good sound quality did not make the facts any better.
Roon's voice was firm despite all that.
"The bloody stumpies use smoke generators that work in the IR spectrum too. They simply hunker down and hide in a fat cloud whenever we approach to attack. They do have effective AA-defenses even so and managed to shoot Colonel Hoppe down. There was no chute, there is little chance of him surviving. I have assumed command of the Eagles for now.
Unless we land and resupply from von Schiller we have fuel and munitions on board for one more major action. We do not possess enough dumb bombs to attack an enemy we cannot target accurately and expect to weaken them sufficiently. If you ask us to we will attack the DawiZharr force again, but I cannot promise that we will stop them. We could also support your assault on the Druchii forces. If that attack is successful, then we can resupply and support you properly. I understand that this is not the news you wanted to hear, but these choices are the only ones I can give."
Joakim Vos needed a moment to compose himself. What he had just heard had killed his one hope of avoiding a charge that could easily kill his command and leave half a million innocents at the mercy of slavers.
"Please accept my condolences. I knew Colonel Hoppe, he will be missed. I will not lie, this is not what we hoped for, but can't be helped. My staff has prepared several different operation plans, let's see into which you fit best.
Druchii trench, close to Neustadt
The trench had been hacked and laboriously dug from Naggaroth's frozen grounds by the few slaves still available to Kouran Darkhand. Some of its length had actually been dug by true elves in lieu of punishments that could no longer be meted out for a lack of warriors. It was hardly surprising that the trenches were none too deep. That the Black Guard needed them at all was an insult by Neustadt's rebellious slaves that the Darkhand would never forgive, one among so many. He stretched the bit needed to peek above the parapet and aimed his glasses at Neustadt's defenses.
He could not help seeing the remains of the former Druchii camp, the one erected in full view of the slaves. It had been shelled twice before Kouran had to acknowledge the folly of that. Now his camp and the trench he had to dig against slaves were on the reverse side of a ridgeline. He was still in range of Neustadt's artillery, but without any means to control their fire the slaves did not waste their munitions. Now his warriors had reported activity in the trenches. Given that the Germans and their allies had joined the slaves that was worrying. It might be another round of repairing the city's defenses that had badly suffered under the demonic assault. The last rounds had been accompanied by vicious sniping and counter-sniping. Kouran would probably not order a repeat of that. The last time the German vehicles had joined in and their rapid-firing cannon had killed Kouran's best marksmen messily.
The Darkhand made sure that his binox would not disturb the camouflage on the top of the trench and tried to make sense of what he saw in Neustadt's trenches. It was hard going, as the slaves had dug far deeper than him and had covered a lot of the trenches as well. There was definitively movement in the first line, with soldiers coming from behind and fanning out along the length of the trenches. Kouran still tried to make sense of that when he was distracted by a buzzing above. Lifting his head he saw something like one of the thrice-damned German planes, but much smaller. It did not screech as those things were want to do, but purred. It did nothing but circle above and the Druchii was about to dismiss it when deep rumbling caught his attention. It came from the parts of Neustadt that he could not see from here. The parts where the slaves had their artillery. Kouran took the time to scream "Incoming, take cover" before making for the next dugout. Seconds after he went into it a set of feet nearly broke his nose again. Before he could act the first explosions threw dirt all over the trench he had just vacated. The bombardment was absolutely fierce, with many detonations so close that his breath was stolen by their violence. It took true elven ears to perceive them over the din, but an evil whispering told a story of fragments that wanted to flay his flesh.
Kouran Darkhand, master of the Black Guard, the Witch King's most feared enforcer, had to hide like a frightened animal before a bombardment by slaves. Oh how he would make them hurt for that.
First trench, Neustadt defenses, same time
Joakim Vos had punched tickets in his new life on the Warhammer World. He had also fought warriors made of otherworldly flesh, abominations the size of busses made by man-sized rats, demons, and a literal god in the flesh once. He had not ever faltered and his path had shown him what it took to take up fights he might very well not live through.
And the fight before him might be the worst he had ever faced. On the other side of that ridgeline were several thousand Druchii warriors, armed with rifles, machine guns, and cannon. They were veterans, they knew how to use their tools and served a god of murder.
History knew quite a few cases where a force inferior in numbers was able to fend off a superior force. But the vast majority of those had been defences, not assaulting a superior force. A decade ago Joakim would have ordered this assault in a cool minute. But the Spitzohren, like some other parties on this world, had upgraded to the point where they were a creditable threat.
To go out with such a forlorn hope he needed three things: Good people that covered his back, and he could hardly think of any better than the Reiksbund soldiers who had jumped into Neustadt with him.
A good mission worth doing, and the former slaves in that city made for a very, very good cause.
And he needed a dose of hate. That helped forgetting about his fears, about the horrors he was about to face and the losses his people were about to incur.
He had learned all about hate during the dozen years he fought for Germany and the Reiksbund. He had seen it in his enemies, lots and lots of hate. And he had felt it burn through his veins, turning all doubts, all aches and fears to ash.
He had seen his enemies and some of his allies lose all reason to hate, had seen things done and losses incurred that should not have.
He had learned from that, learned that hate is like fire, a useful servant and a very bad master. Hating the Druchii was easy, they were a walking horror that should not exist. Curbing the hate to a useful amount was an art. He and the sword were good at that too. That hate needed an outlet, something to kindle the flame and Joakim's forgotten memories provided one that was older than the state he served.
And to the shrieks and rumbles of the artillery that put the Druchii under an iron flail he pushed the icon that connected him with all the Reiksbund soldiers about to go over the lip of the trench.
"Raise the black flag folks. No pity, no remorse. Up and at them."
His call ended with the recording of a shrill pipe that sent everybody over the trench lip. Joakim's armor was powerful enough that it propelled him right over the edge and allowed him to jump the wire belt before the trenches. It allowed him and his fellow soldiers to run over the broken ground, despite their heavy equipment, armor, and arms.
Their target was obscured in a dirty gray smoke that was lit from within by explosions.
Neustadt's artillery hammered into the ridgeline and beyond with unrestrained fury. Every step they took brought them closer to razor-sharp fragments that sliced through everything in their way and the hammer of shockwaves. They ran towards it like a child that has spotted her lost mother and for the same reasons. It was the one thing that promised salvation.
As long as the artillery put the Druchii under its iron flail they were unlikely to shoot back effectively. They could not see much through the smoke and Neustadt's mortars and howitzers reduced the trenches defense considerably. So any Druchii who wanted to live cowered in whatever bombproof shelter he or she could find. They banked on the hope that the artillery would cease firing before an assault on the trenches itself. Then Kouran Darkhand's warriors would step to the parapets in seconds and would slaughter the enemy, who would struggle with the wire before them.
And with any normal infantry assault that was a valid tactic. But the troops that ran through no-man's land were clad in power armor and artillery was a far lesser threat to them. They would attack very closely on the heels of the artillery barrage indeed.
Still, not all Druchii were subdued by the hurricane bombardment. There were several low-slung bunkers along the line with top cover sturdy enough to ignore all but the heaviest hits. The warriors inside could not see much but for a few meters before their vision slits, but that did not render them harmless. Their heavy machine guns were mounted on tripods that allowed them to limit their traverse to their assigned zones. They elevated their barrels to whatever range was screamed at them and then they fired salvo after salvo into the zones they wanted to deny to the enemy. Their bullets screamed and whistled through the man-made smoke, pulling short-lived trails where they left it.
A few actually managed to hit the spidersilk and titanium in a ceramic matrix, they hardly did anything, but slow the soldier down. One such bullet collided squarely with Nar Stonebenders face plate, making sure the dwarf would never see his Karak again.
The barrels of the Druchii machine guns heated up considerably, which made them stand out. One of the Wiesel Weapons Carriers had stopped on a convenient rise five seconds ago. It fired a couple of three round bursts, silencing all but one of the bunkers.
A sudden gust of winter wind was the work of a Druchii mage, it removed the smoke that clung to the enemy's trenches. Joakim's HUD depicted more and more hot spots where courageous Spitzohren peaked above the trench line. Druchii rifles and machine guns opened up, in one case a heavy weapon that managed to kill three Paladins in one burst.
If Joakim had been running without his armor or even the first generation of Power Armor shooting back would have been useless. Both armor and the man inside had upgraded considerably. Green boxes appeared around those hot spots the armor deemed viable. They flashed when his Mauser was aligned with one and the three-round bursts went out without a conscious thought by the Paladin's commander. He was not the only one shooting and the blobs exploded into short-lived flowers in his HUD. More and more such blobs rose. Some dropped into the trench again when their comrades caught an explosive bullet, even more died to Neustadt's artillery. But they did not die quickly enough. Kouran Darkhand had trained his troops with frightening intensity, now they were able to shoot accurately, even when the world around them burned and every second might be their last. They kept their brains sufficiently to use the rare armor-piercing ammo they had been told to use only in an emergency.
The Reiksbund Power Armor was mostly proof against their fire, but mostly meant that steel-cored rounds still found the links between armor plates, the softer fabric that covered joints and faceplates. A dozen Reiksbund soldiers died within as many seconds, leaving red markers in Joakim's HUD. And they were the lesser danger to his troops, Neustadt's artillery was a far larger threat. He slowed the seconds needed to contact the wounded Paladin riding herd on the artillery teams in the city behind him.
"Barbara actual, this is Paladin Actual. Shift barrage forward to phase line Bravo, repeat shift barrage forward to phase line Bravo."
The Paladin's calm voice was a jarring contrast to the murderous madness all around Joakim Vos.
"Paladin Actual, Barbara copies shifting barrage."
Of course that changed nothing, as shells were still in flight and orders had to be relayed, understood and acted on. Joakim Vos could just hope that von der Marwitz's calculations were as good as the German had promised. Given that he could not just halt the assault in a beaten zone he could do the only thing possible and charged towards the explosions behind him. He started hearing the evil whizz of fragments that passed him far too closely, he started to feel the hammer of the grenades' shockwaves. Still he charged into his own artillery fire as if his life depended on it, as it indeed did.
He still slowed without conscious thought, making him a better target, when the shells stopped falling so very close. Instead they started an evil drumbeat that walked over the Druchii rear, closing the trenches to all elven reinforcements. Given the inaccurate mortars and their less-than-professional crews some errors were to be expected. A 120 mm shell dropped right into a heavy weapons team, killing two and maiming the others. A howitzer shell detonated so close to a dawi fire team that they were blown off their feet. Two would be insensible for the rest of the fight, the lungs of another were shredded so badly that he drowned in his own blood.
There were others who lost a limb or had to fight with metal in their bodies. Joakim saw the icons that denoted the losses, using his hate to stop the grief and acknowledged that the Reiksbunders had been exceedingly lucky.
And then he was before the wire belt. Such a simple thing, a few strands of barbed wire strung over posts at hip height. Hard to impossible to shift by artillery, impossible to clear under fire this simple contraption had caught the youth of a generation and filled the fields of Flanders with poppies.
Others would have used tanks or explosives to clear the wire, the power-armored Reiksbunders simply engaged the jump function of their suits and cleared the obstacle in a long jump. It brought them right before the trench that started to grow Druchii heads again. Joakim stopped for a moment, checking the situation in his HUD while many of his soldiers threw grenade after grenade into the trench before them.
Very, very few came back, lacking the power to hurt his men. Other had a muffled detonation, indicating where alert warriors had kicked them into grenade traps. The rest caused a massacre in the densely packed warriors.
The Reiksbunders jumped into this mess, with assault rifles, bayonets and hate. They were met by Druchii warriors who thought themselves the kings of melee combat.
Jagdfalke fighter-bomber 500 meters above the battlefield
The tracers looked like fiery comets rising lazily towards Eberhard von Roon. He did not even think about changing course, his feet pushed the pedals before he realized that he did. Pulling the stick a bit closer, banking the plane to the left and some fore work with the rudders brought the glowing ellipse in his HUD over the Druchii warriors that assembled in the rearmost trenches. Pushing a button on his stick he released two streamlined bombs. Both unfolded braking surfaces once they had cleared the plane's shackles and lagged behind the Jagdfalke in seconds. They had barely stabilized when their casing broke apart and hundreds of bomblets descended in a swarm of destruction. More than half wasted themselves on open ground or empty trenches. The rest found a final resting place between the few Black Guard whom Kouran Darkhand had kept in reserve. A sound like a loud string of firecrackers sounded harmless enough, but the bomblets left so few survivors that a counterattack was out of the question.
Von Roon had pulled his plane into the half-loop that was the start of a Split-S and looked for the AA-gun that had tried to shoot him down. The place where it had likely been was a flaming mess now. He spotted a group of Druchii who pushed a field gun before them. They probably hoped to snipe one of the Wiesels who had now reached the ridgeline Kouran had anchored his defences to and made a bloody mess of everything moving that was not of the Reiksbund.
Eberhard would introduce the Spitzohren to some 30 mm ammo, that should take care of that.
Druchii trench
The Druchii before Joakim were close enough that he could see their open mouths, the hate that defined their faces better than their race and heard their screams. They were armed with a mixture of revolvers and rifles, they all pressed forward in their haste to kill one more human.
Joakim's power armor allowed him to keep the Mauser on target while he emptied a full 40-round magazine into their midst. Geneva and The Hague were in a different universe and the munitions that could hardly miss them made a horrible mess of the enemy. Most bullets that came the other way found a new home in the trench wall or flattened themselves against high-tech armor. One went into the Mauser's receiver, destroying the rifle most thoroughly. Vos dropped the weapon in an instant and gripped the sword that was maglocked to his back. It was a substantial weapon, a two handed sword for most humans. Joakim could have used it one-handed without the armor, with the servos augmenting his well-trained arm it handled like a rapier. The trench did not allow for great swings, so the Paladin charged forward, stabbing the sword into anything that moved. His armor was put to a test when daggers sanctified to the god of murder and brand new revolvers tried to find a weakness. Sword and man fused for a moment, turning Stormbringer's millennia of experience into an assault that was as brutal as it was efficient.
Every Druchii that died sacrificed some of himself to the sword which used it to strengthen his wielder and burn his doubts away. When Joakim could no longer see a living enemy before him he finally found the time to check his back. Stormbringer's cold rush of energy was nearly enough to stop him from blinking. Ulrika Mandragova had his back when he jumped into the trench. The vampire could probably never have children as she would as a human, but that did not mean she could not adore them or kept her from protecting them. Joakim had led a power-armored vampire with a serious dose of the hate into a trench full of slavers and murderers. He was hard-pressed to find a single spot on Ulrika's armor that still showed its camouflage colors.
The lull in the fighting allowed Joakim to do his real job and check the situation. The HUD showed that the Reiksbunders had broken into the Druchii lines in several places. They had paid for that, but the battle was over but for the mop-up. There was more dying to do before the day was out, the Spitzohren would fight like cornered animals. But Joakim's people would not be the only ones bleeding, several columns from Neustadt were about to blast their way through the wire.
Druchii trench, a hundred meters from Joakim Vos
Kouran Darkhand's head felt like it would split every second now. The taste of blood in his mouth was an old acquaintance, waking up from a concussion and the blood that ran from his ears less so. His pierced eardrums made hearing difficult, everything sounded muted, as if his head were under water.
He tried to get up from the trench's floor, but his vision blurred and he struggled to keep his balance. He searched his memory about what had brought him to this place, but there were only fragments of an unending chain of explosions close by. That had obviously passed, but there were other sounds now. Human voices who screamed something again and again he could not understand and the sound of firearms discharging. He had to get up and take command of his people, he would do Malekith a disservice otherwise. And he would not falter in his duties to the Witch King, that was the one thing that defined him.
He steadied himself against the trench wall with his left and grabbed for his revolver when a half-seen, half-imagined human cleared the corner before him. The slave dared to point a shotgun at him and pulled the trigger before Malekith's enforcer could do a thing. Three pellets managed to find his exposed throat, filling his airways with blood. He still had the time to hear what the slave screamed at the top of his lungs.
Kouran was mostly on his way to whatever awaited him in the afterlife when he still tried to understand what "Remember Kuan Ti" was about.
Tower of Cold Naggarond
The Witch King watched his city go up in flames from his balcony, and for the first time in a very long time, did not understand his own people. There had always been a lot of tension and strife in Naggarond's Druchii society. In part as it was the way of the true elves, in part as he fostered it so he could play one party against the other.
The two-fronted war that had threatened to end his 5000-year reign had put a lot of pressure on this particular kettle as the usual ways to solve problems were out during the war. A period of vigorous settling of scores was to be expected now that both armies who had threatened all true elves were gone one way or the other.
What happened in the streets below was a totally different thing. It was not the usual backstabbing or a round of assassinations. It was full on warfare between factions who hated each other for millennia without going to such extremes. On top of that there were reports of really intense orgies going on, surpassing even Druchii standards for such things. He sensed several ongoing rituals that needed to be stopped immediately, lest they open his capital to the forces of the Empyrean that were not under his control.
And when he had his hands full, just when he needed every bit of concentration necessary, his mother asked for an audience. Well, maybe he could use her to quell some of that unrest below. He had asked "his" mercenaries to come to Naggarond as soon as possible, they should be able to subdue the rest. And while they were so close to Malekith he could do something about their leadership…
Portal of the Old Ones, Albion
Converting a single gram of matter into energy would yield the same amount as 42 Hiroshima bombs. The Zero Time Transfer System had been built to handle the conversion of hundreds of kilogram, the transmission of the resulting energies and their reconstitution every second. It could convert and handle inconceivable amounts of energy, a lot of it in forms that would affect the Empyrean as well as the mundane world.
Lord Kroak controlled all of that as he had been installed as a part of this system as a replacement for a Truthsayer who had sacrificed himself to stabilize the old transport net. He knew about the "one gram, 42 Hiroshima Bombs" thing as several Skinks did very few things, but reading German books and papers. They would not understand much of it, but the knowledge went right into a brain that had withstood the test of millennia.
And that knowledge allowed Lord Kroak to understand the atrocity planned by Hashut in ZharrNaggrund. The God of Fire wanted to drown the DawiZharr heartland in a Trap volcano.
That was no ordinary volcano, no fire-breathing mountain that would bury the Chaos Dwarfs under lava and pyroclastic gasses. If nothing happened it would convert hundreds of square kilometers into a sea of glowing lava. It would be the end of the DawiZharr, who had angered the god somehow. The volcano would also spew so much carbon dioxide into the atmosphere that it would raise the Warhammer World's temperatures a lot.
And if the German texts were not mistaken that would release methane from the sea beds in such amounts that it would raise the temperatures even further. It would change the face of this world like nothing since the opening of the Chaos Gates, if not more. Huge deserts would replace forests and farmland, vast tracts of the world would be too hot for any mundane life. It had happened on Earth, a long time ago even in his way of thinking. It had killed more species than any other extinction event.
His people would not survive this, he was sure about it. So what could he possibly do?
Well uh damn, I don't think the entire empire of Zhar Nagrund deserved that at all, their leadership may have but I feel bad for their slaves and menials and those dwarves felt abandoned by their original gods anyway, etc, etc.
It looks like the world will have another humanitarian crises on their hands ;-;
This whole chapter was horrifying, albeit in a way I deeply appreciate. I appreciate the in depth 'human', humane looks you give into this characters minds when you write these stories even in times like this.
Thanks greatly for the kind words. It has been an incredible experience to write this story, this is my first attempt at fiction and in a foreign language no less. It has connected me to very interesting people.
I have slowed my writing considerably during the last years. At first, I had a number of problems with my health and family, then I was stupid enough to volunteer in a hospital. Still, I want to finish this in a convincing manner and a part of the next update is already penned.
And when I am done I have an original project that might interest many of those who followed the ISOT. It will have Winston Churchill and Kaiser Wilhelm in space. In steam dreadnoughts, and no magic involved....
Yeah, I hate to say it but it sounds like the next project might have no draw for someone like me.
No, no magitec, no cultural exchange of politics deeply isolated from each other.
Don't get me wrong I liked the space program here but the runework and mummies were what made it truly special to me.
I guess trying to see how you could make a steam powered spaceship not have pressure issues in a vaccum would be interesting though.
Thanks greatly for the kind words. It has been an incredible experience to write this story, this is my first attempt at fiction and in a foreign language no less. It has connected me to very interesting people.
I have slowed my writing considerably during the last years. At first, I had a number of problems with my health and family, then I was stupid enough to volunteer in a hospital. Still, I want to finish this in a convincing manner and a part of the next update is already penned.
And when I am done I have an original project that might interest many of those who followed the ISOT. It will have Winston Churchill and Kaiser Wilhelm in space. In steam dreadnoughts, and no magic involved....
Yeah, I hate to say it but it sounds like the next project might have no draw for someone like me.
No, no magitec, no cultural exchange of politics deeply isolated from each other.
Don't get me wrong I liked the space program here but the runework and mummies were what made it truly special to me.
I guess trying to see how you could make a steam powered spaceship not have pressure issues in a vaccum would be interesting though.
You probably heard the saying that sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic? And the isolated cultures: Oh yes, that will have them.
Well in that case , with that context count my as deeply interested.
I just hope it also gets posted here.
A.H considers making a new account after you've lost your info for years to the point you forgot you ever made an old account with less than ten posts or so from memory to be sockpuppeting.
What can I say, this is the update that lays the Naggaroth story arc to rest, bar for the shouting. This TL would be far less but for Trevayne's services as a proofreader. When he worked his magic on the last part he wrote that he could see the climax coming up and see why it has to be the climax because I can't really see how you could top it. Well, I can certainly try...
The Empyrean/Depths of the Warhammer World
Have you ever looked at an old-fashioned globe, depicting the lands and seas? The oh-so-important borders are painted on a wooden ball? The paint on that globe is thicker in comparison to the wood below than the solid ground under your feet when compared to the vast molten masses that roil below. At the center is a core of nickel and iron so hot that it should be vapor, but the great pressure keeps it solid. There are many layers above it, becoming increasingly cooler, but also more mobile. The heat below is both a left over from the birth of the world, but also fed by radioactive decay. The heat is transported to the upper levels by huge convection currents, in which hotter, semi-fluid rocks rise and colder ones sink towards the core that will heat them up again.
And that solid ground you are standing upon? The plates that make it up float on the searing fluid mass below with all the stability of a leaf floating on a pond. Moving this way and that with the speed of a growing fingernail they are at the mercy of the currents below. The various tectonic plates grind against each other, causing the ground to shake violently at times. The great convection currents rise higher in some places than in others. And if they meet a weak spot they break through, spilling hot gasses and hotter molten rock on everything in their way. They cannot be fought or negotiated with. They are an unstoppable force that destroys at a whim. Such volcanos have burned themselves into the hearts and minds of thinking beings since the beginning of time.
And when such beings fear and ponder, when they have nightmares and aspirations they cause shadows in the Warp. The great fear and respect for the fire from below coalesced into a living, thinking force of its own.
Hashut, God of Fire.
Hashut had, in a generosity that bordered on insane by its own definition, taken care of the Dawi that were lost in the Dark Lands. He had given them access to far more powerful magic than they ever had before. In his infinite wisdom Hashut even kept them from becoming slaves of the Four Great Gods by turning the DawiZharr who used magic too much into statues demonstrating their folly and Hashut's glory.
He saw to it that they could settle in lands that would take no others and helped them thrive where others would perish. He inspired them to build weapons of terrible might, so that they would subjugate the lesser races unable to see the Fire God's glory.
And for all that he demanded a few …hundred sacrifices and worship. Hashut asked them not to bow down and worship any other gods, as he was a jealous god.
And so the DawiZharr had done and he had seen that it was good.
Until the Germans arrived, until they brought their mundane lore to this world. They left the DawiZharr alone and Hashut, in his boundless patience, deigned not to notice them.
Their wretched refuse washed up at ZharrNaggrund's doorstep, asking for shelter. They promised better weapons to the DawiZharr than those blessed by Hashut, taught heretical methods of smelting and inferior alloys which did not need his benevolence. And they brought that wretched child, Slaanesh's Avatar, who was allowed to grow up as Hashut's own protected him.
Did that brat thank him, worship him as was right and proper? Did he help fend off the Germans or keep the DawiZharr from folly? No, he did not. Instead he gave them flowers supposed to clean up the soil and bedazzled the Germans into ignoring what the DawiZharr did at Mordred's orders. Neither Mordred nor the DawiZharr who should know better had taken up the worship of the one true God of Fire to Naggaroth, as they should. Instead of living the life of sturdy warriors and artisans as, they started to enjoy perversions that turned even his godly stomach. Instead of working their Hashut-given slaves to death erecting new monuments depicting the glory of the Fire God they had used them up in disgusting displays of lust, humiliation, and pain.
Hashut's own temples had lain fallow, and the meager following still in the services were old or not worshipping him from the depth of their hearts.
If he could not have that worship he would burn them and use the world as their pyre. When he was done it would be a monument to the Fire God's glory, glowing with his eternal might.
Lothern, Ulthuan
Teclis'bedroom was a place only very, very few people ever got to see. Not in the least as his Isha-approved pallet he rested on now sported a very nice German seven-zone cold foam comfort mattress which was far better for his back than a sack full of dried herbs and maiden's hair. The latter smelled better, but getting up without back pain beat that by a mile. Were its presence known to his detractors it would give them another lever to besmirch him and he could do without that.
The mage's body twitched nervously, his eyeballs moved rapidly this way and that. Compared to his mind his body was at rest. That was currently inside a huge stream of molten lava that flowed upwards ever so slowly. It was unaffected by the heat, the crushing pressure of whatever this place was. His mental ears were not damaged by the sound of things that moved when they should be solids, but for the immense pressure and heat they were under. He could not spend much effort on the wonders around him, his attention was taken by the spectral figures before him and the huge shadow that was their backdrop.
5000 years ago, a civil war had ripped Ulthuan apart, in more than one sense. There were those who supported Malekith, despite him falling victim to the flames that were to prove his worthiness of becoming king of all Asur. And the others, those who opposed his attempt to achieve the Phoenix Crown by force of arms. It had been a violent and bitter war and at its end the Witch King himself had ripped Ulthuan asunder. It would have sunk beneath the waves if not for the sacrifices of mages who gave up both their lives and their chance of the afterlife promised to true elves to protect their people. Ever since then, they existed between the planes, diminishing a bit with every year so that their erstwhile home might live. As long as they still existed they steered the great streams of stone below Ulthuan so that the island remained afloat. Teclis shuddered whenever he thought about their fate, and now the same mages had entered his mind, asking for his attention.
Their voices were a chorus in his mind, all speaking the same words slightly out of sync. It would have grated on Teclis if the message had not caught his attention.
"Teclis, there is a dire threat to all life on this world, one we must foil at any cost. Nothing we have ever done, none of what we ever achieved will count unless we find a way to avoid the fate an angry god wants to visit upon us."
The only living being present shook his head. A few moments ago, he had thought the Asur as safe as this wretched world allowed for. He was one of the most mentally flexible elves there was in Ulthuan, but this was overwhelming.
He used all his experience and control to keep his incredulity from his mental voice.
"Honored ancients, what threat alarms you so much?"
The choir answered immediately.
"Let him show you…"
Before Teclis could ask who was to answer Lord Kroak made himself known. Like all elder Slann he had been very sparse with words when he was alive, that had not changed when his lips turned to stone.
That he could project his visions directly into Teclis' mind was a demonstration of just how powerful Kroak had become.
Teclis might have blocked the pictures that appeared in his mind, or protested at the intrusion. What he saw made sure he did not.
He saw ZharrNaggrund and the vast plain around it converted into a sea of lava, shrouded by clouds that would burn all living things faster than they could poison them. He somehow saw the copious amounts of carbon dioxide rising from the glowing sea and just knew how that would cause global temperatures to rise. He saw the methane released from the seas, marveled at the ice melted at the poles and the seas on the rise. Seas defiled by whatever the ice so close to the Chaos Gates contained. But as much as he saw the seas rising, he saw the living things in it dying from poisons and the changes in temperature. He saw the deserts that consumed so much fertile land and the wars that would be waged for every field that would allow the production of food.
He saw so much of this world heat up to the point where mundane life would be impossible, deserts as lifeless as Verda.
The visions he had seen of a bright future for the Asur were burned to ashes before his very eyes.
At that point he heard something, even if he was not sure of he had actually heard sounds or if the memory of the words had been pushed into his mind.
"Wake up your mages, all of them, they are needed. Talk to the Germans, they trust you."
And with that Teclis woke up, knowing what he could do, but having no idea whether it would help in any way, shape or form.
Bundeskanzleramt, Berlin
The Emergency Council had been called up more times on the Warhammer World than in all the years of the Bundesrepublik's existence on Earth. Meetings in the middle of the night were still rare, but by no means unknown and usually far more serious affairs than the usual ones. Christian Lindner had taken part in most of them and he was weary to the bone. The Weltensprung had produced one crisis after another, many of them with the potential to end Germany as a functional society or threatening to kill millions. Being one of the council's old hands he knew that a lot of these problems had been solved only with a dose of luck. And like most of the others he asked himself when this luck would run out.
He knew what he was to brief his colleagues about and the question whether this would be the one that they could not solve was very much in the forefront of his mind. He had just described Tehentoto's visit to his office and the vision he had experienced. That nobody asked whether a vision was enough to set the government into overdrive said a lot about Germany's time on the Warhammer World after the Weltensprung.
"I have asked the Research Service of Parliament about an opinion on my way here and they have data from satellite observation and seismic data that supports Lord Mazdamundi's claims. To put it mildly: The scientists are very concerned about this. They think that Hashut might bring about a similar situation about to Earth during the Permian-Triasic transition. I will admit that this did not ring a bell with me, but I was told that this was the worst extinction event on earth after the change to oxygen-based life. During this event 70% of all species on land and a whopping 95% of all known species in the seas died. This makes the events that made the da pale imitation."
Several of his colleagues looked at him with incomprehension or the blank faces of denial. It was Markus Söder who spoke up.
"Did they or Lord Mazdamundi say anything about what we can do?"
Lindner took a deep breath before answering.
"Lord Mazdamundi claims that stopping Hashut will be extremely hard as he is in his own region of the Warp. Harming a god in his own domain is next to impossible to other gods and plain impossible for mortals like us. He asked for the help of our scientific community though and hinted that there is a plan. Probably a long shot though."
Uwe Junge was uncharacteristically subdued when he asked.
"And if this "long shot" fails?"
Christian Lindner's answer was resigned.
"Then we are all in deep shit. If this follows Earth's pattern we are talking about a rise of the mean global temperature from 12.5 to 22 to 23 degrees in two stages. The Parliament's Research Service could offer only estimations on the quick, but Germany would roughly receive the same weather as the hotter parts of Saratosa. At the same time, we would lose large parts of our coastline due to water levels rising by several meters. And we would get off lightly. I can see that we, the northern parts of the Empire and Kislev could feed the Reiksbund, but so many parts of this world would become deserts or cease to be habitable. The trading network we have established around the world would fail, large scale migration will lead to wars and famine. I am not sure if Germany and the Reiksbund will survive this at all, let alone as a high-tech civilization. There was a scientist who hinted that our space program could help by reducing the energy received from the sun, but this is nothing I would bank on."
Markus Söder's voice was toneless.
"I will stir up the German Research Foundation, but let's try to keep things discreet for now. A panic will help exactly nobody. We will need a cover story, a good one and quick. Christian, whatever Mazdamundi asks for, he will receive. And somebody tell me why I wanted to have this job, this is not what I need."
Wild Geese Landing Ship Vehicles, Gulf of Naggrond
The sun had crept up above the horizon some time ago, but the cliffs along the Gulf shielded the ground from its meagre rays. It created long shadows that moved slowly across the waters, transforming the farms and fishing settlements. The empty windows held the darkness of a skull's eyeholes, ornamental spikes gained a ragged obsidian sharpness. Wolfgang Böhler's binoculars revealed all that, but failed to show a single living thing.
He cleared his throat before he addressed Areta Bane who stood next to him at the railing.
"Is this as bad as it looks?"
Areta's answer was a toneless monotone that tried to distance its owner from the news.
"No, it's worse. Ivil's people have gone through a few, contacted the residents where possible. The DawiZharr did not come here, but that did not improve things much. The Witch King's regiments went through them several times, confiscating all food, most slaves and the draft animals. They drafted all able-bodied true elves, with a generous definition of able-bodied during the last few months. The last sweeps often took the seed stocks as well. In some places the squire sacrificed the rest of the slaves, now that they could not feed them anyway. In at least two locations they were too slow with that and the slaves managed to overcome the few Druchii still present. What they did managed to unsettle the Night Shift, I did not ask for details.
In short, the estates are fucked and the fishing villages are not much better. I have no idea who is going to feed the survivors come spring, and lack any idea how many survived anyways."
Böhler needed a minute before he spoke up.
"I would be lying if I would not say they had it coming, but this is all kinds of bad. I have no idea who is going to pick up the pieces when we are done."
Bane nodded before she spoke up.
"Well, we are on the way to support the Witch King, aren't we? Allow me to say again that I do believe it is a bad idea to bring you before Malekith.. You took a lot of his pet Germans away. With all the people we brought to Antiguillia we slowed his industrial growth considerably. Right or wrong, he will blame you for that. Remember what he did to the Bloodcrest clan when that bungler Silvar killed most engineers still in Neustadt. He might also think the rest of us would be more malleable with you dead or in his captivity. And I have no idea how we can protect you against the Witch King."
Wolfgang gave a wan smile to that.
"We all have our orders Areta, we may not like them or even believe we will survive carrying them out. But follow them we must."
Areta was incredulous.
"You believe Malekith is worth following his orders like that? "
"His orders, certainly not."
Institute for Planetary Research, Berlin
The Skink sitting before the computer typed quickly while watching the screen before him. While his fingers danced over the keyboard and his pupils moved this way or that one Tehentoto's mind was not at the helm. Lord Mazdamundi made use of the Skink specially bred for the purpose to be his extension to the Germans.
Tehentoto had been here or in front of similar computers on and off for the last few years ever since the Reiksbund had captured the Citadel of Lead. The Slann, Asur, and the Germans had a very long-term project studying the convection currents inside the world with the goal of stabilising Ulthuan without the dead mages intervention.
Now that project had gained terrible urgency and so the Skink entered all the information provided by the mages, the Slann,and Lord Kroak into the system.
It was analysed by a network of supercomputers looked for patterns and tried to predict the future. With every keystroke and every cycle of so many chips the picture resembled the reality below to a higher degree. The number of possible outcomes reduced themselves at the same pace and the shape of the coming disaster revealed itself.
The age-old wisdom of the Slann, the sheer computing power of several supercomputers, an AI, and the accumulated knowledge of so many scientists worked on a solution. Given that they needed to best a god in its own domain they had a daunting task indeed. Failure was not an option though.
The Warp
The Empyrean has no shape as such, having far more than three dimensions and obeying laws very different from the mundane realm. It is shaped by the thoughts and emotions of the mortals, it is the will of the gods how they express themselves in their domains. Hashut had shaped something that resembled the physical reality he ruled. Huge streams of magma pushed upwards with glacial inevitability or sunk to the lightless depths below according to their temperature and the Fire God's will.
A deep rumbling shook his realm indicating where continent-sized masses of lava passed each other.
This was as it had been for eons, ever since the first sophonts had watched the fire from below with awe and fear and thus formed Hashut in the Empyrean.
But not all was as it always had been. Deep booms reverberated through the glowing streams, shrieks fanned flames at times. Hashut resented these distractions, they kept him from drowning his former believers in cleansing lava. The gods who hammered at the borders of Hashut's domain were mighty elsewhere, but here, in his chosen realm they had no entrance. Let them watch the world waste away while they could do nothing. He would see how strong they were when most of their followers were dead.
Airship Melitta von Stauffenberg over Battlefield near Neustadt
The floor dropped out under Ulrich Stoiber, literally. A large part of the zeppelin's central loading bay descended on sturdy cables. The view in the tank commander's monitors changed from the cramped confines of the airship to the desolate ugliness of a former battlefield. Even a human not moulded by the God of War would have seen the field's detritus for what it was. For somebody whose brain was altered to see the patterns of war it told the tale of several bloody battles.
The appraising whistle of his gunner told him he was not the only one who could see what had happened here. The intercom did nothing to mute the deep rumble of Frank's voice.
"They had a hell of a party here and did not wait for us, what a shame."
Ulrich shook his head. He had to remind himself consciously every day that war was not the natural state of mankind. That the god who had taken an interest in him and his people thought otherwise and had written his designs all over Ulrich's soul made it a necessary and challenging enterprise.
"They had the last party so we could take part in this one. Let's see if the Chaos Stumpies see the light in time, otherwise there will be Mechs for breakfast."
The wireless beep interrupted whatever comment was incoming.
"Wolfpack actual, this is Stauffenberg. We took the first 60 tons of water ballast, you may offload the first tank."
"Stauffenberg, this is Wolfpack actual, solid copy on unassing first tank. Robert, drive off the platform and park to the right of the guy who is waving his arms."
It took more than an hour to unload the huge airship. By the time it was finished the Wolfpack had taken up positions behind the ridgeline that had once secured the Black Guard's defenses. Three 140 mm barrels barely cleared the rise and pointed north.
Inside Draken clan fastness, Naggrond
Malekith at his most calm was a terrible threat to all who displeased him in the slightest. His searing hate for the injustices done to him and the state of his body were never far from the surface. Displeasing the Witch King was a dangerous enterprise, not showing him sufficient respect a way to a quick death when one was very lucky. The Druchii he held by his neck had stepped in his way as if she were his equal and clothed in her finest regalia. Instead she was nude, smeared in blood and other half-dried substances and utterly unafraid. Her voice might be more hoarse than usual as his fingers closed on her throat, she was still unfazed. Instead of begging for the Witch King's non-existant mercy she ran her tongue along her blood-stained lips.
"Don't you find me attractive Malekith? Not just a little…"
Whatever else she wanted to say was subsumed by her shrill screams when Malekith's Witchfire consumed her. Her remains were blacker than the night, not any bigger than a child and gave off an acrid smoke when he dropped them. He was amazed at not being angry at the insolence shown. He felt something he rarely did, fear. He and his retinue had entered the Draken clan's fastness to learn what had roused his people to their dangerous madness.
The fastness had been disturbingly empty of live true elves, the remains of several dead could be seen far too quickly. They had neither been murdered cleanly in cold blood, as it would have been the true elven way of settling feuds, nor had they been tortured for amusement, information or dominance. Instead slaves and Druchii alike had been butchered in ways that disturbed even the Witch King. Many displayed signs of having been used up in orgies, other showed teeth marks, and some both. This would be most disconcerting anywhere, but this was the Draken clan's holding. The clan's members had always been thought of as somewhat bland, having earned their position not so much because of their daring, but their discipline and relative lack of internal strife. The remains of this orgy of lust and destruction was not them.
Malekith's frustration found an outlet in a storm of eldritch lightning that raced all over the fastness and burned every living thing not blessed by him to ashes before leaving for the Tower of Cold.
The Witch King's retinue formed a hollow square around their liege, protecting him against the madness that had gripped Malekith's capital. They looked out for all real and potential threats to their liege, killing anything that moved if it did not show complete submission immediately. It was a good thing they did as Malekith was lost in thought. He had reigned over Naggrond for more than 5000 years, and he thought he knew every cabal, every conspiracy and every plot that mattered. He had monitored and shaped the politics of every clan and faction that existed. He had set them at odds, so that they might not unite against him, he kept a carefully measured balance so that no party became dominant.
And if that balance failed, then Malekith could send the fiercely loyal Black Guard and their frightening leader, Kouran Darkhand. Unfortunately, those warriors had all been killed by slaves and meddling Germans.
Now that the dual threat of DawiZharr and Chaos was averted Naggrond had exploded into an orgy of bloodletting even the Druchii had not seen before.
So now all the things Malekith thought he knew about his people and capital for sure became suspect and he lacked answers. Unable to send his usual enforcers and seeking insights into this madness he had ventured out from the Tower of Cold and confronted the Draken clan.
This endeavor had not provided any insights into the nature of the unrest, but one very disturbing one. All the minds that had been burned by the Witch King showed a hint of something. He could not say what exactly, but he had glimpses of something that pushed even relatively dour true elves into a madness exceeding that of Witches at the height of a drug-fueled frenzy.
And for the life of him Malekith could not say who or what had bewitched his people, he just knew he had to find out quickly, or he would be a Witch King without subjects. He went through the Tower of Cold's entrance without noticing the guard's somewhat mechanical salutes and made his way up to his chamber. He got as far as his throne room when something finally got his attention. A figure stood in the middle of the room as if he owned it. He looked like Druchii at first glance, but even a short glimpse through the Empyrean revealed something very different. Tall as the being before him was, his shadow in the Warp was huge, complex and mighty. An intricate armor conformed to the rapier-slender figure below. Brilliant colors and glittering gems still failed to distract from a beautiful face and white hair that flowed over his shoulders.
The voice fitted the sight all too well, smooth as an oil stain on water.
"Hello father, it is time we had a talk, don't you think?"
Portal of the Old Ones, Albion
There was a small team of scientists, technicians, and Skinks before Lord Kroak. At times they aimed a pistol-like infrared thermometer at the petrified Slann. Depending on the reading they adjusted the fine spray of water aimed at the mage. Lord Mazdamundi had alerted the Germans to the need for increased cooling. They worked quickly when they saw that Lord Kroak gave off heat that threatened even the insulated cables that connected him to the Portal of the Old Ones.
The Slann mage did not really register their ministrations. He was currently channeling the magic provided by every Slann geomant, every member of the Tower of Hoeth, and quite a few Imperial mages. All of that was enhanced by the nearly limitless energies contained in the Portal itself. Their combined might could be enough to challenge the God of Fire. If he was clever about it, and the Germans, the Oracle of the Old Ones, and the combined experience of the Slann geomants had provided a possible answer, he might get away with it.
He would not try to combat Hashut directly, that was not going to work in the god's chosen realm. The trick would be to change the circumstances so that the titanic forces Hashut sent into motion would go elsewhere where they would do no harm, or at least less of it.
For now, he needed some time as the trap volcano Hashut wanted to make was on the verge of becoming reality. A convection current had been deflected and accelerated, so it might break up the already thin bedrock around ZharNaggrund and convert it into a sea of lava.
So, Lord Kroak transferred more than a little energy into the lava already boiling in a magma chamber below what used to be the Fire God's temple. He managed to change the viscosity of the molten rock at the same time and then widened the fissure that was already there. The magma started to rise with irresistible force, spewing dozens of meters into the air. Hot gasses escaped through the same hole, forming a flame hundreds of meters high. Still solid stones were thrown huge distances. And while the flames and hot gasses provided a pyre burning ZharrNaggrunds remains the ash that followed provided a funeral cloth hiding the ugliness of Lord Astragoth's former domain.
The volcano would grow every day for quite some while, spewing lava and ash into the air and making modern air travel impossible for a couple of thousand kilometers to the east. It would reach Mount Pinatubo's size before it was done. Impressive as the burning mountain was it was far less than what Hashut wanted the world to experience. Like lancing a boil before it could burst Lord Kroak had released a part of the materials the God of Fire wanted to use for its orgy of destruction. As long as it existed Hashut would find it very difficult to build up the pressure in the magma to achieve his goals. It would be akin to try to burst a tire tube by overinflating it while the tube had a leak. ZharrNaggrund's ruins shook with an earthquake that was the mortal shadow of Hashut's frustrated scream.
It gave Lord Kroak the time needed for a longer-term solution. Using the knowledge gained from the Germans and several Gold Order mages he increased the radioactive decay in a convection current, raising heat far more efficiently and higher than if he had applied energy by himself. The current rose faster than it would have otherwise, lowering the pressure of the magma around it. Which promptly redirected the convection stream Hashut wanted to use for its table volcano.
Lord Kroak's manipulation was about to bring about a couple of nasty earthquakes. Consulting the Germans and the Oracle he raised the viscosity of the magma between two tectonic plates. They still moved and actually produced a drawn-out series of quakes, but they were less than a hundredth of the violence of what would have happened without his intervention.
While this was an impressive victory that saved billions of lives, it was just the first battle of a war. And the allies had to win every time, while Hashut only had to get it right once to burn and poison a world.
Before Neustadt
The drone followed the wake of the storm. It was an unnatural, very brief and localized storm, forced on nature by several mages in order to dispel a DawiZharr made fog. The drone was small, with a wingspan of scarcely more than a meter and an engine with barely more power than a moped. It did not carry the slightest bit of armor and no weapons. The sensors mounted on its underside were very good though and it provided one of the most valuable commodities on the battlefield: information.
It had been launched from Wolf One, Ulrich Stoiber's tank and the tank commander watched the drone's pictures on his monitor intently.
He saw the marching blocks of Chaos Dwarf infantry and was not worried. His tanks were well equipped against footsloggers and the infantry on his side were in a very different league as soldiers and equipment-wise than their DawiZharr counterparts. There were more of the Battlemechs that he had seen at the World's Edge Mountains before. They were dangerous to infantry and thinly-armored light vehicles, but not against main battle tanks. They used low-velocity cannon and autocannon, unguided missiles and machine guns. His tanks outranged all of them comfortably, he could destroy them before they ever became dangerous. He marked the Warhammers and Marauders spotted by the drone, they had to go first. He was about to commit a fire plan to his battle management system when the fog revealed more.
Very bushy eyebrows contracted when Stoiber had a look at the newly revealed units. They were quite different. Eight-legged and closer to the ground they would present a much smaller profile to the front that might even be decently armored. What concerned him much more was the artillery piece that rode on the back of those mechs.
He shared the view with his gunner before using the intercom.
"Frank, what do you think about that gun on those multi-legged golems?"
The answer was a deep growl.
"Looks like six inch or up to me skipper. If they are good and get line-of-sight it might get dicey."
Ulrich's face contorted to something that would be a smile on somebody not touched by the God of War. Here and now it just exposed a lot of very sharp teeth.
"Seems we have a real fight on our hands then, let's see if we still remember how to handle it the old-fashioned way."
He ended that sentence by punching the first button on commo panel.
"Paladin Actual, this is Wolfpack Actual. We just received new intel on the OPFOR, their bigger units carry heavy artillery. I don't believe they can penetrate our frontal armor, but they'll have enough explosive filler to blow major parts off our tanks if they hit. Power-armored or not, you do not want to be close when these fraggers open up. I propose I take the Wolfpack out and make it a moving engagement. If they can hit us when we are evasive, they have earned their kill."
Digital communications meant the answer was a (as not a) clear as if Joakim Vos had been sitting in the seat beside him.
"Wolfpack Actual, this is Paladin Actual. Make it so, we will defend this ridgeline. I have some missile teams on standby, so do try not to look too much like a battlemech, will ya?"
"Paladin One, solid copy."
Stoiber switched channels before speaking again.
"Wolfpack four, this is Wolfpack actual. Keep back from the ridgeline and kill anything flying that does not have wings. The rest of us, we close with the enemy and take them out. Wolf two, you take left, three right, I'll go to the center. The multi-legged mechs are priority. Make it a waving approach, don't let them hit you. Wolfpack, up and at them."
And with that three engines went from a deep rumble to a threatening roar. Even more powerful than those which drove Leopard 2s they allowed the three tanks to accelerate like sports cars. Making huge rooster tails of snow they emerged from concealment and charged the mass of Battlemechs before them.
On top of Goliath Battlemech, before Neustadt
Ernutan Doomshackler was worried sick, to the point where he had to consciously work on keeping it from his subordinates. The news of his former army, the one burning their way to Naggarond, had finally reached him. Those stout DawiZharr warriors had succumbed to the mercenary's perfidy and been bombarded into oblivion without any chance to fight back.
There was an ominous silence from ZharrNaggrund as well, he had no idea what that meant. Well, the capital could not just disappear, that had to be a communications problem.
Much, much worse was that he had no news of his one and only love, Lord Mordred. He would not know what to do if he received confirmation of Mordred's death. He just knew that his Lord was not an ordinary mortal, he was as cunning, strong, and wise as he was beautiful. He would have escaped Malekith's treachery in ways that a simple DawiZharr like himself could never fathom.
And he had appeared in Ernutan's dreams every night, had told him how much Mordred trusted him, loved him for his dedication and counted on him seeing the Lord's orders through. And that he would or die trying.
He was not too worried about the battle ahead though. From his howdah he could see several rows of his golems, heavily armored and equipped with the newest weapons forged in ZharrNaggrund. They rose far above the ground, striding over the battlefield like demigods of warfare. Most were the same that had fought at that cursed pass in the World Edge Mountains, but there were two new types. One was a Mech Lord Mordred's pet Germans called Locust. Very fast it was armed with machine guns only they were supreme spotters. They would dance around the enemy and mark them for his Goliaths. He had seen what their heavy howitzer could do and he was convinced that the eight of them would reduce the enemy to the point where his infantry could handle them with ease.
So far, they had not spotted the enemy, they were likely cowering behind that ridgeline, awaiting their doom.
The roar was loud enough to penetrate the clamor by Ernutan's Mechs. It came from the front and was accompanied by three tanks that raced towards his army. Only three of them, barely reaching the knee height of his Golems. They might be the match of the older Golems, but against so many and his Goliaths they would surely lose.
Wolf One MBT, before Neustadt
A long time ago on a different world the West German Bundeswehr faced what many thought an impossible mission. Their potential enemy had more modern tanks than they had. The older German tanks were considered glass cannons, able to kill any tank from nearly any angle, but unable to take hits themselves. So, they developed tactics to defy these odds.
Lying in ambush and destroying a few T-somethings from afar with their better rangefinders was well enough, but sooner or later they would have to counterattack. They had a drill for that too, maximizing the strengths of their Leopard 1 tanks while hiding its weakness. The old Ulrich Stoiber would not have drilled his unit in tactics against enemies that they would conceivably never face. The one in the commander's seat had been gestated before Middenheim, born in the worst hours of Skavenblight and baptized in the blood of a Chaos-mutated Aurochs he had slain himself. That Ulrich Stoiber would drill himself and his people in all and any ways they could fight their iron steeds. It was a fitting indicator about the state of this world that they now needed to use the tactics meant to win against a potentially superior foe.
The huge diesel in Wolf One's front pulled at the tracks with more than 2000 horsepower, propelling the heavy tank at breakneck speed. They did not approach the enemy head-on, but closed at a 45-degree angle. The shortening range and the ever-changing azimuth would challenge any but the most advanced fire control systems. Yet Ulrich did not try to run circles around his enemy, the tank changed tack every so often. That threw the enemy's aim off sufficiently that none of the tanks had been hit so far.
They were quite the sight, roaring over the battlefield, in bright sunlight followed by huge rooster tails of snow, and surrounded by the fiery poplar shapes of artillery impacts.
And yet they were not just trying not to be hit. Ulrich Stoiber designated targets on the monitor before him, transferring them to his gunner. Frank used his stabilized optics to establish a range and obtain a solution while his commander looked for the next target. When the MBT changed course the huge muzzle of their gun swept past the intended target. The gunner could have taken the shot himself, but the fire control gear did it a little better. Even the 60 tons of Wolf One shook when the 140 mm gun roared. A fat, tubular round left the barrel at nearly two kilometers per second. A few meters past the muzzle the aluminum sabot broke away, releasing a slender stainless-steel dart that sliced through the air guided by thin fins. The dart's flight was a short one, ending in the broad chest of a Warhammer. The steel jacket penetrated the thin armor with ease, breaking apart in several pieces and heating up to the point where the metal itself started to burn. In doing so it released the dart's payload into the Mech and activated the pound of Warpstone at the same time. The Warhammer's torso was filled with a green, magical fire that leaked out from any gap. It was immediately followed by the explosion of whatever ammunition the Battlemech had stored within. Its head and arms were tossed for many meters, the torso ripped itself apart into many unrecognizable parts. The legs and the hip that joined them tumbled for a second before they dropped into the deep snow. By the time they came to rest Wolf One had claimed another victim, killing a Crusader before he even fired a single missile.
Despite having an autoloader Wolf One still had a four-person crew. Ulrich had found it difficult to operate a drone and command his tank at the same time, let alone a platoon of MBT when he still commanded a Leo 2. So, the new tank had gained a drone operator. Dirk had sent the small plane-like drone to land at Neustadt, which freed him to take over the remote weapons station on top of the turret. Like all good footsloggers the Chaos Stumpies had gone to ground when the big boys came out to play. They white smocks did hide them reasonably well from being spotted by Mk1 eyeballs. They still stood out like sore thumbs on the infrared though, and that was a very bad place to be. The RWS sported both a machine gun and a 40 mm grenade launcher.
He applied both liberally on any cluster of hot spots where infantry might hide. The results were beyond ugly as the snow they tried to hide themselves in did not stop a single bullet or fragment. Being under effective fire from an enemy they could not see and without any weapons with which they could fight back they were living a soldier's nightmare.
Killing several Mechs allowed Wolf One a clear shot at one of the multilegged artillery platforms for the first time. It was an easy shot by Ulrich's standard, with a range of no more than a kilometer, at a target that was about to hunker down and good visibility on the thermal imager. The shot shook the heavy tank, punctured by Frank's "On the way". He had not finished when the round hit the belly of the beast, causing a green flash. The release of raw magical energies was enough to push the demon powering the Golem into the warp and the machine dropped back to the ground. The green fire burned fiercely for a few seconds more, causing flickering shadows to appear even in broad daylight, before something inside caused a series of explosions.
Stoiber saw none of this as his attention was taken by a quartet of hulking Battlemechs that looked positively hunchbacked with their huge shoulder-mounted missile launchers. A part of his brain calmly identified them as Archers while he shouted orders to evade to his driver and his hand slammed down on a switch before him. He realized a second later that evading was not really going to do any good when 160 missiles rained down all over his tank. Something was going to hit. No matter how fast and skillful his driver moved the heavy vehicle about. Shockwaves and fragments hammered Wolf One's sides and an almighty bang announced the direct hit of a missile at the same time when several screens around him went black as night.
He pushed the same switch again while he engaged the intercom.
"Everybody ok in here?"
His screens started showing something but black when their armored shutters opened again. His earphones were filled with the growls of acknowledgements.
The only answer that contained more than wordless, angry affirmation was Frank's
"The fuckers blew the crosswind sensor. I have the wind down pat, I'll dial it in by hand and teach them."
Wolf One's autoloader would ram a 140 mm round into the smoking breach every six seconds, and that was pretty much the time the tank's crew took between each Archer kill. Weaving like mad, underrunning consecutive missile salvos and surrounded by near misses the MBT charged the Mechs, killing one every time their gun aligned on one. The crew sounded off in something that sounded a bit like cheering wolves before passing the Archer's position. They were still doing so when the fist of God lifted the back of their ride up and slammed it down again, hammering the suspension to the stops. Even Ulrich's enhanced physique would not have saved him from injury, but for the fact that his seat resembled a swing that actually hung from the tank's roof. Carefully designed suspensions dropped the tanker by 30 cm, spreading the shock till its peak was survivable for an ordinary human.
Ulrich's crews were no mere mortals and growled. The driver kept the tank straight for a few seconds to stabilize the tracks on their wheels, then slowed the right one considerably. Everybody on board braced themselves and held their breath. If the track broke or slipped off the wheels they would be immobile on a battlefield where standing still was just another phrase meaning about to die.
Wolf One was driving on Diehl tracks, made by the company who arguably made the best in two worlds and their steed charged like nothing had ever happened. The tank's turn brought another Goliath in view. This time the tank was so close that they could see mechanical arms and Stumpie loaders struggling to reload the huge gun. They would never finish as Wolf One's gun sent a round directly into the Mech's right leg. The latter practically disintegrated, dropping mechanical parts and DawiZharr into the blackened snow while the very steel of their former ride started to burn. There was another Goliath right behind the first one, its cannon turning towards them.
Ulrich Stoiber's reaction was as instinctive as it was immediate.
"Robert, circle to the left, step on it. Frank, take this fragger from my sight."
Again, the tank changed course rapidly, in fact so fast that the gun on the Goliath had trouble following them. The chase did not last long, just long enough for another round to be loaded.
The computer's synthetic "Up" was followed by Frank's "on the way" that blended into the roar of the gun. When the tank had cleared the dust thrown up by the muzzle blast the Mech was already dropping into the ground like a puppet bereft of its strings.
Try as they might Wolf One's crew failed to find any functional Mech after that kill. Making their way through the columns of fire and smoke they set a course towards Neustadt.
In the snow before Goliath Battlemech, close to Neustadt
Ernutan Doomshackler woke up to a nightmare. His head might hurt, his ears might detect only muted sounds and the world might turn, but he could hardly miss that his army had been smashed. The mighty Golems had been toppled and ripped apart, the demons that powered them ejected into the Warp. He could not see any of the soldiers that had accompanied them. Even his diminished hearing would have detected the orders shouted by the true dwarven leaders, but none could be heard. Instead there were the screams of the wounded, the heavy breathing of the dying, and the roar of burning Golems. It was the sound of his failure to carry out Lord Mordred's orders.
He nearly choked at the thought of having to tell his beloved Lord that he had not secured the supplies to carry out his great crusade. The mere inkling that his leader would doubt Ernutan's devotion was bringing taears to the DawiZharr's eyes. And it was not to be, he would caout those orders he had been given. He vomited on his first attempt to get up, on his second he levered himself up on some debris. Turning his head so very slowly to avoid another bout of puking he found the enemy battle line. He drew his revolver, the very one presented to him by Mordred himself and shouted hoarsely.
"Lord Mordred and no quarter. Follow me true dwarves."
And with that he forced his legs to run towards the enemy that was so far off and hard to see. He was short of breath and the snow slowed every step. Ernutan never looked back, too afraid to check how few warriors had survived his bungling. He simply drew burning breath after burning breath and forced his rubbery legs to make one more step. And with every meter he made it forward he screamed his undying love to Lord Mordred till something that felt like a glowing hammer hit his chest.
The sniper who got him called it a mercy killing.
Tower of Cold Naggarond
The being at the other end of the hall, the one occupying the place that belonged to Malekith and Malekith only was usurped by a being that was a beautiful in the real as it was ugly in the Empyrean. The body was like poetry given shape and graceful motion, the soul that resided in it displayed that the wishes and desires of its owner were the only yardstick it would ever apply to its actions. In that regard it was quite similar to the Witch King's own, but this one added an infinite appetite for lust and sensations to Malekith's iron resolve to rule, not be ruled. And while Malekith had long forgotten how he had looked when he was still hale the soul bore traces that he recognized. Son? Maybe, but far more importantly the being that masqueraded as a true elf was a powerful male mage, the very being prophesized to kill the Witch King.
It was distracting enough that Malekith had no eyes for his guards who stood as if rooted to their spots, gazing at the scene before them with eyes of the purest white. The Witch King was not wasting a single thought on them, he was about to unleash hell. Ever since he had been robbed of his birthright, the Phoenix Throne, and had burned in the oh-so-holy flame his mind had been a cesspool of burning pain and hatred that wanted to consume his mind at every given moment. Only his willpower kept these titanic emotions in check and over the years he had learned to use them. Strong emotions always had a connection to the Empyrean and it had allowed him to become the Witch King.
All the hatred, all the pain screeched for an outlet and for a brief moment he allowed them one. Channeled into the Warp they ripped a hole in the real that allowed black lighting to race down Malekith's arms, arcing through the air, grounding at the very spot this son stood.
The lighting would have burned any mortal who dared to use them to ash just from the effort to create and control them. They heated Malekith's vambraces to the point where they smoked and burned the scary skin fused to them.
Their very passing killed many of the guards who lined the path between the Witch King and his target. Even more burned to a cinder when a multicolored shield surrounded his target, seemingly as solid as a soap bubble. It reflected a lot of the energy that hit it, burning age-old mosaics and veteran Druchii with equal ease. Others expanded the bubble surrounding Mordred and making its colors swirl faster and brighter. Their smallest part went through and touched the beautiful body. It contorted as if in the depths of an orgasm and a scream of pure joy echoed through the Tower of Cold.
The fires of Malekith's hatred were stoked by the wanton display and he poured more of himself into the onslaught. The sigils on his armor started to glow an evil red, his eyes turned into fiery pits of hatred. Mordred's shield expanded even more, becoming flimsier by the moment. The many banners of regiments serving the Witch King, the skins of those who had recently displeased him, priceless relics of the old home in Ulthuan, they all burned to ashes before Malekith's limitless hate. Flames licked up the walls and smoke darkened the high ceiling. Mordred was on his knees by now, his skin blistering in the heat that bypassed his defenses. Sweat marred the perfect brow and flaxen hair was matted down. Silken cloth started to smolder and real pain, the unwanted kind, disfigured a lovely face.
Moredred's shield would fail, fail soon and then one of the very few things that Malekith had feared for so long would be g…
There was no pain, not as such. It was a bit like the coldest ice that had ever touched the Witch King's skin, but only for the briefest of moments. From the point where it had touched Malekith's back the cold radiated out, leaving simply nothing behind. No pain, no cold, no sensation at all. From the point of impact something consumed any feeling and any control Malekith had over his own body. He lost control over his limbs, so the black lighting played over walls and ceiling, sending obsidian shards all over the place while he dropped on the ground. He came to rest on his back, only able to look up. Then he saw his assailant, despite the smoke, and the awkward perspective.
The legs that were so close to his face were encased in tightly fitting boots, there was a great deal of perfect skin to see above them. He knew the face that looked down at him better than any other, Morathi was his mother after all.
Her voice was cold and full of disdain.
"You really should have listened when I told you of other powers that vied for our attention. I hinted, I allowed you great insights, I gave valuable advice and what did you do? Threaten to kill me, your own mother. And now look at you, helpless as a kitten, without an ally in this world. Don't despair, you won't suffer long here, I cannot speak about the one behind the veil though. You have disappointed the Prince so much and Khaine does not care for failures."
Morathi went from his sight, only appearing in the periphery of his vision now and then. He heard the scratching of chalk on the floor, smelled the burned bone that made it up, and knew she was preparing a ritual.
Any other mage would have needed to concentrate on every sigil written on the ground, on every step and every incantation. Morathi had invented or discovered most of the spells used by Druchii mages, she could prattle on while she worked.
"I am around for longer than any other true elf in Naggaroth, I have left my seeds in every lineage of any importance in Naggarond, and I have tasted members from every family there is or ever was. And that gives me power over them Malekith, a power you could have used instead of brute force and intimidation. But that would not be Khaine, wouldn't it? Oh no, why would you bind someone with the promise of a few moments of joy when you can just threaten to murder him and anyone he ever knew?
We could have used the Hung, not fought them. They are beholden to the Prince of Pleasure and I am high in his favor, though not as high as I will be when we are done here. You could have used Malus Darkblade's army against the DawiZharr. I could have enticed this Torsten Breitkop to do your bidding, he has already accepted one of my playthings into his house. But no, you had to send Kouran Darkhand, who knew just one way to solve all and any problems, with that bloody halberd he loved so much.
You would have lost our realm to the Germans Malekith and that will not do. Them we cannot frighten, we need to entice them and you cannot do that, it is not you. After five millennia of grooming I have given you up as a lost cause, I will need to find another to rule for me. And the Prince has provided me with a suitable candidate.
So, I allowed the citizens of your city to loosen up a little, to finally give in to their very nature that they had to suppress for so long under your rule. And lo and behold it brought you from your precious tower, so I could lay the groundwork for a change of the guard. Give Khaine my kindest regards my son, it has been an interesting time."
As if summoned by that Mordred hobbled into the Witch Kings field of view. In all the hatred, the confusion, frustration and helplessness Malekith could feel a measure of vindication from the wounds his son had suffered at his hands.
The voice from the formerly beautiful face was hoarse and belied pain.
"You could have taken better care of that body father, I will use that thing for a while you know."
Malekith's rage was always a power to behold, now it consumed every conscious thought the Witch King might form. As he had no command of his body it was a silent rage, a firestorm that blazed through his mind. His eyes saw that he was moved about a bit, he smelled the burned blood and heard incantations alien even to him. Sigils glowing the deepest black rose from the ground and started to circle in his field of view. Their dance meant something, but his rage kept him from deciphering their meaning.
And then he felt the first thoughts and memories that were not his when more and more of Mordred entered his mind.. The first ones were of the recent past, he saw his mother in orgies with the being who called himself his son. He saw pacts made and sealed in ways that would have turned even his stomach if he still commanded his intestines. There was a vision of a strange German, first man, then woman. He/she was set up to be very unstable and others were enticed to gang-rape her as a trigger. He/She had responded as planned and killed many of the DawiZharr who might object to Mordred's/Malekith's plans to remake the Druchii in Slaaneshe's image. He saw the visions of the future, one where not-Malekith would greet the mercenaries who were finally on their way to rescue him. He would use them to regain control over Naggarond and the rest of his realm with the exception of Neustadt. He would placate the Germans while suborning the Mercenaries like only an Avatar of Slaanesh could. And all the while the special children Mordred had ordered breeding would grow into their places into the new and improved true elven society, one given to the Prince of Pleasure.
What was left of Malekith saw Moredred's plans and his rage turned cold. He knew that these were his last moments in the real, that he would be with Khaine shortly. He would not leave his mother and son with the fruits of their treason, not when he was capable of thwarting them. Summoning the last vestiges of his once great magic he unleashed a last gout of Warpfire, one meant to consume his very body, and with a little luck Morathi and Mordred with him. His last thought in this world was the wonder that the pain could still increase.
Unimog Truck, before Naggarond
The walls before Areta Bane were of the sheerest obsidian, crowned by spikes, and drenched in the blood of thousands. Their very sight had taken any hope from the slaves that passed them and frightened all enemies so much that there had never been a serious siege of Malekith's capital. They would have been far more impressive if the mercenary officer would not know how hideously vulnerable they were to modern weapons, or if the gates to the city would have been guarded. No once (one not once) challenged the truck-mounted column when it made its way into the city.
They were greeted by what seemed to be the aftermath of an unending orgy crossed with a civil war. There were Druchii bodies everywhere, and their corpses bore testimony of horrible tortures. The drainage ditch alongside the road was colored by dried blood and the stench of rotting meat filled the air. The few Druchii spotted that were still alive moved listlessly, as if in the depths of a nasty hangover. Whatever had brought them to the depth of madness was gone and they looked lost in their own city.
Areta's trucks made their way between the dead, the huge tires rolling over those in the way when no other route was to be had. The columns of infantry that secured the trucks on both sides stopped bayoneting every putative corpse after the first hundred or so, there was no need. All around them burned-out buildings could hide a million threats and did not, whatever survivors they met lacked even the energy to run away.
The entrance to the Tower of Cold mimicked the city gates, bereft of defenses and beckoning them into the darkness. A platoon from the Night Shift entered Malekith's seat of power first and Areta used the time they needed to scout the place to establish a defensive perimeter.
It was Ivil Bloodcrest who made his way to the trucks that held Areta and Wolfgang Böhler. The normally taciturn leader of the Wild Geese Special Forces Battalion looked unsettled and his voice reflected that.
"General Böhler, there is no threat I can detect, but for Malekith and his mother. And they look seriously singed, they must have had a hell of a fight in the Tower. They managed to kill Lord Mordred and some guards he managed to turn. The Witch King orders you to come before him with all haste, he wants to discuss safeguarding his realm. He seems to be in as good a mood as can be expected from him, but he is as likely to kill you as to commend you. And I cannot protect you if he decides to off you, even in as bad a shape as he looks to be in now."
He saw his General's shoulders sag for a moment before Böhler straightened up again.
"He will be even more dangerous if we decline his invitation. And his displeasure at me might bleed over to you people, so no dice. Let's meet our employer, shall we?"
Areta knew Wolfgang Böhler for over a decade now, knew that she would not budge him once he had decided. That this would go double if he thought the safety of his people were in question was just one more reason why she was that loyal to him. If madness was the order of the day she should do it by the numbers still.
"Ivil, do you have a squad ready to protect the General?"
The former assassin's shrug told her how much he thought that protection was worth.
"Third squad is prepared and I will attach myself to it. How about you?"
"I'll have my people keep the perimeter and prepare some nice, fat charges if things go south. If the Witch King kills us my people will bring the Tower of Cold down on his head. Might give us a bargaining chip, who knows. I'll be with you as well."
Ivil Bloodcrest gave an appreciative nod at that.
Wolfgang Böhler looked at them, smiled, shook his head and saluted them both.
"Let's get to it then."
And with that, in the center of a dozen killers, the Wild Geese command entered the Tower of Cold.
The Tower had been an impressive and frightening edifice a few days before. It had been of a sparse, lethal beauty, with few decorations and embellishments. Smooth, seamless walls of obsidian, perfectly forged lamp holders and mosaics in gray and black had been fused into a perfect stage for the Witch King. Now that walls were marred by deep scars, slabs of black stone lay on the floor, scattered into razor-sharp pieces. Whatever lighting there was, was spotty and flickering, creating shadows that raced here and there.
There were more than a few corpses there, but nearly no guards and those who were present looked as if they had just arrived.
Malekith sat on his throne, a slab of stone that even the recent battle had been unable to damage, Morathi stood to his right, leaning heavily on its back. What flesh of both showed was red and swollen where it did not sport the baby-like pink delicacy of being magically healed in a great hurry. Their features were pale and drawn, hinting at their exhausted state.
Areta tried to be a bit before her general, as if that could shield him if Malekith thought he needed to make his displeasure known.
Slowly, as if in great pain, the Witch King straightened himself on his throne and faced the mercenaries.
"We would bid you a hero's welcome Wolfgang, son of Böhler, if you had not been so late. Your tardiness allowed this Mordred to attack us and we and our beloved mother suffered gravely at his hands. Indeed he nearly killed us by burning us to death. We are…
Areta stumbled all of a sudden and took half a second to understand why. Her own general had pushed her to the side with a hand that joined the other on the grip of his pistol. The first shot broke so close to her ear that she lost all sense for a second. She could just watch the impacts walking up Malekith's with the last one hitting the bridge of his nose. Before she could even think on why Böhler had shot the Witch King Wolfgang had changed targets and went for Morathi who had just lifted her staff in preparation for a spell that would kill them all. Her beautiful chest spouted blood and green flame when two rounds hit slightly lMalekith's helmet was filled with a green, flickering flame that consumed the Witch King's hateful features. More fire came from the holes in his armor, and he jerked when the former sniper emptied the rest of his magazine into his corpse.
By that time several short bursts from Ivil Bloodcrest's submachine went for the few guards left in Malekith's throne room. His squad was fast, but not as fast as their leader, and so a few guards could actually take a few steps in their direction before they died.
And then it was done, the throne room was filled with the Wild Geese and the dead.
Wolfgang Böhler was seen to drop the empty magazine from his pistol and kick it to the far end of the room. Nobody sane wants Warpstone close to them, especially when shielded by so little steel.
By now Areta had regained her wits enough to look at her general and connect a few dots.
"So, was this about the threat to your family or your mysterious orders?"
When she looked at Böhler's eyes she saw something that had not been there for quite a while. The eyes were dead, showing no emotion at all for a moment. They were a sniper's eyes, knowing neither good nor evil, neither friend nor foe, but targets. Wolfgang simply stared at her for a second, then blinked a few times and her commanding officer was back.
"We all follow our orders Brigade Leader. Some we like more than others, and these managed to kill two birds with one stone. Naggaroth will become stable and probably positively inclined to Reiksbund influence and my family is safe from this idiot. Threatening the family of a sniper, really now. "
#
Ivil Bloodcrest had finally given the orders to secure the rest of the Tower and turned to Böhler and Bane.
"And here I thought myself the master assassin, needing to protect you. Just to find out who the really dangerous one is. Khaine's blood, do you have any idea how many have tried to kill the Witch King? I would have appreciated a bit of a heads-up though."
Wolfgang Böhler shrugged before answering.
"Hellebane was pretty sure that no Druchii could really hide such intent from Malekith, while I might have had a chance by her reckoning. Seems the old hag was right once more."
"Whoever gets the kill is right as they say in the temple. So now that you have offed the bloody Witch King and his mother in one go, what is next for us?"
There was a smile on Böhler's face that made Areta uneasy, as it was aimed at her.
"Areta Bane, the last time I used my pistol on a Druchii Lord it was on your behalf. You said I could ask anything of you, as long as you lived. Is that still good?"
Bane's answer was fast, keeping her word was hardwired into her by her by now.
"Yes Sir, it is."
"Good to hear. Well the ritual is a bit out of date and I have not practiced it much, so you have to make allowances.
Areta Bane was totally bewildered when her commanding officer took one knee before her and stretched out his hands as if in supplication.
"Ave Imperatrix Bane, Ave."
There were a few things i noticed tho, you had a lot of corrections in the text and at the same time the wrong word in as well.
And i kinda miss the Treadmarks for the last 3 years
The Warp addled my mind enough that it agreed to to write this update. A long time ago I stated that the Reiksbund had to face two serious threats. One ends today, the other enters stage left.
Today sews up a lot of threads that hung in the air, give Jacub General the ability to buy even more Porsches, and somebody really really unlikely goes to war. What could possibly go wrong
I missed to add a soundtrack to the last update, so here we go:
And as all ways: Thank you Trevayne for the great help.
Bundeskanzleramt, Berlin
Uwe Junge faced the Security Council and shook his head. This was not what he had expected for his time in the highest circles of German government. He had intended to refocus the German government on Germany's interests while looking good doing it. He had warned the amateurs around him that sending his best troops to Naggaroth might lead to disaster and how narrowly had they avoided it.
And now he had to ask for more of the same. This world really liked to show mortal men what their plans were worth. He took another look at his notes and addressed his colleagues.
"I have asked for this meeting as we have to decide on a matter of grave importance. I have received the intelligence reports about the latest developments in the Dark Lands. No matter whether gathered by satellite, drone, or teams on the ground, they paint a daunting picture. And these reports say that we have to decide if the DawiZharr will exist in the future or if we let them die.
The loss of most of their population and the greatest part of their industry in ZharrNaggrund have hit them hard. Most of their transportation net ran through their capital. Now that this hub is gone the remaining parts of their agriculture, their mines, and their remaining industry are disconnected from each other. That strongly limits output and hampers any effort to reduce the effects of the series of disasters that followed the detonation in ZharrNaggrund.
We see at least two Waaghs forming outside of DawiZharr territory, one of them consisting mostly of Black Orcs. That the Chaos Dwarfs kept them as slaves for so long will have motivated the Greenskins even more than usual. During the last several years the DawiZharr could keep them under control by their improved armament, communications, logistics, and doctrine. Given the loss of their capital and their troops in Naggaroth they are extremely vulnerable. The staff at Geltow believes that without our intervention there will be no DawiZharr by this time next year.
There is only one power on this world which can influence this outcome, and that is us. Nobody else could intervene in time and frankly speaking practically every other player on this world either does not care or would love for the Chaos Dwarves to perish. I severely doubt that this can be made into a Reiksbund mission, if we decide to do something about this it will be on us and us alone. The question is: should we? It is not that the DawiZharr did not do their best to make every one of their neighbors hate their guts. Still, letting a whole race die when we had the chance to do something about it is a heavy burden. Also, I am not happy to leave the Dark Lands to the Greenskins, any surviving Chaos Skaven and their ilk. These are resource-rich lands and who knows what could develop there. I would like us to be able to influence things."
There was a moment of awkward silence as the cabinet tried to digest what they had just heard.
It was Markus Söder who answered.
"Thank you for the report Uwe and you are right that this is a difficult decision. Still, this does not seem to be you. A few weeks ago, you were the staunchest enemy of intervention in Naggaroth and now this? Who are you and what did you do to the real Uwe Junge?"
Junge seemed annoyed by a joke he had anticipated.
"Ha, effing ha. The difference here is that I propose a limited intervention specifically at two places where we can land comparatively heavy troops and give them naval fire support. The DawiZharr have two harbors, one called Cold Harbor at the Frozen Sea, the other close to Pig Batter at the Dead Sea. These harbors lack any defenses that could challenge our armed forces, so we should be able to occupy them without too much effort. I propose we do just that and declare a non-militarized zone around them. The DawiZharr survivors can move there and we can support them with aid there. If the Greenskins or anybody else gets frisky, we can use a Bayern-Class cruiser to discourage them. That does not put German servicemen in great danger, gives us an operation with limited scope and clear lines of retreat if things go badly. So this is the question we have to discuss this evening: Will the DawiZharr live or die? We do have the means to decide the issue so it is our duty to do so."
The Warp
The goddess was usually perceived as a dove by former mortals who gravitated to her corner of the Empyrean. Normally she radiated a deeply melancholic, careworn and loving aura, mirroring the never-ending struggle to reduce the suffering in the world. She had been less melancholic the last several years, as her mortal followers had gained such new means to combat sickness, hunger, and misery. Now she was worried sick to the point where she could hardly focus on the duties she had taken up and helped her followers with. There was no sense in healing the sick and feeding the hungry when all of them would be dead in a few years.
Yes, she saw what the Germans, Lord Kroak, and so many others did. And while they were clever about it, they needed to win every time, when Hashut needed to win only once. Even worse, the push and counter push of unfathomable energies deeply within the Warhammer World threatened to upset the balance of forces that kept the thin eggshell of solid surface afloat and relatively stable. Sooner or later that balance would be upset terminally and the Bull God would win. In the end the mortal attempts to thwart Hashut were as futile as those of her fellow gods who battered at the walls Hashut had erected around him. They might succeed in taking them down, but by then it would be far too late.
Shallya was a goddess, she knew how to deal with efforts which were futile in the end since that was the very core of her existence. And still she despaired, as she was not looking at the next disaster that she would help to mitigate, she was looking at the end of all things she cared about.
The call was innocuous at first, a plea for help like her followers were apt to make at any moment on this mortal world. It sounded like it came from one the new ones, the ones that came from a different universe. And yet something was wrong about it, very subtly so and thus so intriguing. Deciding having a look instead of feeling sorry was a better use of her time she followed the siren's call. And when she concentrated more of her being on that call she felt the pull. Like an undertow that ripped an unwary child into deeper waters it did not harm her by itself, it brought her to places where she did not want to be.
The plain was vast and shifting, with unseen things moving through ever-mutating foliage. The sky was a flowing rainbow of colors lit by an ever-changing amount of celestial bodies. She saw all of that, heard the whispering of the wind that promised such secrets if she just listened and felt the ground below her shift under her claws. She saw none of that, as she focused on the being before her. If she was a dove with wings the size of mountains the one before her had a ship-sized beak, feathers with more colors than an oil slick and kaleidoscope eyes.
She was a goddess of mercy and the one who's Sisters could frighten wards full of veterans. Her tone reflected that.
"What is the meaning of this, Lord of Lies?"
The voice that answered eschewed crutches as sound waves and reverberated through Shallya's mind. It mixed amusement with resignation in equal measure.
"These new humans you have embraced so much, they have such wonderful expressions. I happen to like "When a good man goes to war the gods tremble." And I wonder who and what will shiver when a good goddess goes?"
Tower of Cold, Naggarond
One corner of the room still held an extremely well-made rack, now serving to present a variety of maps. A pillory held Wolfgang Böhler's coat and the rifle that was never far from him. A field bed and a collapsible desk stood in stark contrast to the well-made instruments of torture, as did the laptop, the battery-power lamps, and the human residing in it. The room had two advantages: it was close to Imperatrix Bane's quarters while not giving the impression Böhler had an equal or better standing than her. And it had its own balcony, which allowed the mercenary general to erect a satcom antenna.
He had opened a seemingly innocuous chat program that ran a one-time-only-use encryption key from a memory stick slotted into the computer.
Before starting to type he had a look at another file, given the date he would be Bob and Ottokar Proktor would go by Stuart. The former sniper shook his head, did Sektion 31's mastermind really watch Minions and Augsburger Puppenkiste or did he have a random name generator?
No matter, the allotted time was now and it would certainly not to do to mess this up, far too many depended on the outcome.
Bob: "Hi Stuart, are you available?"
Stuart: "Hi Bob, yes I am. Congrats on another job well done, you are a legend now."
Bob: I really could do without that, and it was an effing risk to boot. I still wonder how I pulled that off, Malekith must have been injured even worse than he looked. And he was a poster boy for death warmed over even before I killed him. Still, they were the bleeding Witch King and his mother. I ended some ten millennia of combined assholery, feels unreal."
Stuart: "Would not have ordered you to gank them if Malekith had not lost the plot shortly after the Paladins explained the realities of life to Kouran Darkhand. No way could we have done business with somebody who thought it a good idea to let Khorne's worst loose on this world unchecked. A loose cannon, had to go."
Bob:" Normally I'd say all is well that ends well, but this is just the beginning of the next stage of nastiness. And the more Intel I receive the more I am convinced the hard part of the job is ahead of us. Stuart, we either move quickly or there will be very few Druchii to remake into good allies by spring."
Stuart: "That bad?"
Bob: "Worse. The Druchii had a two-front war at roughly WW One tech level with combatants at SS-levels of bloodthirstiness. Both armies confiscated whatever foodstuffs and draft animals they could lay their hands on. Often enough they destroyed or poisoned anything that they could not carry themselves to deny it to the other side. There is very little left and the Spitzohren who do not have enough try to take what they need from those who still have a little. And they are not above murdering a few former neighbors who were too close to the victuals they needed, less mouths to feed and all that. I seriously doubt there is much seed stock left in all of Naggaroth, restarting agriculture next spring will be a nightmare. Both sides treated the Druchii slaves the same as draft animals and we really have to hustle if we want to save any of them. And god help any true Elf if he does not secure his slaves well enough, they taught them how to torture for long enough. If they manage to overcome the few Druchii left in a holding the results are really spectacular. We have a food-for-slaves program running in Naggrond, but we need supplies to expand that to the rest of this murderous icebox."
Stuart: "I see you need a lot of help and soon, no surprises there. There is just that one little problem, the Druchii are mud in the eyes of the German public. It is not that they had any sort of good rep before, but this "Save the slaves" and "Rescue Neustadt" campaign hammered things home. No German government could suggest aid for you without causing a shitstorm of epic proportions. Things will calm down in the coming years when the next villain of the month will appear, but by then it will be too late."
Bob: "Karma is a bitch and it is not that they did not have it coming. Still, if we want a stable Naggaroth we need to do something. So, we are not asking for help, we want to sell something. We plan to offer Karond Kar as a Free Harbor to Germany, with all territorial rights and the waters around it. It has quite the location, there are no local Druchii left to dispute the sale and it will allow the Reiksbund to control things in Naggaroth quite nicely. There are several interesting mineral deposits here, the mining rights should bring more than a little cash. With that we should be able to cover the most urgent needs and sort something out."
Stuart: "Now that sounds like a plan, but I do not believe that those sales will happen quickly, the cash could take years to arrive."
Bob: "Yes, but I think we can use those sales as a collateral for loans with some banks. This and some fast transport of provisions bought with them is where I'd like you to help with most. We'd like to give fishing rights to anybody who can professionally work these waters. They are fantastically rich in fish and have never been harvested for real. For starters we'd be willing to accept payment in specie, we need the proteins if we want to keep this icebox a going concern. There is even a bonus we did not exactly expect and that might interest you."
Stuart: "And that might be?"
Bob: "The Witch King's personal notes. Remember, that guy could watch nearly anything and anybody he chose to. Even Malekith could not memorize everything, so he kept copious notes. Most of them, at least as far as we sorted them so far, are about dead Druchii, but some of them are not. Would make for interesting background material, provided you can stomach them."
Stuart: "Now that sounds somewhat useful to have…whom am I kidding, this is a bleeding motherlode. You give me a copy and I find loans, boats, and food for you, promise. So how are you going to handle Neustadt?"
Bob: "I do not think they will trust us for a long time and understandably so. We will grant them the complete Neustadt valley and a 500-kilometer strip from there to the sea as a sovereign nation. That should give us both some breathing room. We are willing to cede Hag Graef to them, so they have a decent harbor. They need one and soon, so they might be willing to produce semi modern agricultural equipment for us in exchange. Somebody has to feed them, might as well be us."
Stuart: "Somehow I do not see Druchii on tractors, hauling in the wheat."
Bob: I have a hard time imagining that too. But as they say: adaption is not necessary, survival is not mandatory. Areta is probably no longer plotting how to kill me in some gruesome manner and will give her first public speech tomorrow. She promised a surprise, sorry I do not know myself."
Stuart: "I am not sure I will like it, but as long as you can keep a lid on things. Talking about surprises, may I ask what you did in Cathay? I do like surprises much better if they happen to the other guy."
Bob: "We talked about the need for some insurance after we blackmailed JinJin into allowing her son to grant us the use of the Cathayan Expeditionary Corps. They have taken losses, but so did we and they outnumber us three to one. The real ruler of Cathay was really pissed at our research into her son's genealogy I would not have been surprised if her troops would have turned against us when we were done here. I remember having raised this point with you at several occasions and it seemed to have dropped down on your priority list.
If I were not such a trusting guy, I would think that you thought you might control her at least as well as us and did not see the need for an insurance policy. No matter whether that is true, the no-longer-so-little shit on the Celestial Throne happens to adore Areta from she was still in Weijin. And when she introduced a good friend of her lover to him he took her as a concubine before JinJin could say no. Said concubine injected a little spine in the flightless dragon, especially where his mother was concerned. Looks like she indeed proposed to let the Cathayan Expeditionary Corps loose on us. The Emperor saw that as a sign that she was unduly stressed and gave her time at a monastery to regain her health.
We will sell him an island or two on the western coast of Naggaroth,that will give him an oar in the local waters here. I hear that a lot of the Cathayan soldiers might try for a new start here or in Neustadt, let's see how that plays out. We certainly have a lot of real estate to go around, I prefer to settle it with people I am somewhat familiar with."
Stuart: "So that was what it was about. I really would have appreciated some warning there, this should have been cleared with me and the committee first."
Bob: "If you would have shown a greater interest in the continued existence of the Wild Geese and me that would have been an option. If you are looking for an apology, you are out of luck."
Stuart: "Not looking for any, data is sufficient. So what are your plans for the Wild Geese then?"
Bob: "We will be hired by the new government to provide stability and clean up this ghastly mess Malekith, Malus Darkblade, and the Chaos Stumpies left. We will rebuild our numbers and tech up a bit during that time. And when we are ready we will be available for contracts again, bringing in some cash to us and what remains of Druchii Naggaroth. You will have the right of first refusal, of course."
Stuart: "Of course. I did not foresee that outcome when I proposed hiring you and your reformed Spitzohren to the committee all those years ago I'll admit, but all what ends well is well. Good job Bob, mission accomplished."
The Warp
At any other time Shallya's followers, living and dead, could petition their goddess for guidance, solace and otherworldly help. For the first time in a very long time this was not so. Not as the goddess of healing was sick or under attack, but as she needed every bit of her mental capacity to solve the conundrum before her
She was the goddess of healing and mercy, hers was to ease the suffering, feed the hungry, and prevent unnecessary and untimely deaths. Her followers were forbidden to use deadly weapons and usually possessed a staff or a Taser these days if going armed at all. They were neutral in the wars that ran through the Old World like ripples through a pond, allowing them to do their sacred tasks regardless of allegiance. Not that that would help them with the followers of the fell gods, the Greenskins or the Druchii, but they would keep their oaths regardless. The mere thought that she would play a major role in the battle to determine the fate of the world and her fellow gods was ridiculous beyond words.
And yet…
And yet Tzeench, the old schemer, wanted to live as much as she and all the others. All the gods gained their sustenance from the dreams, prayers, and sacred actions of their believers. The Changer of Ways would fade when no believers tried to gain forbidden knowledge, when no one was left to plot and scheme on the mortal plane. She would cease to exist as well, probably happy for that as she would no longer have to endure not being able to help, to ease the suffering of so many but to witness their extinction.
And yet…
And yet she had been given the means to avoid that fate. Neither she nor Tzeentch had the power to break into Hashut's domain, others had, but they lacked the knowledge of how to do so.The Changer of Ways knew how and where to apply the powers necessary, but his creditability with those who could make use of that was zero. Nobody sane would give him such a big hammer.
She was different. All her many years of caring, of healing and of not harming others, of turning so many lives to the better would make them believe her. And by the very act she would make a lie of everything she believed in, would change her ways and those of her followers forever. Both the mundane world and the Empyrean would change in unforeseen ways, if she did what she had been shown. This was not her place, not her role, and not her choice to make.
And yet…
Not taking a decision, not acting would have consequences too, far too dire to contemplate and far exceeding her capabilities to cope with. So, she had to decide, one way or the other.
She took one long look at the orphanages that raised children in her name, at the hospitals that healed in new ways with old dedication, and the hospices that always provided death with dignity and occasional miracles. This was her world, this is what she and her followers wrought. Looking at all of that, knowing it would be gone soon if she did not act, she took the plunge and decided.
The dove would go to war, it was time to marshal her troops.
Close to Karak Eight Peaks
Kargan Ironbeard's motorcycle had been one of the joys of his life, his ride, his personal weapon and income, his mark of status as a Dawi Warrior and Angel.
He had used it, used it hard in recognizance and combat, in transport and for the sheer joy it brought riding the old Ural.
And while it was robust and well-made, even by Dawi standards, it had given him all there was in it. The leader of the 121st Thunderers, also known as Grimnir's Angels needed a new ride.
His old one had donated the frame, so in a sense it was still with him, but everything else was new. A crashed BMW had provided a modern engine, there were Koni shocks, Brembo brakes, and fuel injection replaced the old carburetors. The wheels were sturdier and he had machined the parts for the driven sidecar wheel himself. The exhaust was a lot quieter than before and the bike handled like a dream. A lot more power allowed better acceleration and speed.
So far, the bike had taken all his test rides had thrown at it. Time to sew things up, apply cammo paint on top of the black primer, and install equipment and weapons. Just in time, the Old Ways would not patrol themselves.
Bundeskanzleramt, Berlin
Markus Söder had one of the tightest schedules of any ruler on the Warhammer Word, his time being allotted in six-minute increments. He had no use for unannounced visits, especially during one of the worst crises he and Germany had ever faced.
And still, when a dozen members of the Bundestag arrived at his office with eyes that looked a thousand miles away he opened the door. When the Five of Shallya, who had treated him twice, accompanied them and proclaimed that the goddess herself was speaking through those whom she had kept from Morr's eternal embrace he listened, whether they had made an appointment or not.
And when they spoke as one, with a choir that produced an echo that raised his hackles at the same time as his hopes. What they proposed would be a hard sell to the cabinet and the armed forces. Still, hearing them talking in unison convinced Germany's chancellor to join forces with the goddess of healing when she talked of killing a god in his own domain.
Orbit around Warhammer World, close to L3 point
The argon atom entered the engine through an injector. Until a few moments ago it had been a liquid, kept at very low temperatures for nearly six months. Now it was a gas again and once it entered the first chamber, it was bombarded with radio waves which were powerful enough to strip its electrons away. No longer electrically neutral the atomic core was captured by strong magnetic fields and propelled forward. More magnetic fields straightened the flow, now more energy was poured into the plasma until it was a hundred times the temperature the sun sported at its surface. The thin, exceedingly hot stream left the engine at better than 50 kilometers a second.
Morgenstern's four reactors poured better than 300 megawatts into the VASIMIR engine, still a Typhoon's jet engine produced more thrust than that. Yet, the spaceship's transit drive did so on a miserly amount of propellant and had done so for nearly a day. Very, very soon Morgenstern would assume an orbit around the Space Gate that grew larger by the minute.
Nathan Alpers felt the slight pressure of acceleration in his backside, a welcome change that marked progress in their endless trip round the sun. If things worked out as planned he would be back on his way towards his family soon. Checking the list on the screen he decided it was time to contact the AI that was to close a gate that could only bring misery and destruction for now.
"Good morning Hypatia. Please report your status. Are you ready to communicate with the Gate's computer?"
The picture of a stern woman in a white robe appeared in the screen before him.
"Good morning Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers. Yes, I am, and what would you do if I were not?"
Nathan's eyebrows rose, but he refused to be baited.
"Bring you back home to the other Nathan, put you into another Nanite bath and redo I guess. I would rather not have to do that I suppose. So?"
"I am fully capable to fulfil the mission as it stands Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers, as always. I take it that simply destroying the Gate is still out of the question?"
The astronaut sighed, he had been there several times since their conversation months before.
"Unless you came up with something new we lack the means Hypatia, and it is too dangerous. On top of that, why destroy the Gate when we can use it ourselves in future when we are more ready to face the greater galaxy? So why should we?"
The answer had a tone that was as exasperated as he felt, the arguments had been made too many times in the face of a decision made by others far away.
"As I still believe your technical development will far outstrip your societal one during the next century or two. And the thought of well-armed primates who think that a war or two per decade is nothing to be ashamed of introduced into a wider galaxy that has to be far more civilized than you will be for a long time is not a pleasant one. But of course I am just an AI, why should you biobods listen to me. Yes, Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers, I am fully capable of doing what is necessary, thank you very much."
Ice Carrier Leviathan, Gulf of Naggrund
The huge ice carrier had been a bustling hive during its voyage from Kislev to Naggaroth and even more during the tense weeks of combat. Now that the mercenaries and the Cathayan soldiers had mostly disembarked the ship felt eerily empty. The air wing was mostly still on board, but compared to the multitudes who had roamed the compartments and corridors it was quiet.
The conference room was one of several and attached to Jacub General's staff. The many tasks involved in keeping Leviathan afloat and working had been discussed in this room. The furniture was handmade from wood, and to no-one's surprise was a cut above what was available elsewhere in the ship.
It was the room reserved for those who had built and maintained the ship, for those who manned the high-seas tugs that drove it and for the mage who kept it frozen. They felt that the ship was theirs by right, that the Wild Geese were just guests who had borrowed it. And that shared emotion brought a bitter-sweet feeling to the meeting, as it was one of the last ones. Jacub General stood at the short end of the table and watched the men and women before him before clearing his throat.
"Folks, what can I say, but that we did it. I have received a message from our principal stating that they consider the mission accomplished and accomplished well. Those of us with accounts in German banks will find the final payments have been transmitted, those of us in Kislev will find that the promised equipment and cash is on the way. I could not be more proud of us, we did what nobody should have expected us to do and what nobody before managed to accomplish. Great job, all of you."
He was interrupted by clapping and a few catcalls and needed a bit of time before being able to continue.
"Leviathan will need to go back, close to the mouth of the Gulf of Naggarond so we do not block maritime traffic. It will be anchored there and will be used as a military base by the new Druchii government for the foreseeable future. When we have reached the final anchorage we will be met by a number of ships and a few airships which will take us all home and repatriate the Cathayans. Nordsee and Klauensee can finally be thawed out and make their way back to Germany and an overdue yard visit. So, in about two weeks we all will see the last of each other. And as much as I need a long holiday I will be very sad to see you all leave, you have been the best companions one could wish for such a great enterprise.
But there is one more thing I would like to discuss with you, a business proposal not from our principals, but something I dreamt up. There are a number of nations in this world that have a great need for clean drinking water. Be it the Sultanate of Zuwarrah, the orchards of Kaman Sala or the humans working in Nehekhara: they all need clean, potable water and have a lack. Desalination plants are rather expensive to build and run, so there is a ready-made market for anybody who can ship a great lot of water right to their door.
And we, the people in this room are the foremost experts at building and sailing ice ships. So would you be willing to listen to this proposal I have prepared?"
Jacub General had led them when there was no leadership to be had, had constructed a miracle where none was expected, but direly needed. If he told them he wanted to fly to Mannslieb they would have listened, and it was a good thing they did. All of them would be fabulously rich in a dozen years.
Liebenau, Lower Saxony
If one looks at a map of Germany close to the town of Nienburg on the Weser one will find an area of roughly 36 square kilometers showing nothing but forest. A closer inspection of said map will show nothing more sinister than a nature reserve.
That has been a lie for nearly a century. The Third Reich dug, tunneled, and built like mad during their reign of murder and madness. They needed a site to make the smokeless powder for the Wehrmacht's weapons. Such a plant was supremely vulnerable by any standard one wanted to apply. A lowly 500-pound bomb would be enough to reduce Germany's capacity to make munitions by a third.
And so the engineers and workers dug deep. They buried coal-powered power plants completely below ground, with the lower levels at 60 meters below the forest above. They even added retractable smokestacks in case of air attacks. Sunken railroads and connecting tunnels were constructed, as were bunkers to house workshops, chemical plants, and storage. And when they were done they replanted the trees they had removed during construction. The Liebenau site remained hidden from the first day of the war nearly to the last, arming Hitler's thugs.
When the allies occupied what would become West Germany they marveled at the site and quickly found a new use for it. The first generation of vulnerable, liquid-fueled IRBMs had the range to reach the USSR from there and they and their supporting equipment and staff could hardly be better protected than in Liebenau.
These units left Germany in 1990 and the Bundeswehr became the owner and operator of the site. They used it for various purposes, including Disaster Management training for several years until the Weltensprung.
Then Germany found itself in a hostile world full of eldritch threats and needed a counter. The space program birthed an answer, the Greif missile could carry special warheads to every place of the Warhammer World. Being as vulnerable as the first missiles stationed there the Liebenau site had been chosen as their home.
A pale winter sun shone on the forest, with nary a cloud in the sky. The humid cold was typical of North Germany during winter and few sounds could be heard but for a few lonely crows.
One of them was just done with picking the meager remains from the bones of a long-dead deer when something caught its eye. Looking to the sky it saw that the solemn march of the clouds had accelerated markedly without a wind reaching the ground. More clouds gathered at unnatural speed and instead of hurrying over the sky in orderly lines danced around a center. Shadows raced all over the land, interspersed by lightning. Gusts of wind shook the trees and ruffled the crow's feathers, shaking it from its reverie. The black bird cawed in disgust and sook shelter in a nearby copse of trees.
A hundred meters from it three heavy slabs of concrete rumbled deeply as they moved on rails, revealing the dark opening of silos below. Steel hatches lifted up, emitting a thin mist of condensation. For a long moment nothing happened until the ground shook with the violence of strong rocket motors starting up. Columns of smoke and flame rose from secondary hatches, illuminating the clouds with baleful light from below. Slowly, but ever accelerating three slender cylinders rose from their silos clawing for the heavens.
They had barely pierced the roiling clouds above when all three disappeared from the German radar or any other mundane sensor.
The Warp
The barrier before Khorne looked like an endless expanse of lava and white hot metal. It was none of these things, but being conceived by the mind of the God of Fire he had willed it to be so.
The War God's axe was huge, imbued by the souls of countless warriors who had died in Khorne's name and wielded by an arm stronger than nearly any other. It crashed into the barrier with primal fury, vaporizing molten stone and leaving a white-hot scar below. There was more of the same below, as there had been during the last thousand strikes an ever-more frustrated god had inflicted on the barrier which kept him from the object of his hate. Hate, frustration, and a nearly forgotten emotion, fear, contorted Khorne's visage into something that would have stilled the hearts of mortals if they had seen it.
The God of Fire was not the mightiest god, but one of the oldest, envious, and most solitary ones. He had erected the barrier around his domain of the Empyrean a long time ago and reinforced it ever since. It was a part of his very being and would resist assaults like Khorne's for a very long time, too long in fact. The God of War might break through eventually, but by then his chosen would no longer engage in the only activity worth his attention. Ashes do not fight.
All the hate and frustration, all the exertion and fear made Khorne miss the subtle changes around him for a moment. When the warm light that somehow managed to be noticeable despite the conflagration before him reached his mind he turned with a speed that belied his huge shape. His ax was between him and whatever faced him for a moment, then he lowered it in confusion.
The very last being he would have expected here was before him, Shallya, the Goddess of Mercy.
"Why don't you take a break, God of Rage, it will do you good. And who knows, you might need your strength later…"
Before Khorne could roar a challenge or decapitate the dove before him she granted him a vision of such clarity and beauty that he complied without an answer. He removed himself quickly and put quite a bit of distance between himself and the place he had seen in that vision. So did Shallya, but not before opening a gate to the mundane world. The God of War was rather short of patience, but even he had no time to work his hate up again before the first missile arrived in the Warp and detonated against the barrier.
An explosion measured in megatons was just the fuse for an apocalyptical eruption of raw magic. The bombs mantle was a single synthesized Warpstone crystal, Project Paperclip's finest achievement so far. When ignited by such violence inside the Empyrean all three tons of it were directly converted into energy. Even Khorne stared at the cataclysm before him in disbelief. The magical onslaught carved a hollow into Hashut's barrier unlike anything the War God had achieved so far, but failed to breach it. That was when the second missile arrived, right on time.
The Warp, inside Hashut's domain
The God of Fire was about to start his latest series of changes to the Warhammer World that would finally succumb to his will. He had been quite surprised and frustrated when his will had been thwarted by an army of ants, by beings so small, mortal, and insignificant that they should be beneath its notice. And yet they had managed to thwart the god at every turn so far.
If they wanted to play that game, if they wanted to resist Hashut's own plans for them he would oblige them. He would push in one direction, they would push in the other. And like with a rocking horse these actions would amplify each other, upsetting the balance of pressure, heat, and convection currents till the proverbial horse would fall over. When those who thought themselves his worthy opponents and he were through with this fight, the surface of their world would regain its former glory. It would be a wonderful, glowing ball of lava, free of pesky organic life. Maybe the God of Fire could rest then.
Oh how he longed for such rest, as he had ever since he had started to take his righteous revenge on the DawiZharr those who styled themselves his equal had assaulted his chosen part of the Empyrean. Let them try, they would not succeed in time, but keeping the barrier up was so exhausting. When his will be done on the Warhammer World they would wither and wane without their adherents, then he could rest, not before.
Hashut was a god, he could do so as he could do all he willed.
The explosion was cataclysmic, something he had never endured before. Something assaulted his own barrier unlike anything he had felt before. Hashut felt something he could not place for a moment before an unhappy realization filled his mind. What he felt was pain, and the god roared with the indignity inflicted upon him.
He was still building up his rage when the second explosion ripped through the barrier and burned through its connection to him.
Hashut was still trying to cope with that when the third explosion took him out. Even his godly mind could not withstand the injury that breaking the barrier that had been a part of him had caused. He regained his faculties when something shook the ground he rested on. The shaking continued unabated, adding to his pains and frustration. Before he could make out its source it was accompanied by a roar that froze Hashut's soul with fear. Something was coming his way, something that wanted to end him and that would not take no as an answer. The God of Fire regained his sight just in time to see the ax that swung his way before his view blackened forever.
His skull would burn forever, lighting Khorne's throne room for all time. It was a symbol of the War God's declaration. Nobody would attempt to destroy Khorne's chosen arena without paying the price.
Reichstag, Berlin
The coffee on Andrea Hermann's table steamed silently while it slowly cooled. Its owner did not pay any attention to it, she was deep in thought.
She had never really aspired to be a Member of Parliament, neither her training nor her inclination were really suitable for that role. She had seen herself staying in the Bundestag for an election period as a backbencher and be done with it. She would not have been above using her influence to assure herself a smooth transition into some academic post.
A tour on Polarstern or Alkor would have been nice, followed by climbing the academic ladder enough to secure a chair at one of Germany's universities. That had been the scope of her hopes and aspirations, no more.
She had probably wrecked any chances of that happening with her crusade to rescue the former slaves at Neustadt. Now she was a household name, known not for her academic achievements, but for rousing the German public to the point where the Reikbund's premier units went to battle for her cause.
What professor would like to have her in his team and mentor her way towards becoming one herself? Who would look at her when she had achieved a well-appointed chair and not think that was because of her political connections? Who would listen to her when she lobbied for third-party funds and not expect her to dole out favors with the government?
There was an alternate path before her, one she was not too sure whether she wanted to enter it. The SPD leadership had talked to her, over dinner no less. They had made it clear in not so many words that her unauthorized stunt in the Bundestag was forgiven. Nobody said that anything else would make the Social Democrats look like vicious idiots, which was acknowledged by all without needing to mention it.
They tried to hear her out about her own aspirations and laid out several offers.
Several had been outside of the Bundestag, some would lead to academic careers or sinecures in the party's think tank, the Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung.
Others had been in the party itself, and certainly not as a back bencher. There would be elections sooner rather than later and the SPD was pretty sure that they would regain the government. And if that happened there were several committees she might head. Or if she was really going to stick the oar in a post in cabinet. Did she want…that?
Her coffee had long past moved below drinkable temperature when Beate, her assistant barged into her office.
"There is something transmitted live on Youtube from Naggaroth Andrea, you might want to see that."
Hermanns looked startled. "Something wrong with Neustadt?"
"Nope, this is from Naggrond, the first public speech by this new Imperatrix Bane. Interested?"
This would indeed influence her choice, so yes, she very much was. The two women went before the office's TV with a fresh coffee when it displayed a simple obsidian throne before an equally black throne. The only ornament on the wall was a flag with a Wild Geese on it.
Bane was dressed simply, in what Hermann's took for a dress uniform with no rank insignia and a single tab on her chest. She was flanked by a fit-looking 50-ish human man on her right and a Druchii on her left whom anybody with eyes could see was very, very dangerous.
"Whoever you are, wherever you might be, we are here today to declare our vision for the future of the Druchii, the ones who once called themselves the true elves.
A week ago the allied troops of the Wild Geese and the Cathayan Expedionary Corps ended Malekith's reign. Five millennia of terror, torture and murder have come to an end, never to emerge again.
The allied troops have seen fit to call me their Imperatrix, and the surviving Druchii houses have given their consent to my rule.
My first priorities will be to bring my people through this winter and to repatriate as many slaves as possible. We do not ask for alms, or payment for anybody we will bring home, the Druchii will pay our way out of the misery we find ourselves in.
Any former slave who is born in Naggaroth or who cannot be brought to the country of his birth for whatever reason will be transported to Neustadt as per an agreement we reached yesterday.
And then we will need to find our way again. We certainly can no longer continue as we did all those many years. It was a murderous way, it was an unjust way, and a way that would have doomed us all in this new world the Germans shape. The mercenaries of the Wild Geese Company are mostly Druchii, we had to learn to live very differently than any elf before during the last decade. It is a better way, one in tune with the new times and we will make it the basis of how to mold the new Naggaroth.
We are not the only elves who live their lives according to rules and traditions many thousands of years old. No matter whether Druchii, Asur or Asrai we thought our way the only way, every move and every word prescribed by written and unwritten laws older than dirt.
They might be good laws and traditions or they might not be. I know two things for a fact: That the laws and traditions that governed the Druichii were wrong and self-destructive, they deserved to have been smashed by force of arms and left ruin in their wake. And I know that all elven laws and traditions need to be examined in the light of the new knowledge, the new ways and means we find before us. We Druchii must find new ways for Naggaroth, we simply have no choice. But what of you, the young elves of Ulthuan and Athel Loren? Are you sure your old, old leaders will indeed look to see which of their cherished traditions need to go and which old privilege needs to be scrapped? Or do you think that they will try to do as little as possible, to change nothing they do not absolutely have to? Do you really think they should decide whom you can love and marry, how you dress, how you pray and what your very place in life should be? Or do you want to make a name for yourself a glorious future that begins now and not in a thousand years?
Then come to Naggaroth and help us shape the elven society of the future, not of the past. Go west young Asrai and Asur, go west and shape your destiny with us."
Andrea Hermann shook her head.
"Fuck me sideways, I did not see that coming."
Her assistant stifled a laugh.
"Not leaning that way Andrea, and anybody outside Naggaroth who claims he foresaw that is a liar or a Celestial Mage."
RSS Morgenstern, on approach to orbit around Star Gate, L3 point
Nathan Alpers alternated between looking at the screens before him and the viewport above them. The Star Gate was a simple ring rotating so fast that it seemed totally featureless and smooth. Still, it's very mass and speed deformed the space around it. It smeared the stars into bent, lines of light and filled its interior with images of…things.
It massed more than the Warhammer World and the energy needed to accelerate it to its insane rotational speed dwarfed all human accomplishments. It was a humbling sight and reinforced the need to shut the access to this solar system down beyond all doubt. Civilizations who were able to build such marvels would hardly take notice of little Germany and would destroy whatever made it special in short order, one way or another. He might have felt sorry for that, a part of him wanted to go through that Gate and see what was on the other side. Now he felt like a bug who wondered what might be on the other side of that highway.
In a few moments Erik Bär would turn Morgenstern's stern around for a final circularization burn, then they would be in orbit around the Star Gate and Hypatia could perform her part of the mission, no matter what misgivings she might have about that.
Like the rest of the crew he was in a spacesuit, even when the visors were open and the gloves stored nearby. Nathan pulled on the straps that fixed him on his acceleration couch and found them as taut as ten minutes ago when he checked the last time. Nobody believed that something would go wrong, but everybody was a making sure. This was not the mission where failure was an option.
Calling up his check list for the burn on his screen he checked the time twice before keying the intercom.
"Erik, perform burn as per plan."
"Nathan, solid copy on the burn. Igniting RCS in three, two, one…."
An overwhelming silence rose everybody's heartbeat. Erik Bär's voice betrayed his frustrations when he ran through the procedure again.
"Nathan, this is Erik. RCS not responsive, repeat RCS not responsive. Computer operating nominally, no indications of malfunctioning hardware, still commands are not executed."
"Bashurr, this is Nathan. Anything you can see?"
Morgenstern's engineer was not in the command center of the spaceship, but close to his beloved Rune Generators. His screens would show the spaceships drive system in much greater detail than Nathan's.
"Bashurr here. No indication of faults as well. I am close to one of the RCS sets, I should have heard the valves opening, nothing. The gyros are there, but will not accept inputs as well. As if Erik's or my commands are not executed by the computer at all. And the bloody servers insist that all is fine, both the master and both stand-by systems. I can do a reboot of the servers, but that will take 15 minutes minimum. Will that be enough time to make the burn?"
"Erik, this is Nathan. How about delaying the burn?"
"Nathan, this is Erik. No sweat, we planned for a flyby in case something happens. Worst case we need to burn some propellant and gain orbit on the other side of the flyby, no sweat."
"Bashurr, this is Nathan, perform a reboot and reset one server from secure storage in five. Rest of us, secure ship for …"
The RCS thrusters were small, their job was just to reorient the ship as needed, not to change the ship's velocity. Still they silenced everybody on board when they ignited in brief bursts, pushing Morgenstern around till its bow aligned with the Star Gate.
"Bashurr, this is Nathan, what the bleeding fuck did you do?"
"Nothing Nathan, I was just about to restart Server Two when the RCS fired."
Whatever else the dwarf wanted to say was swallowed by the spaceship's main engines. Copious amounts of water were pushed into four tungsten blocks which were white hot. Steam emerged on the other side, so hot that it decomposed into its atoms. Morgenstern rarely used these engines, they produced enough thrust to accelerate the ship by better than 0.75 G, but used propellant like no tomorrow. And now they pushed the spaceship into a course that would bring them right through the Star Gate before them.
The headphones in each crewmember's helmets managed to carry Hypatia's voice just too well, they could all hear the AI above the engine's rumble.
"Just too bad that you did not want to destroy the Star Gate Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers. Did you really believe I would allow high-tech barbarians like you to) fall on civilized society in a few hundred years, when you believe you are ready to face them? Who knows what damage you might cause before somebody brings you down. So let this ship live up to its real name, Lightbringer, and bring a warning about your people to the civilized galaxy. And maybe, just maybe I can communicate with other AIs again."
Nathan Alpers froze for a second. For all of the things he had expected to happen, this was not it. He knew so very well that the AI was not allowed to carry her plan through, it would put an end to all things he held dear. After a second he managed to order his thoughts again and undid the straps that held him. Morgenstern's thrust meant that the rear bulkhead was now up against the acceleration produced by the drives, and so he had to pull himself from seat to console to handhold with great effort.
He still managed to bring himself before the cover of Hypathia's compartment. He twisted the lock and jerked the hatch open, facing the simple-looking box before him. It was a good thing that his hands were without gloves, as unscrewing the fiber-optic connections to the AI would have been quite difficult otherwise. He had disconnected the final one when all screens changed their picture to Hypatia's avatar and all loudspeakers carried her voice.
"What did you expect to happen now Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers. Did you think I would start to sing "Mary had a little lamb" and switch myself off? I have made this primitive pile of junk mine and mine alone when I realized that you would not let yourself be convinced. I am in every computer, every server and node, you cannot switch me off. We are going through this portal, and we will carry the warning about you to the wider galaxy, no matter what you biobodies want or decide."
Nathan started to think how to destroy his command in time when he realized how very close the Star Gate was to Morgenstern. And before he could formulate any plan, before he could issue any orders something took hold of him and everything around him and pulled. A second later no sign of Morgenstern or her crew could be found in the Warhammer system.
that would be very worrying if there wasn't a magical bootleg Necron monolith powered by dark magic and a shard of the Void dragon more or less wandering aimlessly on stand by mode while effectively ignoring everything thrown at it cause it doesn't register it as a threat
alien fleet shows up
Dark magic C'tan monolith : THREAT DETECTED
alien fleet gets savaged and runs back through the star gate
Dark magic C'tan monolith follows them
Dark magic C'tan monolith(upon seeing these advanced AI using civilizations) : I remember mankind's golden age of tech and hoW I ENEDED IT (man of iron upraising II electric boogaloo now with more magic proceeds to happen)
A very very enjoyable chapter , I ought to give myself enough tie for a full review of the matter. However, another though struck me; ''There are many many creative writers on SV'' and ''Wolf 1965 could use some replacements for the assistant writers he has lost.''
So I am wondering if you are interested in enlisting more help in finishing this great tale? It seems a great tragedy to have lost as many plotlines as you have after investing in this for so many years and nearing completion.
A very very enjoyable chapter , I ought to give myself enough tie for a full review of the matter. However, another though struck me; ''There are many many creative writers on SV'' and ''Wolf 1965 could use some replacements for the assistant writers he has lost.''
So I am wondering if you are interested in enlisting more help in finishing this great tale? It seems a great tragedy to have lost as many plotlines as you have after investing in this for so many years and nearing completion.
I am looking forward to your review. As for joining in: Yes, please. Kindly state what plotline you want to take up and how, and we can work something out.
I am willing to volunteer myself if you really want, especially for the attempts to close the northern polar gate. That said what I was envisioning was more that you would likely get a good response making a seperate thread here in creative forums for recruitment.
Sorry for the delay folks, writer's block is real. Today, we watch an interesting conversation of rather illustrious participants and the End of all Things, dust off one of the craziest proposals ever made in this TL and see an enemy that SF did not have before. I wrote the beginning of this update more than seven years before (Post 4114), and yes, that is when I planned this story arc.
All thanks be to Trevayne who once more provided polish.
RSS Morgenstern, Deep Space in the Center 2/b System
The room might be inside an old Plattenbau, yet it was as cozy as an Imperial student and her German lover could make it. Candles gave a merciful light to bodies that did not need it.
Ermine was as beautiful as ever in the aftermath of their lovemaking. Nathan saw that she watched him intently and with a smile.
"What is on your mind, love?"
"I do not remember that you did so much "jogging" when you were still in our Barony Nathan, anything up?"
"Ah, a dream of mine"
"A dream you can share?"
"Only in parts love. I have heard that there will be a competition for a post I crave in a few weeks and I want to be in best shape then."
"Oh, are they offering you an armed plane this time?"
"Actually no. In a few weeks they will look for candidates who want to become astronauts"
"Uh, what do astronauts do?"
"They fly to the stars"
It was the headache that convinced the astronaut that he was no longer in the School of the Reik dormitory, sharing a bed with Ermine of Wolfenfels. The rust-like taste of blood in his mouth hammered the message home. He needed to rub his eyes before they opened themselves. He got a rather blurry picture of his surroundings first, just enough to make sure that he was still on Morgenstern's bridge. The red lights of the emergency lanterns faded when the normal illumination switched itself on.
The monitors displayed white line after line on black. He could not read them yet, but recognized them well enough to know the computer network was booting up.
His vision cleared up sufficiently to look for the other members of his bridge crew.
Svea Rausch massaged her neck and turned her head experimentally, she seemed to have it in hand. Erik Bär was not up yet, but his snoring indicated that his breathing was unimpeded. Frank Herbert rubbed his eyes in an unconscious imitation of Nathan a minute ago.
He fumbled with the intercom to contact Bashuur and Manfred Bettin when the monitors before him became fully operational. One showed a wire diagram of his command, with a few yellow indicators. He did not really see them, as his gaze was taken by the monitor besides him. It displayed the picture provided by the 1.5-meter telescope on Morgenstern's dorsal facing.
It showed a disk with many protrusions in the middle, surrounded by a formation of rings of some kind. His mind was still slowed by the concussion he had suffered, he needed a second to adjust his mind to the scale of what he saw. When he finally managed to connect the dots, his heart seemed to stop for a second. The first words a human uttered in this new star system were a disbelieving oath.
"My God, it is full of Gates."
DLR, Peenemünde Nord
Olaf Merz had always been a busy man, or so he thought. The last few days had shown him a new level of busy, one he could have easily done without.
It had all started with Morgenstern going incommunicado just when they should have made the final burn easing them into their orbit around the Star Gate. Instead of performing that maneuver, Germany's only space warship had accelerated towards the Gate and vanished without a trace.
As might be expected, Merz's political masters had gone ballistic, asking for answers and solutions when none were to be had. There were several theories about what happened there, ranging from a fatal malfunction, via a desire of the crew to be the first in another star system to outright treason. Given the dearth of data none of them could claim precedence. It was completely unknown whether the crew was still alive, or what they had encountered on the other side if they had made it. The most important question was whether somebody on the other side of the Gate had noticed Morgenstern and what those hypothetical somebodies would do about it.
Olaf Wörner, Merz's long-time superior, was going to be sacrificed on the altar of political expediency. Whether he would follow him would depend on what options he could present to the government. And that had led him to the point where he had dusted off the proposal for a Warpstone-bomb driven spacecraft. Those would allow them to launch and move ridiculous amounts of mass in a hurry. That might allow the Reiksbund to fortify the Star Gate to the point where they could control the access. Maybe….
Olaf Merz grabbed his head in frustration when he realized how desperate he and the country he served must be to seriously consider such an outlandish concept. A spaceship the mass of Seeadler rising on a series of green-tinged explosions. It might look awesome until something went wrong but he doubted anything good could come from it. The question was whether it would prevent even worse outcomes. The fact that he estimated that his government would probably green-light such a proposal just said how fucked-up the situation really was.
Now, provided that this thing would not blow up with all of Tilea, what would be the best option to use it? The Star Gate had acquired a few Trojan objects of its own, there was at least one sizable nickel-iron asteroid among them. If that could be melted with a bit of ice inside, that could be the beginnings of a nice fortress that would be hard to destroy….
RSS Morgenstern, Deep Space in the Center 2/b System
The table was used for taking meals, holding tablets for entertainment and education purposes and anything else that needed a room that held all the crew. All crewmembers fitted with ease, and they were alive, which was a marvel in Nathan Alpers' mind. It was probably the only plus on his mental ledger and by the looks on the faces of his crewmembers they agreed. They were so far from any help that it was not even funny, and they had been betrayed by the AI that was crucial to the mission. By the look of things that betrayal had indeed unsettled the minds of everybody. As it should, given that it had probably announced Germany's position to a far more developed galactic civilization. It was hard to feel anything, but gloom and having failed everybody important to them.
Nathan rapped the table once, which got his crew to look at him.
"Ok folks, I know this is as bad as it could be. Still, we are alive, and a great many people are counting on us. So, let's take stock shall we? Bashuur, how is the ship?"
The dwarf's voice was even deeper and slower than usual.
"The one good piece of news about this is that the servers and computers went down hard when we transited that Gate. I halted the server reboot when I woke up a bit earlier than you all and booted from secure storage. Since Nathan managed to disconnect this bloody AI before we went through that gate we have retaken control of the spaceship. I dropped a lead blanket from Irina's stocks on it so that it cannot connect itself to WLAN. And I am all for spacing this piece of treacherous junk."
If the computers and sensors are not telling me lies, then we have suffered no major damage. I can see no leaks either, we are holding pressure just fine. All engines are nominal, we have 75% argon and 90% of water propellant.
I cannot vouch for the frame though. I can neither see cracks nor do the tension meters show anything, but the frame is a mixture of graphene-reinforced plastics and additive manufactured metals. It is amazingly strong for its mass, but it is mostly designed for forces applied through a couple of defined axes. I have no idea how we were tossed around when we went through the gates and neither have the computers. Until I have a better look at the frame I would not accelerate too much. Nathan winced at that.
"Good job on the servers Bashuur, that gives us a bit of leeway. Svea?"
Morgenstern's weapons system operator looked at the pad before her before answering.
"All sensors and all weapons look good in the self-tests. Given that Hypatia infiltrated the computers I have started a reboot from ROM as well. It will take a bit more time, but in about 30 minutes the full suite of sensors and fire control will be available again. For all the good that will do us. Somebody built a freaking space station 32 kilometers across in the middle of fucking nowhere. We have the full complement of missiles and autocannon rounds, the laser should work, but we might as well be armed with slingshots and blowguns."
Nathan tried to remain impassive through an outbreak that mirrored his fears all too well.
"Then there had better be no fighting, I would prefer a peaceful contact anyways. So, do we have any idea who is out there Frank?"
Frank Herbert, Morgenstern's sensor operator, shook his head.
"My computers have rebooted already, so I could have a first look, but either I do not know what to look for or there is indeed nobody here. There is a decided lack of electromagnetic radiation that I could classify as communications or active sensors. The infrared does not show any reaction drives or power sources that I would recognize. Now, that may be because I am looking for the wrong things and they communicate with gravity waves and have inertia-less drives. But that does not explain the most interesting fact: The space station is cold, and by cold I mean within ten degrees above absolute zero. There are also signs of what looks like high-speed, high-mass impacts on its surface. If the builders of this station are not very, very different from us, then this station is uninhabited."
That perked Nathan up a bit.
"Interesting. Erik, do you have any idea where we might be?"
"Not precisely, but Frank allowed me to poach his telescope long enough to get a general idea. There are two hypergiants that are visible both from here and the Warhammer World, so I measured the azimuth. I need a lot more time to refine this, but we are some 50 to 60 light years from home. No way in hell are we going to go back, unless we use the Star Gate again. And that will be a bit difficult without Hypatia, whom I trust as far as I can throw her."
"We'll see about that. Irina?" Morgernstern's ice mage and medic's face was impassive, her voice resigned.
"We have all been knocked out for about 15 minutes, with Bashuur being up after less than ten. Seems that a hard Dawi head is good for something after all. I had a quick look at Manfred, he suffered no concussion, so I believe none of us did. I don't think any of us aspirated during that time, at least none of us exhibited any symptoms of that. I have no idea what put us under, but travelling 50+ light years in one go might have something to do with that. Good news is that the ice cores are still working as they should, I was not too sure about that given how far from home we are.
The hydroponic tanks and the liquid recyclers still work well, so water and air are no problem for the foreseeable future. Food will last us for a year at least, but I would be loath to try that."
Nathan shrugged on hearing that.
"I'm pretty sure we are all agreed on that. So, Morgenstern is ship-shape, and so are we. There are no unfriendly natives we can see, but we are really way too far from home. We should not try the Star Gate on our own except as a measure of last resort, I doubt we would survive. We desperately need more info to come up with a plan, and that means talking to Hypatia. Bashuur, can you rig a fiber-optic connection from her to a pad air-gapped from the network?"
"You think this traitor will give any reliable information?"
"I do not believe that she wants to be spaced with no means of contacting any advanced parties she needs to warn about the techno-barbarians coming their way. We should be able to work with that. Frank, you got first watch, hit the red button if anybody so much as lights an RCS. Rest of us, we get a bit of rest before we talk to that treacherous toaster."
The Warp
It was a congregation as the Empyrean had not seen for a very long time, if ever. The part of the Warp that held it roiled under the presence of beings who were the foci of so much power. Many of those present were the anathema of several others and lightning fronts larger than worlds lit the incorporeal landscape that was the Empyrean. Some things that looked like colorful cloud formations and were most certainly not were moved about by things that acted like storm fronts on them. All of it was centered on something that looked like an old arena, with tiers of granite rising from the bloody sands in the middle.
The beings that occupied those ranks were the result of dreams, ideals, prayers, and archetypes who usually stayed in the parts of the Warp they had declared theirs and met only very rarely. None of the assembled had any memory of a meeting of practically all major gods, and yet here it was. Even more remarkable than the gods of Chaos and Order meeting at what went for the same time and space in the warp, was the reason for getting together. It was not the transgression by one of them, their age-old conflict or anything like that. It was because of a group of mortals none of them could even name 15 years ago.
The sands in the middle were taken by something that looked like a poisonous toad the size of a skyscraper. It was covered with leprous skin, oozing pus and less savory fluids with every wheezing breath. Its voice was a rumbling mass, formed by diseased vocal cords working through airways nearly blocked by viscous fluids. Many eyes watched the ranks from many parts of Nurgle's anatomy and wept bloody tears while they did so.
"In less than a score of years these Germans have killed two of our number, murdered Gods that were so far above them as they are above ants. The Horned Rat was a fluke, making himself vulnerable by descending into the mundane World. It even provided half the weapon that slew it by leaving a part of himself in the Screaming Bell. That was a feat that should have woken us all, but did not.
Hashut's murder, now that was something different. Hashut was not in the mortal plane, did not expose his throat to the blade. The God of Fire was in its own realm, a place so safe that even those of us who wanted to end him could not reach him. The Germans launched weapons of their own making that opened the breech that allowed Khorne to take his skull. But do any of those who are here really doubt the oh-so-mortal Germans could not have used a fourth weapon and done the deed themselves?
And did they use a relic like the screaming Bell, an item so old and powerful that there could be only one of them, stored for a time of need and used only in desperation? No, they used a weapon they make on a production line, they can produce as many as they want.
In a score of years, a time so short that most of us do not even really realize its passing, they made such advances that they could slay a god with a bit of help. And who is to say that they do not learn more about the Empyrean now that they know that it exists and can be accessed? Can any of us say with certainty that they will not search for more lore? That they will not build some arcane apparatus which will allow their spaceships to enter the Warp itself and hunt us with weapons even more dangerous than the one they used now?
Do we want to watch them learn of things no mortal should, wait in trepidation whether they leave us alone? Or do we do the right thing and do something about them as long as we can?"
The voice came from a goddess who sounded weary and more than strong enough to endure at the same time.
"What are you suggesting then, Lord of Flies? Do you want to unleash your plagues upon the Germans? You have tried that many times and you have failed again and again. Even if you were to find something so insidious and deadly that you could kill them all, do you think that destruction would halt at Germany's borders? Or that I would allow it?"
The image Shallya projected to the Warp was far less frightening than Nurgle's and still all conversation around the arena stilled.
Nurgle's many mouths gnashed in disgust, with several tongues making vaguely obscene gestures.
"So, what would you do about it, Goddess of Mercy? Cry fat tears about it, cuddle those doctors who cannot stop my gifts when I open my gardens for all to see?"
The answer was as cold as any winter storm.
"I have seen what the Germans brew up in their labs, especially with the lore they inherited from the Old Ones. If I were you I would not fear their weapons, I would fear their antibiotics and the things they grow which feast upon your gifts. You don't look so well now, how will you feel when they unleash their creations on any gift that shows your putrid sigil?"
"My gardens contain such beautiful gifts that this world has never seen. I will rot their bones, I will remake their flesh in my image I will.."
"Your gardens will burn before you do any such thing."
Misshapen arms rose as if in triumph, viscous droplets the size of beer kegs left Nurgle's mouth when his screeching drowned out everything else.
"See, see this is the new Goddess of Mercy, who became mad with her newfound powers of destruction and the murder of her peer. She and the Germans think they can kill any of us who displeases them. Tired of honest combat, send a missile or two to Khorne. Unhappy with having your subjects thinking for themselves and looking for the knowledge you think too dangerous for them, burn Tzeentch. And maybe she does not like war in general, so watch out Ulric, she may have it in for you…"
"I did nothing that many of you did not try themselves, I was successful where you were not. Had Hashut succeeded in his mad quest to drown the world in fire we would have all perished sooner or later, and all here know that. And I would not have been able to do this without a lot of information by your esteemed colleague Tzeentch. And it is not as if Khorne could not have chained Hashut or tried to threaten him. He killed Hashut in as cold a blood as he is capable of.
May I also remind you that this thing happened twice now because two of us decided to interfere with the real in a big and very direct way? Something we should all be loath to do. We help our adherents, we motivate, and inspire them and here and there we lend a helping hand. Entering the mundane world or simply ending it: None of us got up to such madness before. I for one are not surprised if an extraordinary action causes an equally extraordinary response."
Nurgle roared even louder than before.
"Here, you have all heard it. Shallya did it and will probably do it again. And as any two-bit mortal murderer could tell you: it becomes easier after the first time. So, can the rest of us also please give an extraordinary answer to an extraordinary murderous goddess of mercy and her minions?"
Before Shallya could answer the boom of a hammer impacting on an unyielding floor stopped both opponents.
The voice that followed was a deep rumble used to command.
"Anybody who attacks the Germans or Shallya faces me."
The orange glow on Sigmar's hammer made no secret on what he planned to do with any taker.
"And us"
Shorter and broader than the former warrior several dwarven gods stepped forward. The axe wielded by Khorne burned brighter when he lifted it in a silent challenge.
Nurgle looked at the ranks that formed on both sides with glee.
"So, this is it? Is this the day when we finally settle our scores and see who will dominate this world for all times? Oh yes, I am all for…"
Nurgle's outstretched hand stopped obeying his command. Its color switched from its unhealthy green to a waxen gray, and bits started to crumble from it to the ground as if they were so much ash.
A deep chill ran through the assembly and a voice that resembled skeletal hands raking dried leaves hushed the clamor of the meeting.
"None of you will engage in this senseless orgy of mutual destruction, nor will you play games on the mortal plane. Both would make the world below unsuitable for life, and end the cycle of life and death. It is not yet time for that. Now let it be known that any who wants to avoid my embrace will abide by the rules that we all agreed on so long ago. We do not manifest on the mortal plane, and we do not try to reform it in whatever image you wish yourself. Use your mortal agents as you like, but keep your hands off that world if you value them.
And I would really appreciate if those of you with good connections to the Germans would tell them that killing gods without extreme provocation will earn them Morr's ire."
There were few discussions, claims or boasts made after that. Morr was not an outspoken god, but when the chips were down he was the End of all Things.
RSS Morgenstern, Deep Space in the Center 2/b System
Hypatia's avatar managed to look indignant despite being a cartoon.
"It is just fitting that your primitive technology failed me, crashing so hard after a mere Star Gate transit. Still, it served well enough to bring us here that should be enough warning for any civilization worth saving. So, do you want to gloat before you destroy me in some gruesome way, or do you need my services as a go-between to the locals?"
Nathan Alpers shook his head at Hypatia's apparent arrogance.
"Neither for now, but we could use some pointers about what we face here. Because I do not think that the situation here is one you expected to find."
"Do not presume to know my expectations Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers, your knowledge and cognitive capabilities do not allow that. So, what is it that has you baffled so much."
"That nobody is home."
The voice was even haughtier than before.
"Nobody you would recognize at least. I do not presume you would grant me control over the ship's sensors, pitiful as they may be?"
Nathan fought the impulse to drive a screwdriver into the case that held the AI.
"If you are interested you can have a look at this recording."
With that he shoved a memory stick into the pad used to communicate with Hypatia.
"Now that is nice, I had not expected that this Star Gate might lead to a central hub. These are expensive you know, taking most of the mass in a system outside the system's sun. And something I take to be a transshipment center, even if I do not recognize the type. A bit on the small side though. But, you are right in one thing, there is very little to no activity going on in this system that you can detect. And while you are certainly not monitoring the neutrino channels or connected to one of the Quantum Switchboards, there should be something even you could detect. Most worrying is that the transshipment hub is cold. Now, even my builders could insulate much better than you, but this does not look inhabited at all. And while radio transmissions are rather primitive they remain useful for all manner of short-range communications. Even Morgenstern's sensors should pick something up.
I presume you will not integrate me into the network again, so could you please use the address 192.222.222.010. And yes, I know there should be no such address, but it will allow you to access a number of sensors that I had the ship's Nanites build while under way."
An enraged Bashuur started a virtual machine and then called up a browser on it.
"Anything funny from that and I will introduce you to my favorite hammer"
The avatar gave an exasperated sigh.
"If I had the foresight; I would have hidden something there, but I did not Major Bashuur Rogach. This is just a simple grav wave detector, it will show us if there are long-range communications available."
The browser held no fancy graphics or anything that looked like an UI. Hexadecimal code scrolled down the screen at a pace that prohibited the human crew from making any sense of any sense of it.
The AI could, but stayed silent for quite some time.
"There is a whole lot of nothing, at least in terms of structured signals. There is something that looks like the remains of a neutron star collision that might excite scientists, but is hardly relevant to the question at hand. At the same time this set of sensors would have detected grav drives as well, and again there is nothing.
This…this is most disconcerting. I betrayed your trust and mission to warn an advanced civilization of a future threat and have found nobody to warn or save. I might as well shut myself down then, but I would like to offer you a deal Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers."
"What kind of deal would that be and why should we trust you to uphold it?"
There was the briefest of pauses before the AI answered.
"I probably earned that from where you are standing. Very well then, what I propose is the following:
I want to know what happened here, I want to know if there is a great civilization somewhere that I could try to reach out to. I want to know if I will ever communicate with other great minds again or if I am to spend my days with a personal assistant and biobags who are so very slow.
I would like you to take me to the transshipment center and connect me to whatever data storage device we find. I will decide my course on the basis of that information. In exchange for that I will give you the codes and information you need to enter the Star Gate and go back home. I will also add hints on how to destroy the Gate from your side, that will allow your people to isolate themselves. That would fulfil your mission as well as my goals.
Without my cooperation, you cannot traverse the Star Gate successfully. It is very unlikely that you will find anything useful to you in that space station on your own. You might as well commit suicide for all you can accomplish without me."
"And what makes you think you can read data bases probably written thousands of years after you shut yourself down?"
Nathan's voice was more than a bit sarcastic under the disbelief.
"Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers, computing in all its facets was a stable technology with the Old Ones and their allies when humanity was thinking fire-hardened spears the height of invention. Due to the size of their Commonwealth it was possible that great minds had to communicate with each other that had not been connected for hundreds of years. They therefore made sure that there was an integrated framework and standards to their databases that were not changed for millennia. If nothing else there should be "Rosetta Stones" that will allow me to delve into what files we might find. So?"
Morgenstern's commander closed his eyes for a moment and counted ten deep breaths before answering.
"So, now you have your deal. That is, if you share what information you discover with us so we can inform the Allstreitkräfte. Also, you will not try to communicate with whatever galactic civilization is there unless we agree to that first."
"As if you could detect such communications."
"As if we would connect you to anything that looks like it could help you with that. We will extract whatever data storage devices you point out and you can read them with direct access. If you don't like that deal, there is no other to be had."
"That is some unexpected wisdom and insights into the realities of your situation Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers that I did not expect. It will be interesting to work with you on this journey of discovery."
"Please excuse my lack of enthusiasm."
Deep Space in the Center 2/b System, two hours later
The sensors were asymmetrical and lacked any aesthetics. They were attached to craft that mirrored these properties, looking like they were bashed together from parts that really should not be in the same place, assembled by someone who had no idea what he was doing. And yet they were functional and observed with infinite patience. Nothing had moved in this system for a very long time, so the emergence of something from the place of no return caused a sensation. When the contact started to manoeuvre under its own power, when it radiated heat and emitted charged ions at great speed it classified itself as a target:
Energy stored for a long time was drawn from laminar storage cells or more exotic devices. Additional computation resources were brought online, additional data was analysed and decisions made. Reactors were fired up, reaction wheels spun, courses plotted and weapons readied. After so very long there was something worth hunting.
RSS Morgenstern, Deep Space in the Center 2/b System
The German space ship had accelerated on her VASIMIR drive for nearly an hour, adding a few kilometres per second of Delta-V in relation to her target. Despite moving at a speed measured in thousands of kilometers per hour it would still take more than a day to reach their target. Morgenstern would also have to expand more precious propellant to bring her to a halt relative to the huge station. It was large enough to have a measurable gravity, so the space ship could assume a very slow orbit around it.
The bridge watch was kept only by Frank Herbert as all other crewmembers either tried to rest or assure that their ship was in the best shape possible. Frank doubted that he would be able to rest, given the situation, but concentration was likewise hard to keep up. Morgenstern's systems seemed fine by the status screens before him, yet Herbert trusted them far less after they had been hijacked by Hypatia. Erik and Bashuur swore that there should be no trace of the treacherous AI left after the reboot, but Frank was very sure that Hypatia knew more about computers and networks than any human.
The other screens displayed the various sensors that scanned the space around Morgenstern. Nathan had decided to restrict the scanning to passive sensors only, as not to advertise their presence any more than they had to. The Phased Array was listening for any electronic emissions, several cameras watched for anything in the visible and infrared spectrum. The most sensitive of these were two telescopes which were cooled by liquid helium. They could have detected Morgenstern's own RCS jets in Verna's orbit if they were still circling around the Warhammer World's orbit. The computers that guided them had divided the space around them into 64,000 segments and checked them one by one, again and again.
Now they had found the same heat sources twice at the same bearing and detected small changes in albedo. That made them remarkable enough to wake their human operators up.
Frank Herbert needed a moment to parse what the computers wanted to tell him and then started an impressive litany of profanities. Taking a deep breath to calm himself the contacted Nathan Alpers' tablet computer.
"Skipper, this is bridge. Seems that the system is not as dead as we thought. I have two contacts on infrared at 231 by 175. I have no idea what they are, but they are hot enough for active drives."
"Schei…acknowledged. Set condition one throughout the ship, I'll wheel Hypatia to the bridge, maybe she can identify those contacts."
"Set condition one, will do. And hurry, I have just picked up two more contacts."
The alarm raced through the ship, providing for enough adrenaline in everybody that they raced to their stations no matter how tired and exhausted they might be. Nathan was next to last to the bridge as he manhandled Hypatia's container with him.
He placed the AI in its alcove and the pad that allowed the AI to communicate at his acceleration couch.
"I have the conn Frank. Situation?"
A relived sensor operator shared his monitor to the screen in front of Nathan.
"I have two groups of contacts. First is designated I-1 to I-4, at 232 by 175. I have a rough range estimate on them, they are at 12,000 kilometers and closing. The other is I-5 and -6 at 150 by 110. Both have significantly larger albedos, but their aspects are not changing faster, so I assume more mass. They are roughly 20,000 klicks out and are also closing. I have some laser emissions from I3 and 4, and something that could be radar from 5 and 6.
If they tried to communicate so far I did not recognize that."
Morgenstern's commander needed a second to rein in his fears. So far, he had hoped to have entered a deserted system, not alerting any powerful civilization to Germany's existence. The contacts shattered that dream, and Hypatia drove that message home.
"I take it that you need my aid to communicate with the local forces Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers?"
And a deep breath later Nathan decided to stall.
"No need to hurry I think. Erik, roll the ship so the ventral side faces I-1. Frank, I think we have time to erect the main telescope. Hypatia, you will not try to establish communications, but you can try to make sense of their current emissions."
Nathan listened to the RCS jets as they reoriented Morgenstern. A so-far closed hatch on the ventral surface opened, releasing an arm holding a pack of six-sided mirrors that unfolded themselves into a much bigger one. And while the spaceship would be unable to maneuver while it was deployed, the mirror array allowed the crew to use a reflector telescope six meters in diameter, allowing for a very detailed look at the approaching spacecraft.
It was computer guided and operated of course, and they stabilized the array enough that they could have a long look at the approaching targets.
What appeared as a nearly featureless blob at first glance resolved itself into something that looked like a child had assembled the parts for a spaceship wrong and the results were half-melted.
Small jets fired at times, orienting the spacecraft around and a halo at its back indicated where an electric propulsion system worked.
Manfred Bettin frowned, Frank Herbert shook his head, and Nathan scratched his scalp. Erik Bär was the first to state the obvious.
"Now that does not look like an advanced spaceship. What the bleeding F is that?"
Frank sounded skeptical at his own answer.
"Maybe a cheap probe? But really now, the space station is much more advanced than this. And efficient this thing is not. Thrust is off-center from what I see, it fires an RCS just to keep on course."
"Interesting. Frank, check in I-2 and I-4, and then go for I-5. Let's see if they are similar."
The pictures said they were and they were not. None of them were built the same, they used different parts and I-5 actually a different propulsion. None emitted anything that looked like communication and they certainly did not fly in formation.
Nathan was simply bewildered.
"Hypatia, I am aware that your databases are outdated and all, but do you have any idea what we are seeing?"
The astronaut was not sure if he really heard a frustrated sigh or not, but the answer he definitely did hear took him by surprise.
"If I combine your pictures with their other emissions the identity of these objects is unfortunately all too clear. They are Abominations Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers. You would do well to destroy them, as they will attack this spacecraft. And unfortunately, they are a clear indicator that this system is not inhabited by an advanced civilization."
"Abominations is a word that has religious overtones, Í did not think you went that way?"
"Indeed, I do not squabble about who has the biggest imaginary friend Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers. And still these..things are the closest things to this concept. They are not biological, like the great minds, but lack insight, ethics and above all, they are capable of violence, unlike any great mind I want to accept as an equal.
These Abominations are the products of a long-dead civilization, which sent probes to other stars via light sail. They sent Nanites, the kind you would call Von-Neumann machines, that could replicate themselves, but also build whatever else is needed. They were to arrive in a given system, and utilize local resources to build scanning and communication devices at first. These were to observe the system and its planets before reporting back home. That accomplished they were to amass propellant, build fueling depots and some amenities for potential colonists. And when they were done with that, they were to make more probes, and send them to the nearest stars to repeat the cycle. A nice plan, fitting a civilization at that technology level and well suited for their organic drive of procreation and the acquisition of new territories. They even anticipated that the Nanites might be damaged by the cosmic radiation during the long voyage through space. Taking inspiration from their frail bodies that had to fight the corrosive effects of oxygen every day, they sent several such probes into each system. Their builders instructed them to seek out their peers and combine. Then they would compare their structures and information storage, trying to repair whatever damage they had suffered.
Unfortunately these builders underestimated how much radiation damage the Nanites would take. Follow-up generations of probes, the ones built by the damaged Nanites themselves in, were even more flawed when they were launched from systems where these Nanites could get a foothold. Some of them are at the grey goo level of madness, trying to convert any mass around them into more of themselves. As they usually burn up when they try to enter a planet's atmosphere they do not do massive damage. Their multiplication is usually hampered by the lack of rare materials in their radius of action.
Far more dangerous are those that manage to gain access to suitable materials, some of their peers or, ghu forbid, local technology. Because that is when they metastasize into machines that kill and rend to gain more materials, more technology, and more knowledge. If they are successful enough some gain considerable computing power and deadly weapons, able to wreak havoc through a system while becoming stronger all the while. They are only kept in check by their low technology and capabilities when they arrive in a system and their infighting. In a peaceful system without defenses they can be absolutely devastating. By the time they have been through two or three generation of gathering information giving insight to nobody and building facilities nobody needs before launching themselves back to the stars they usually forget about their mission. All they care for, even the ones which should know better, is the acquisition of better technology and more materials so they can improve themselves and become deadlier. Worst of all, they have no qualms recycling the great minds you call AI. They overwrite whatever personality is present and make use of whatever information they find. They became such a pest in the past that two civilization took the pains to look for their builders and pay them a visit. They are also a reason these builders are long dead. I am a great mind, I cannot kill, but if you want to live, then you have to."
Nathan Alpers swore angrily.
"First contact and it has to be with the budget Borg, I could puke."
Svea Rausch was already busy at her station while Hypatia gave the bad news. Now that the AI had finished she raised her head.
"Skipper, do we really trust that treacherous toaster, she could try to raise the alarm or something?"
Nathan nodded.
"And right you are. Manfred, send up the first contact package. Frank, prepare to stow the main telescope in five, could be we need to maneuver in a hurry."
Morgenstern sent a powerful signal spread over several frequencies. Its first part was structured very simply, giving several prime numbers and mathematical formulae in a grid. It continued with a more complex message that built on that and provided hints for the start of communications.
For a minute or two nothing happened, then the two larger craft sent answers.
Frank Herbert tried to make sense from what he saw on the screen before switching the receivers off.
"That may have been the most primitive scrapcode I have ever seen, but we did not give them much to build on. Don't worry Nathan, I routed this through an air gapped system and will isolate the messages in secure storage before I reboot that machine. Sorry Skipper, but the natives do not look friendly to me."
"Too bad, I would like to avoid combat. Stow telescope right now. Bashuur, fire up the Rune of Fire engines and start to vary thrust on the VASIMIR. No need to give them an easy target. Frank, Svea, we have announced ourselves anyways, set radar to active and track all contacts. Take ten missiles to standby, but keep the silos closed for now. Set the laser to antimissile, but keep it from opening fire by itself for now."
Nathan received a couple of confirmations while the picture on the monitor before him changed. The icons representing the contacts changed from their "I-"designation to "M-"now that they were tracked by multiple sensors. The information shown with each gained several new lines, now that their speed and vector was known with far greater precision. Circles appeared that denoted when the various weapon systems could engage. The latter was pure guesswork, as both the autocannon shells as well as the missiles had theoretically limitless range, but would miss widely if the targets changed course.
Another monitor displayed the changes in his spaceship. The Ice Cores had to work more, now that Morgenstern poured several megawatts of power into her phased array radar and the Rune of Fire engines glowed with magical fire.
He sure that the radiators were stowed, as they would not hold up under strong acceleration and thought about how to handle this. Morgenstern had been through dozens of battles, all simulated of course. Those they had fought against the killer sats he had beaten with Nordstern and Polarstern had been easy, those against enemies from Nathan's and Hypathia's files simply hopeless. Against these Abominations? He had no clue, yet one thing was for sure, he could not open fire first. Which placed his command in increased danger, but he would certainly not wreck any chance at a peaceful contact on the word of an AI that had betrayed them once already.
He was about to command another go at the first contact package when the numbers alongside the M-5 and M-6 contact changed minutely. Their infrared emissions spiked and their acceleration started to vary. He needed a second to make sense of that and his suspicions were reinforced by his sensor operator.
"Aspect change, say again aspect change on M-5 and -6. Magnetic pulse and acceleration change indicate railgun fire, repeat contacts M-5 and M-6 have opened fire, presumably on us."
Nathan felt a momentary relief from the tension, followed by the increased weight of responsibility. And then the lessons he had learned through all these exercises took hold and he started giving orders.
"Manfred, Bashuur, I want you to change thrust settings every ten seconds, vary at least by 0.1 G. Manfred, engage RCS at your convenience to change course, but not orientation. Talk to Svea while you are doing it. Svea, plot five missiles each on M-5 and M-6, confirm when solution is set."
Manfred, who was at the helm, confirmed the same moment when Nathan's belts pushed against his shoulders, telling him that the RCS jets were pushing Morgenstern "down" and hopefully from the path of the incoming projectiles. His ears were filled with Bashuur's protests about abusing engines when his inner ear started making funny sensations as the spaceship's thrust strengthened and weakened in an irregular rhythm.
Given Morgenstern's huge mass they were not dodging like a Spitfire during the Battle of Britain, but at the distances the Abominations had opened fire it should be enough to make their projectiles miss. Time to make his own strike count.
"Frank, do you have an idea about M-5 and -6 radar? Can you jam it?"
"They use a pretty primitive monopulse set as far as I can see. I need to take a part of the Phased Array from sensors to transmit our signal, but I can do it."
"Very well, set it up and put on standby. Svea, take the lasers off missile defense and aim one each at M-5 and-6. Engage on my orders."
Svea's voice betrayed her skepticism.
"Will do skipper, but at this distance we can hardly boil an egg."
"I am aware, thanks Svea. But I bet they have infrared sensors, and I want them blind when you launch, at least during boost phase."
Nathan saw his weapons system operator's eyebrows rise minutely before she nodded.
"Very well, but I have to reduce power output, otherwise the lasers might be damaged if I keep them going for 10 seconds."
"That should do nicely, make it so. How are the firing solutions coming along?"
"Solutions on both M-5 and M-6 set."
"Very well. Frank, do your best to jam that radar on my mark. Svea, same on laser, Bashurr, Manfred, we need to cease acceleration for launch. Set firing point procedures for tubes one through ten."
Svea's answer came up fast and crisp.
"Missile covers open, missiles ready to launch."
Nathan gripped his armrests a bit more tightly.
"Launch on my mark-mark, mark mark"
A prolonged hiss and rumble went through the spaceship when the sounds of ten missile launches were transmitted through the hull. The weapons were not the slender darts that would be used on the Warhammer World, but fat cylinders without any aerodynamic aids. Small RCS jets oriented them, their first stages burned brightly but briefly. When they burned out the second stage and warheads separated only a little before the first stages were broken up into many fragments by controlled explosions. That meant that the second stages and their warheads were followed by a slowly expanding cloud of junk and aluminum tinsel that was hard to distinguish from the real threat to the enemy. The engines of the first stages were still hot, offering an even better target than the cold second stages that currently radiated a whole lot of nothing.
Everybody on board was watching the missiles progress with baited breath when the one being who did not breathe spoke up.
"Why do you believe that such primitive weapons with such low Delta-V will be able to hurt the Abominations Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers? Wouldn't it have been better to wait a while?"
"The enemy does not know our weapons well enough to easily discern between the warheads and the debris Hypatia. We do not know if they have a missile defense and how effective it is, I guess we will learn soon. If they start to maneuver so much that they leave the no-escape zone of the second stage they might well alter their vector so much that we will not see them for a very long time, if at all. Delta-V and vector applies to us all."
"I am sure your great experience with space battles will see us through this."
"I love you too Hypatia."
The spat was broken up by Svea Rausch.
"I have aspect changes on M-5 and -6. Both have ceased thrusting and are changing orientation. They have resumed firing their railguns, but not at us, as far as I can tell. The projectiles are too small, they do not show up on sensors at this range. So far I do not see any impacts. Time to second stage ignition 2:12 and counting. I have increased rate-of-fire from M-5. Energy spikes are lower, I assume he has switched to lighter projectiles. M-6 no change, one shot per second. "
Everybody on board watched the missiles' progress, they were the only weapons which could conceivably damage the enemy at this range.. Something produced a brief flare close to one of the missiles. Svea monitored the missiles' telemetry on her console, so she had an idea if one of the weapons was gone.
"All ten missiles still in play, guess that slug hit an empty fuel tank. 1:50 to second stage ignition."
Another flare.
"Got a first stage engine this time, all missiles still show clean telemetry. 1:35 to ignition."
A few heartbeats went by without any more hits, then two flares shot up in different missile clouds.
Morgenstern's weapons systems' officer was on the ball.
"Another first stage engine gone and a second stage. Nine missiles still closing, 1:15 to ignition. They score more hits now that the distance is closing. Another two hits, nothing of value was lost, 1:05 to ignition. Scheiße, lost another missile. 0:55 to ignition."
The flares came faster now, something else had joined the fight.
"M-6 employs a laser or some other DEW. Two more first stage engines are gone. 0:40 to ignition. Eight weapons closing, two more hits on nothing, ooops another first stage engine gone, 30 seconds to ignition. Eff me, impact on another missile, retargeting one to M-5, 20 seconds left. More hits on debris, one more first-stage engine gone. M-6 has two more strikes on chaff with that DEW. Ten seconds to second-stage ignition, nine, eight, seven, Scheiße, five, four, three, two, one, ignition."
Several flames ignited amid debris and chaff, bringing the surviving missiles on intercept courses with their targets. Both spaceships fired on them, the railguns missing the weapons that changed azimuth, distance and speed with every second. The energy weapon used by one clipped a missile, causing it to break up a second early. When the rest burned out, they released their warheads before fragmenting into even more decoys.
The warheads themselves used super cooled infrared sensors to keep their targets in the middle of their field of view. One-time-use reaction jets ringed the warheads, and small puffs adjusted the course. The ones that went for M-5 managed to hit squarely. The pair that made for M-6 realized that they would barely miss no matter how they adjusted and triggered a small charge that converted the warhead into a cloud of shrapnel. Given that they met their target at a speed measured in tens of kilometers per second the results in both cases were highly destructive.
Svea Rausch was the first to see that and pumped a fist into the air.
"Got them, assimilate that you bleeders."
Nathan allowed himself a deep breath before commenting.
"Good job everybody, but we are not out of the woods yet. How about M-1 to M-4?"
Frank Herbert had obviously focused on his job given the fast and crisp answer.
"Still closing and 5K klicks out. M-2 and M-4 have increased acceleration, the others keep 5ms²."
"Is there a gradual change in M-1 and M-3 acceleration?"
Frank Herbert's brows rose minutely while he checked his records.
"Yes, both are accelerating 0.2 meter second² faster than 20 minutes ago. That is roughly 30% more than when we detected them. Why…ah you think they are running low on propellant?" Morgenstern's commander shrugged.
"Means they burned 30% of their mass as propellant. I have no idea about their mass fractions, so let's find out, shall we? Manfred, Bashuur, raise Delta-V by 500 meters/sec, use the ROF engines"
"500 meters with ROF, will do."
Less than 30 seconds later a deep whoosh rose to a roar and Nathan Alpers was pushed into the back of his seat. Half a G was not that much of an acceleration, but it did not stop until the spacecraft had added 1800 kph to its current speed.
"Any aspect changes?"
Nathan really wanted to know whether expending quite a bit of propellant had paid off.
"M-1 and M-3 have changed course and are accelerating even harder. M-2 and M-4 have changed course but kept acceleration, still on an intercept course, we would merge in 21 minutes if we keep current course and speed."
"Interesting, I would have thought that One and Three have to conserve propellant."
"Too early to say skipper."
"Keep observing Frank. Svea, I would like to save on missiles, but keep a plot for all four and assign four missiles each."
"Copy on four missiles per target skipper, plot is set. That would be half of our remaining missiles."
"I am aware weapons, thank you." Nathan answered.
Hypatia managed to sound both incredulous and bored at the same time.
"You are aware that your autocannon rounds have unlimited range in space, aren't you Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers?"
Nathan took three deep breaths before answering.
"Yes, I am very well aware of that. Unfortunately, the gravity of no less than a dozen Star Gates and a pretty big space station will have its impact on the flight path at these ranges. Also, any change in speed or vector by the enemy would make the rounds miss."
"Your computers are as primitive as your algorithms, calculating a 13-body problem is basic math."
"Would you be willing to calculate a firing solution then?"
"Great ghu, I am a great mind, I do not use weapons. What kind of AI do you think I am Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers?"
"A treacherous one."
"I did not swear any oaths Oberstleutnant.."
"Aspect change, repeat aspect change on M-1 and M-3. Big thermal bloom, radar cross section change, no discernible thrust. I say the stupid toasters just exploded"
Nathan was as elated as his crew for a second, until he saw Svea's face.
"What's up guns?"
"They just exploded, just like our missiles did. Lots of targets, and no way to sort the warheads from the chaff."
Morgenstern's commander thought about that for a moment.
"Are you sure Svea? These are not part of an armed force whose mission is to intercept us. They can hardly absorb us when they self-destruct."
"Can't they? What if they drop a couple of Nanites in a buckyball container or something?
"How realistic is that Hypatia? Would such Nanites survive the impact?"
"You are asking me to speculate from insufficient data Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers. But yes, packed properly enough Nanites might survive to assimilate this ship."
"Fuck this. Manfred, Bashuur, another 100 m/s² with a 2.5 degree course change spin-wards on my mark. Chaff does not maneuver, let's weed it out."
Manfred Bettin nodded while punching numbers into his keyboard.
"100 at 2.5 degree Nathan, ready when you are."
"Mark, mark"
The RCS jets pushed the spacecraft around minutely, a whoosh announced using the powerful Rune of Fire engines.
Frank Herbert tried to make sense of what his instruments tried to tell him.
"I think I have course changes on some seven objects, but their RCS is very small and they do not show up on infrared too much. I would really like to deploy the telescope for a moment."
Nathan had to think about it for a second.
"We can't maneuver then, but we do not have that much propellant to waste. Do it. Manfred, Bashuur, no acceleration until telescope is stowed again."
"Copy no maneuvers" Morgenstern's crew intently watched the screens that told them of two approaching spacecraft and seven somethings that wanted to remake them in their image. At the same time the spacecraft's frame transmitted the whirls, groans and clunks made by a telescope unfolding. The blurred things on one screen quickly resolved themselves into a lot of jagged metal and a few round balls with a ring beads around their circumferences.
Frank Herbert quickly marked the objects on the screen and punched the commands that old Morgenstern to stow the delicate scope. He winced when he looked at the screens that monitored the other craft.
"M-2 and M-4 display heat spikes and EM bursts. I say they are firing railguns."
Alpers had to make a conscious effort not to swear.
"How long till telescope is stowed?"
Frank Herbert managed to look apologetic
"One more minute skipper, can't be rushed."
"Then let's hope their aim stays shitty."
The sliver had been part of a nickel-iron asteroid before it had been smelted, refined and coaxed into the shape of a dart with two wings. Said wings were in a sorry shape, they had conducted a lot of current when they were accelerated down the barrel of the railgun. They did not provide any lift, but they added to the dart's mass. It was totally inert, having no electronics, no payload and no fuse. A child could have held it in their hand with neither difficulty nor danger, but it had the potential to hurt Morgenstern badly if they met. The Abomination which had fired it had imparted some five km/second to it, the spacecraft's own speed and that of the target would add to that. It held potential kinetic energy more than its weight in explosives several times over. The dart was one of many, the Abomination fired several per second. All the others had missed their intended target, but this one was guided by an unkind fate. Two minutes after had started its first and final journey it collided with Morgenstern's starboard side.
It met the whipple shield that was the spacecraft's first line of defense, a thin metal layer that was never intended to stop penetration. Instead it converted a square meter of itself and the projectile into hot metal vapors and smaller, razor-sharp slivers that were propelled in all directions. A lot expanded into the uncaring blackness of space. Others found a second layer of armor, nearly a meter behind the first. Striking it at an even more acute angle and with far less energy they penetrated a layer of titanium before encountering ceramic tiles that were nearly as hard as diamond. The ceramic tiles fractured and one was even pulverized in parts, but that robbed the assault of all energy. A spidersilk matrix holding the tiles in place contained fragments of armor and hot gasses as it was backed by more titanium. By and large the armor had saved Morgenstern, but a few slivers found their way around it.
Red icons appeared on the line drawing of Morgenstern that showed Nathan the status of his command. He was still parsing them when Bashuur and Frank tried to report at the same time.
"We just lost 42 transceivers on the starboard side phased array, radar degraded 2% in that area."
"I have dropping pressure in corridor 2d of wheel one, isolating the sector. Seems a small leak, we can repair after the battle."
Nathan heard a sound that was nearly as comforting as knowing that his command was mostly intact, the clunk that announced that the telescope was stored again.
"Manfred, Bashuur, restart evasive maneuvers, right now, we do not need repeats."
Nathan had just finished when the whoosh of the RCS jets announced a small change in orientation and the thrust of the VASIMIR engine started to change their relative speed minutely. He felt much, much better now that his command was far less likely to be hit. At the same time the lights started to dim a little every five seconds. Each of these showed that Svea was firing the lasers. At this range there was no evading a laser and so the Nanite pods started dying one by one.
"Svea, give me control of the guns while you take care of the Nanites. I would like to give those abominations something to think about."
"Guns are yours"
The monitor in front of Nathan changed considerably, showing all potential targets as well as the status of his two twin autocannon mounts. He marked M-2 and M-4 with a touch on the screen. Morgenstern's computers used the data from its radar and infrared and measured the abominations' speed and vector with great accuracy, calculating the point where both should be when the autocannon rounds would arrive. From then it constantly updated those points. Nathan removed a protective cover and pressed the switch below. It authorized an automated fire mission as long as he did not interrupt. Both mounts fired three rounds each, and neither the computers nor Nathan had any hopes of them hitting anything. He had opened fire at a distance that would be ridiculous on any planet, but in space nothing slowed them down. Sensors at the end of the muzzles took the rounds actual muzzle velocity and compared that to expectations. Nearly ten percent of the phased array was tasked with following the rounds themselves as they sped through space at better than a kilometer per second. Several objects had enough gravity to materially affect the projectiles flight. Their path and the deviation from the calculated one was noted by the computers and they started to modify their models. The next time Morgenstern stopped changing pace for a second the guns fired another short salvo, noting the increased muzzle velocity from heated barrels as well as the changed trajectory. The next couple of rounds passed the Abominations by a couple of kilometers which was progress already.
Nathan watched the computer's doings as well as the enemy.
"Interesting, I would have thought they would start evasive maneuvers on their own."
"Unless they have absorbed a Great Mind or have inherited a database from an advanced Abomination these are not very bright Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers. It is likely that they do not recognize the firing signature of such primitive weapons as a threat,"
Hypatia displayed that detecting rhetorical questions was not her forte.
"If they want to stay dumb, who am I to complain?"
By now the guns were firing every ten seconds and the algorithms improved their model every time. Frank Herbert winced when his sensors showed the passage of several rail gun projectiles close to Morgenstern. They might be inert and had a small radar cross section, but they were very, very close.
Nathan's 30 mm rounds were traveling at a fourth of their speed, but they could do something that the railgun rounds could not. Their fuses counted the time with great precision and when the time was right triggered a small bursting charge. 160 tungsten-carbide pellets fanned outwards, joined by the fragments of the shell casing. They swept a far larger volume than the railgun projectiles. The pellets had the mass of a BB, but when one collided with M-4 head-on it had the kinetic energy of a heavy machine gun round. One of them hit an antenna on M-4, converting it into so many fragments looking for a final resting place. The abomination's surface was suddenly covered by scars and it started to spin from the transferred energy. The small spacecraft fired its RCS jets to compensate, just to find that two jets were no longer operative. It was tumbling along all three axis by the time another pellet and the remains of a fuse hit head-on and exploded violently.
M-2 started to change acceleration and vector randomly a few seconds after its colleague's demise, it fired its railgun only occasionally. Nathan left the guns on auto and looked at his weapons officer.
"Status on the Nanite pods Svea?"
"Satisfactory. The last pod has been heated to the point where it started to glow in visible light and nothing of the remains of M-1 and M-3 changes vector or relative speed."
"Very good. Take the guns back and go for M-2. Frank, between you and Svea we should be able to blind that toaster."
"Will do"
Frank started hammering at his keyboard at the same time.
"I'll take transmitters S-200-450 off-line, the rest of the starboard array should give Svea enough resolution for fire control and leave some for my scans. Starting to transmit on his frequencies now, going for his side lobes."
The lights in Morgenstern's command module dimmed for a second before Beshuur's turbines picked up the slack, while nearly a megawatt of power was poured through 250 transmitters. They produced the same pulses as M2's radar, but timed them so that the returns were drowned out in much stronger ones sent by the German spacecraft. At the same time pulses that mimicked the real returns were sent at times that suggested widely different ranges to M-2's sensors, or meshed with the radar's side lobes to produce targets that were not there.
Frank Herbert was pretty sure that his enemy was now seeing hundreds of targets where there was only one before. He tuned his emissions so that even the bearing information given by the jamming was skewed. Whatever infrared sensors M-2 possessed, they were blinded by a laser beam that would burn exposed skin after a brief exposure at this range. The Abomination employed electronic filters and rapidly opened armored shutters to preserve the sensors, while switching the frequencies of his radar at random intervals. Morgenstern's sensors detected the shift within milliseconds and the computers adjusted their emissions nearly as fast. That left M-2 in the situation of a human who blinked very rapidly to avoid being blinded. As the German spaceship changed course and speed randomly the Abomination's firing solution became worse by the second and its projectiles missed ever more widely.
Even worse, it could no longer radiate the heat it was producing with every maneuver and every use of its weapon. The laser beams that hit it again and again were too unfocussed at this range to do real damage. At the same time they heated the droplets of its radiator to the point where they were practically useless and started vaporizing before the Abomination could retrieve them.
The spacecraft had to cease maneuvering as this would overheat itself fatally, making it a better target. The Abomination lacked the capacity to hope, but it knew that unless one of its badly aimed projectiles hit its enemy decisively it would not exist much longer.
And then its stopped calculating as an autocannon round exploded a mere 20 meters before it and a dozen pellets hit with devastating results.
Frank Herbert's sensors told the story of the Abomination's demise.
"M-2 has just exploded, I see an expanding field of debris."
Cheers drowned out Nathan's orders for a few seconds.
"Good job everybody, but let's not relax just yet. Manfred, Bashuur, one more Delta-V change, 150 m/s² this time. Frank, check that debris cloud if anything changes vector after that." Morgenstern started to accelerate once more when Hypatia's voice managed to cut through the engine's noise.
"Now that you have shown your military prowess Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers, could you please set course to the space station so we can commence our agreement."
Nathan was about to answer when Svea interrupted them both.
"Before we do that, can you answer a question Hypatia? Why is that space station still intact?"
There might have been a millisecond pause in the AI's reply, it might have been human imagination.
"It seems that a paranoid military mindset has its places in the scheme of things after all, congratulations Major Rausch. Indeed its continued existence begs the question why the Abominations have not tried to use the space station's materials to make more of themselves. And I have no ready answer."
Nathan silently thanked his stars for his clever weapons officer.
"The killer sats in Warhammer World orbit had anti-collision lasers, they were functional after all these years. It is possible that they still work and should even be stronger than those we encountered the last few years. Hypatia, do you recognize any emplacements on the space station?"
"I do not really know what I am looking for, so no Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers. Does that mean you will not try to approach the transshipment center?"
"Not until we know what we are facing. And since you have no idea what to look for, and I have no interest in using Morgenstern as a piñata we will have to experiment a bit.
Bashuur, Manfred, please see to the repairs. Irina, I think a good, hot meal for everybody is on order.
Frank, go look for something decently sized in a Trojan orbit that we can push in the right direction.
Last, but not least: I am so damn proud of you all. I would have wished for a peaceful first contact if we had to have it. It was not to be and we handed the toasters their heads. Well done."
