Blood, Sweat, and Tears (WH40k Design Bureau)

[adwarf]

[X] Plan Essentially Engines

Quite enjoying this quest, and so I'll throw in my vote as well. Engines seem more immediately useful for bringing our ships up than an extra weaponry option.

Aside from the vote, had an idea after reading the last strategy turn, inspired both by the first use of the Fusion Breaker and the rather questionable condition of our fighter style void craft. Kind of doubt it'll be canon, but it was fun to write at least!

Spoiler: Should Have Stuck to Freight, Turn Two - Ork Asteroid Base

Bertran used to pilot cargo Lighters, transporting whatever it was the foremen had set up on his docket for the day as he made trips across planet to orbit to the ground and everything in-between. He was good too, ever seen someone fly a Lighter up to orbit after it's sensors got fried with an engine operating at thirty nine point eight percent from flying through a lightning storm? Neither did Calavar until someone decided that the freight Bertran needed to move was deemed critical to the Crusade, the man taking off in the midst of a storm no other civilian pilot was willing to risk the moment he got the call.

People asked him afterwards how he did it, did his skills carry him through? Did the Emperor's light appear to guide him through it all? Did the machine spirit of his Lighter bless him with the grace of the Omnissiah? No, none of that. He had simply flew that same flight route so many times that he could remember the process, every minuscule fraction of it, with barely even a conscious thought.

He even dreamed about flying it some nights, not because it was a process he enjoyed just simply due to it being that frequent. If someone had told him that what he was taking up were last minute replacements for the Wages of Scorn, that he would prove crucial in ensuring that that monster would fire, and if they had told him he'd witness after accepting the recruitment notice?

He would have refused.

Yet, no one can know what the future holds and yet here Bertran is, the void of space that should be broken only by the dim flicker of stars awash in the ceaseless fire of Human and Ork warships alike. It was madness the likes of which he had never seen, but before his emotions could get the better of him the whirring of the auto-injectors embedded into his neck broke the quiet of the cockpit. A drug enforced calm seeping it's way into his mind as he tore the Combat Lighter to the side, hand clamping down on the firing mechanisms as the forward mounted lascannons tore into the side of an Ork fighter craft.

It hurt to see something that ungainly flying about the void of space and so with mechanical precision Bertran proceeded to tear the craft apart, it's engines destroyed from the first salvo. It took moments to ensure it was dead, the seasoned cargo pilot turned void fighter pilot turning his craft towards an oncoming cluster of Ork boarding craft intent on slamming into the front of the Wages of Sin.

"Squadron Gamma, this is Gamma-One. Ten count boarding craft fast approaching Wages of Sin's prow."

A wave of acknowledgement came in response.

"Gamma-Three confirm."
"Gamma-Four confirm."
"Gamma-Six confirm."
"Gamma-Nine confirm.... Down to five in the wing, Gamma-One."

Bertran frowned for a moment, the auto injectors kicking to life again to suppress the rising wave of anger,

"Understood. Three and Four, take targets Green-376 through Green-379. Six and Nine, take Targets Green-380 through Green 382. One will handle the rest."

A cybernetic arm moved to the side of Bertran's neck, a robotic finger pressing in on a small protruding plate that sent a rush of stimulants pouring into his system followed rapidly by a bland mechanical voice.

"Gamma-One, vitals peaking. Biological damage sustained, disable injectors and hold further us-"

It falls silent with a few flicks of the switch, Bertran's hands dancing across the control panels to adjust the Combat Lighter to it's limits as the familiar ding of the lascannons successful charge rings in the cockpit. Accelerating towards the selected boarding craft, Bertran's radars displayed the other craft in Gamma Wing following close behind. Their positions were workable, they could manage if he could take out two of the craft in the first four seconds of the engagement and so the autocannon was flipped to ready status.

It took moments for the two formations to close, the Ork gunners opening fire far before entering effective range while Gamma Wing kept their weapons ready.

Six seconds to range.

Five seconds to range.

Four seconds to range.

Three seconds to range. Gamma-Nine's identifier goes out, a flash of light from the side signalling lucky shots from Ork gunners downing another of Bertran's squadron.

Two seconds to range. Bertran flicks the plastic cover from the autocannon fire mechanism, the cockpit thrums, and Bertran's helmet seals itself automatically with a whoosh of internal oxygen kicking in.

One second to range. Bertran changes trajectory abruptly, the Combat Lighter adjusting its prow perpendicular to the rapidly nearing Ork craft, Ork guns take out Engine One, but the craft keeps going. His first target passes in front of him as the lascannons fire, searing beams of pure energy lancing their way through the craft and setting fire to poorly stored munitions that are rapidly sucked into space.

His second and third target arrive just as swiftly, a finger depressing the autocannon trigger as the prow of the Lighter begins to spit out a rain of shells that could punch through lighter tanks let alone shoddily crafted Ork vessels. A line of high speed shells tear the side of a boarding craft open sending it's occupants into the void followed swiftly by a controlled burst that turns the cockpit of the third craft into a beehive.

Maneuverability thrusters kick to life as a Bertran enables a series of pre-configured adjustment routines carried over from when the Combat Lighter was a cargo vessel. It aligns just in time for the heavily stimulant fueled, single-minded focus of the former cargo pilot to unload a dozen rounds into the main thrusters of a craft that should have been Gamma-Nines.

Lights flicker in the cockpit as Bertran hurries to the task of initiating manual countermeasures for the damaged Engine-One, console lights dimming as the lighter enters low power mode to cope with the reduced power generation. Turning his eyes to the visual display he looks up just in time to witness the first firing of the Wages of Sin's supposed Fusion Breaker cannon, and even through the rush of stimulants trying to keep him focused he finds himself unable to look away.

It fires once, it's target the asteroid turned monitor and Ork space station. He doesn't catch the shell moving through space, but he sees the result as a hole large enough to fly a full Wing through just appears.

Shattered rock, shredded metal, molten versions of both, and the asteroid's former inhabitants are cast violently out of the horrific wound inflicted upon the all caught in a heaving mass of fire and colors. Staring at the destruction a part of Bertran realized a rather unavoidable truth.

He had helped put together a weapon that wasn't made to defend. Watching the aftermath wash over the Fort for a brief moment before the optical sensors flared out of life for a scant few moments, Bertran looked at the now dark screens in horror.

"We've made something to remove continents from existence.... I.... What did I-"

Static blared into Bertran's ears for a few seconds before a voice finally played through.

"Gamma-One, this is Gamma-Six. We... We're all that's left of the Wing, sir."

Bertran sat in silence for a few moments before replying,

"Copy that. Gamma Wing return for resupply and repair."

Saying that he cut off communications with his fellow surviving squadron mate.

"Should have stuck to freight. Emperor have mercy."

 

[Warmach1ne32]

AN: Here is my omake about the bickering that caused the Torpedo to be delayed.
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Torpedo Troubles​

"I am telling you, while that model of cogitator is enough to survive the launch, it takes up too much space to fit the proposed tube!"
"No, the armor needs to be 10cm thick on the nose to better protect the sensors from head on impact, while the rest only needs 5cm of armor."
"The X85 rocket engine have the velocity the torpedo needs, however the high temperature will damage the tube by welding it shut if it is launched from inside the tube, we need to eject the torpedo out of the tube first, before we can activate the rocket engine. The problem is finding a way to eject the heavy torpedo without damaging it or the launch tube."

It seems to be another unproductive day of bickering and arguing for the Torpedo design team. When the team first got the list from the admiralty we initially get to work dividing which parts of the team deal with which problem. First order of business is to design the warhead, a Sub-Magus Sydney Alfred, who specialises in explosions, suggested using a similar design to the warhead used in our infantry rocket launchers. Which uses a hollow cone of copper with explosives packed in the back to push the cone, inward and results in a jet of moltern metal that could penetrate medium to lightly armored vehicles. Fantastic, upscale it to torpedo size and we are good right?

No exactly, as a rule of thumb a shaped charge like the one we plan on using for the torpedo can penetrate about 5x the warhead's diameter, before the jet dissipates. A Claymore Corvette is 1.4 kilometers long and 300 meters wide and since most of the critical systems of a ship like the engines, ammunition, and bridge are usually placed in the center of the ship, it is safe to say that to damage critical systems the torpedo needs to penetrate 100 meters at least, so it can damage critical systems. So, the torpedo would need to be 20 meters in diameter to get 100 meters of penetration using the standard copper shaped charge, even then voidcraft armor is not easy to breach, and it will be highly likely that the torpedo would under perform if it uses the same materials as infantry variant used by the army. Thus Magus Sydney is tasked with finding a better warhead that would deliver much more damage than simply poking a hole into a ship. With that settled for the moment, we move on to the PDs.

A lot of the development time of the torpedo project was spent finding a sensor package that is robust enough to survive the high speeds of travel, be accurate enough to be able to reliably shoot down incoming interceptors, and fit inside of a PD turret. We run various test on a lot of models and even design several prototypes but all of them either can't survive the launch or not reliably accurate enough to hit possible targets or not being small enough to fit in the torpedo itself. We eventually decided to put Lascannons as the torpedo's PD to lower the accuracy requirement and that is what we end up doing. This removed the need for storing ammo, allows the use of more robust targeting suite that only needed to point the turret at an incoming threat, and the Lascannon turret can be more snuggly fit as there is no need for a loading mecahnism. While this lowers the bar, we still can't find a suitable sensor package, so we left Sub-Magus Perelmen and his underlings in finding one that meets qualifications.

Next is figuing out the engine and by that point, Sub-Magus Sydney managed to design a Tandem Warhead, where before the Torpedo hits that hull of the ship, the head of the torpedo explodes teh shaped charge will bore a hole into the hull of the ship using a plasteel alloy that have a low melting point compared to other plasteel alloys allow it to reliably punch through an estimated 200 meters inside a ship. However the rest of the torpedo remains and the surviving half of the torpedo containes a 2nd warhead which forces itself through the weakened section of the armor that had a hole in it created by the 1st warhead and once the rest of the torpedo forces itself inside the ship, it will detonate a small nuclear warhead, imitating the Emperor's holy Bolters in Torpedo form. Fantastic, the team is impressed. The problem is that it made the projected torpedo extremely cramped in the middle as there is little space left for the fuel tank and PD systems. It was decided to have the shaped plasteel charge at the head of the torpedo, then the neck will be for the Lascannon PD which contains the turrets, power packs, sensors, and cogitators, this also provide an extra layer of protection for the nuclear warhead from the explosion of the 1st warhead. The nuclear warhead itself will be in the middle of the torpedo will also have a plasteel cone which will protect the nuclear payload from teh 1st warhead and be strong enough to force its way through the severely weakened ship hull. With a timed charge, set to detonate a few seconds after the shaped charge detonation, this should give the nuclear charge enough time to travel deep inside of the ship before detonating. The rest of the torpedo are the engines and fuel tank.

Now with only 1 year left to our deadline, we are stuck on designing an engine that is powerful enough to get the torpedo at a respectable speed while still being small enough to fit inside our proposed torpedo tube that can fit inside of a Corvette. We also have a separate team handling the armor of the torpedo and which segment had how much armor and etc. Once all of that is settled we still need to set up factories and assembly lines to produce them, the method to safely launch the torpedo without welding the tube shut, along with designing the torpedo tube system that will be installed on ships. If we are given another 5 years and maybe an Imperial Torpedo to dissect, we could complete the project. Right now, it is unlikely we can complete the project before the deadline.

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AN: Here you go the thoughts of one of the Mechanicus Adepts and the story behind how complicated designing a torpedo is without something to copy. I thought up of the tandem plasteel shaped charge nuke warhead combo while reading the description of the completed torpedo. A Nuke inside a ship is nothing to scoff at especially in the confined spaces of a ship. It wouldn't be too damaging to any ship above Heavy Cruiser, because of its sheer mass, but it would be like a Bolter round fired on a Human for a Light Cruiser or smaller vessel. All done in 3 hours, not bad if I do say so myself. Let me know if you have something to add.

 

[Warmach1ne32]

AN: Omake numero dos about our combat lighter pilot giving the mechanicus feedback on how to make a better fighter.
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Lighter Feedback​

I, Erika Hermann, am a simple gal. Give me a chance to do something fun, like piloting a voidcraft to kill the Emperor's enemies in a Crusade, and I will be your new best friend. When the call came for Lighter pilots, I was the first ones to volunteer. It is after the battle and due to drawing the literal short straw, I now had to give the Mechanicus feedback on how the Lighter performed. Luckily the Lighter helmet had a optical recorder, so I mostly just say a few comments like the Lighter is really sluggiesh on a turn, getting a higher top speed would help in pursuing enemy voidcraft, that sort of thing.

"I rarely use the autocannons, I was too busy concentrating on flying the Lighter and evading enemy voidcraft to utilize the turrets so I just lock them to the front and use them like they we were fixed to the roof and floor. I cannot fly and aim the turrets accurately at the same time without a lot of practice, so having a 2nd crewmen or a machine spirit can handle the turret would be really helpful in lighting my load."

I comment as on the screen shows me using the autocannon as if it were fixed rather than as a turreted weapon as I could not spare the attention to both aim the turret and not fly in a straight line as that leaves me vulnerable for a leading shot. Luckily the traitors still use ballistic weapons so they will need to get lucky or be a really good shot for me to get a hit.

"The Lascannons are good, but it would be great if the cooldown is much shorter as the Lascannon is my main source of getting kills as everytime I pull the trigger a craft instantly dies, but waiting for 8 seconds for the Lascannons to cool down is a long time in a dogfight. Having more options to use while the Lascannons are reloading would be great to have. The few anti voidcraft missiles is nice to have, since the traitors currently have point defense on their civilian voidcraft, when I am outnumbered, releasing a several anti-voidcraft missiles will greatly help in reducing the numbers disadvantage."

The recording now shows me engaging a new swarm of voidcraft which I answer with my last volley of missiles before firing my Lascannons on a particularly large model voidcraft, before finally using the autocannons.

"While the autocannons are powerful the recoil severely damages the accuracy and causes my shots to go wide. Does not help that I had to turn my head to view what the turret is aiming at. The fact that it also have travel time makes trying to hit an evasive target nearly impossible. I wouldn't mind replacing it with a multilaser instead."

The video ends when all of the heretic fighters retreated and I came back to my carrier to repair and restock on rockets.

"Alright, so to summarize, the next voidcraft fighter will have to require a more powerful engine and be able to manuever really well. The Lascannons are good enough to kill an enemy fighter in 1 or 2 shots but the downtime between those shots is too long and a model that could shoot faster would be welcome. The turrets need to be operated by a 2nd person as the pilot can't fly and aim the turrets at the same time without a lot of practice. Changing the Autoguns to Multi-lasers would be better as it is much more accurate, if we encounter a fighter that can shrug of a Lascannon or Multilaser, a Krak missile should be able to damage it. If you can somehow give these voidcraft rapidly recharging shields like the ones we have on our Corvettes that would be great. Flares would be great incase the traitors or Orks manage to get guided missiles. And I think that is everything."

The Mechanicus members nodded and then started talking technobabble that I am not technically minded enough to understand. So I guess the debrief is over. Now I need to write a report on what I said to the higher ups. The things I do for a weeks worth of pitzza pie rations.
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AN: a little bit more plain cause I don't have much to write about here I can only comment on everything so that is what I did. If you have any constructive criticisms I'll be happy to hear them out.

 

[DaLintyGuy]

The ground of Laskin had been polluted over the ages. Not from neglect, but an intentional act of despoilment to destroy the existing biosphere. Yet life finds a way even so. The plants of the tidal marshes of the east coast of the lone continent had adapted to the heavy metal and hydrocarbon pollutants with their trademark ease and now absorbed the chemicals lacing the heavy mire to fuel their growth, forming blades, wires, and flammable pustules to defend themselves from the wildlife.

The toxic mass was a great deterrent as little of value was found in the region. Orks that landed there had minimal resources to repurpose into transportation and even their brutish biologies struggled to survive on the poisons that made up the life that grew there. Orkoid fungus rarely took root in the treacherous muck and when it did it was thin and sickly. With this in mind it formed a flank when one of the near constant Ork attacks reached the surface and threw themselves at one of the great forge-cities in a single minded bid to repurpose them for their own ends. But sometimes a contingent of Orks would prove their foolishness and drop into the unforgiving area, or their cunning by asembling some contraption with the expectation of avoiding the main defensive positions. At these times the guardians of the region would be called upon to perform their duty.

Dexterous legs cut through the water, supporting the Skitarii Ranger on the unstable mass below. Sonic and electrical sensors kept the soldier from stepping on any of the more dangerous species that lived in the area or stepping into unstable locations that would not easily bear their weight. A cameoline cloak shrouded vision of the Ranger, though it would only come into it's own in time, hiding the matte finish of the Ranger's mechanical limbs, armor, and quiescent weapon.

Ahead, the raucous cries and jeering laughter of Orks could be heard as power tools and raw muscle hacked away at their ship to turn it into ramshackle offenses to the word "vehicles". Some of the products of the barbaric Xenos hovered on cushions of force inside the cancerous looking workshops extending from the exposed flank of the once starfaring vessel, fitfully sparking and electrocuting the occasional passerby with arcs of lightining coming from the exposed coils. Turrets and cannon meant to engage other craft on it's scale were the subject of their own work parties in order to return them to some semblance of working order; to serve as superheavy artillery against the forge-cities or simply for the simple joy of firing, the Ranger knew not.

Passing nearly silently by the thrashing and screaming of a Grot caught by a swamp predator as Orks pointed and laughed, the Ranger dropped into a small hole and crouched so that a minimum of their body was above the fetid, toxic water. With the caress of an input rune the weapon they ha carried so far came to life with a hum, internal systems awakening with bloodthirst once more. Laskin was under existential threat by attrition and so long sealed vaults had been opened. This weapon was the size of an Imperial Guar heavy bolter but was infinitely more dangerous as it carried forbidden knowledge from the Dark Age. A handful had been sourced from a Space Hulk millennia ago and sealed away from the fear of their power. Yet they were uniquely suited to this task.

Thin lasers mapped over the hull in front of the Ranger from the unit attached to the side of their head, building a topographical map of the structure. In defiance of all conventional wisdom the Ranger aimed the weapon at the most solid plate under the cannon batteries as they whispered inaudible catechisms to the Machien God. Blessings of activation, function, of true aim, and more were intoned. The short list of the previous deeds of the device was recited as the charge within the activation tubes reached it's peak. And then, the eenrgy was released.

Space itself warped for a fraction of a second. A perfectly round hole was left in the armor, the air, and anything as all matter was compressed into a disk the thickness of less than an atom at the termination point of the line segment of space-time the weapon distorted. Then, that segment of degenerate matter collapsed into a micro-singularity, existed for less than a millisecond, and evaporated. Energy released in prodigious amounts inside of the somewhat armored magazine of the haphazard batteries and touched off the munitions. A jet of highly energetic matter was forced through the entry wound but the vast majority of it vented upward through the open spaces around the gun decks that were under reconstruction, or down into the buckled hallways and corridors of the ship.
The Ranger flared with light as the shockwave spilled over them, arcane science neutralizing the shockwave that may have been lethal to even their enhanced physiology.

The ship wreckage burned, but that was not all there was to do. A second weapon was deployed, a linear barrel on a rotating mount attached to the shoulder. This time the target was the Mek that seemed to be taking charge of the relief efforts and so the laser winked once, superheating the contents of the Ork's skull and painting the nearby decks with green and white flecked blood and flesh.

Job done, the Ranger rose and fled. Just one of the many mud covered creatures that had been spooked by the massive surface explosion.

 

[Sir_Travelsalot]

It didn't sit right with Odessa, what they were doing to the bodies. Back home on Calavar, the trooper that lay flat on his back before her would've been buried in the old PDF's memorial grounds, with a solid rockcrete gravestone inscribed with a laurelled skull, a slab of the same over the grave covered with passages from the Lectitio Divinitatus. At the foot of the slab, the trooper's name would be marked, the only detail to distinguish it from all other servants of the God-Emperor laid to rest there.

Here, there was no proper space to work with, to give the dead the last rites they were owed for their faithful service. No time for vigils, or service. That they were not on Calavar meant that having the kin of the dead attend the burials would have been unfeasible even if they were not in the midst of a siege. All traditions and honors that were due for the dead set aside in this time of desperation, not even considering the cadavers themselves.

On Calavar, the body itself would've been attended to in a more dignified manner. Clothed in dress uniform, a wooden icon of their autogun laid upon their body, they would be placed into an open coffin, which would be lowered into the grave, with the rockcrete slab placed on top and hermetically sealed. All this, to represent the trooper's readiness to return to Calavar's defense should the God-Emperor deem their service needed once more. For it would be the Emperor alone who could undo the seals upon the graves and allow their occupants to serve His will once again. The body before her was most certainly not that.

There was no dress uniform, or uniform at all. The armor and fatigues had been scavenged as replacements for the troops who yet drew breath. It had been a harrowing argument to even secure the cloth to prepare the bodies for burying instead of being used to replace the Medicae's stock of bandages. She had triumphed in the end with the salient point that morale would suffer greatly if there were not even the barest attempt at respectful burials.

Behind her, Sister Kadis held aloft a censer, the aroma of incense making the work far less intolerable to the senses, while she arranged the body's hands to form the sign of the Aquila. A thin strip of cloth bound the hands together to hold the pose, and the small team of novices assisted with wrapping the body in canvas, dead flesh disappearing beneath cloth to become nothing more than the outline of a human form.

With the work done for this poor soul, two troopers were flagged over. As they had done two-score times before in the last hour, they hoist the body between their shoulders, supported by their arms as they march over to the newest of the burial sites. The last disservice done to loyal servants of the God-Emperor during this siege.

There is no time or the craftsmanship to make even one gravestone to mark the great gouge in the earth that the latest batch of casualties must be buried in. This will be the twentieth such mass grave that has been dug, filled, and subsequently hidden for fear of the heretics despoiling their remains after they have forced them ever further into the mountains. There is no marker, no sign of where they have been buried. Even if any of the sons and daughters of Calavar survive the battles to come, the dead shall not likely ever be reclaimed from the earth, lost upon Bailafax.

Another body is brought before them, this one mangled beyond recognition by a no doubt pillaged chainsword. It is a small miracle that it is even in one piece. If only that miracle had instead been their survival, Odessa thinks to herself even as her hands move to wash away the blood spatters upon the corpse. Another martyr denied the chance to hold their eternal vigil over Calavar.

Kadis' voice rings out in prayer as another body is swathed in cloth and carried away. It takes a moment for Odessa to realize that another one hasn't been brought forth. One of the Novices brings forth a washbasin as she peels off her gloves, taking the chance to relish in cool air rushing past her fingers.

Kadis begins to walk over to the mass grave before Odessa stops her, reaching for the censer in her hands. She nods with a grateful expression and sags down to an available seat once the censer is no longer in her hands. She had been doing the work of an entire choir throughout the proceedings, it wouldn't do to push her further and risk damaging her voice.

As soil begins to be piled onto the bodies, Odessa begins the dirge. It used to be she could muster the effort to weep as she performed this last part of the funeral rites. She'd long since run dry of tears.

 

[Warmach1ne32]

AN: 3rd omake about an Armsman's experience with fighting Chaos in a Resolute Corvette that just got boarded.

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The Price of War
​

When the call came for soldiers to fill the ranks of the Crusade, I and many other got sweeped up in the call of duty. The chance for many men and women to prove their worth to the God Emperor. Basic Training was ruthless the instructors forged our maleable bodies into weapons for the Imperium while also informing us on the state of the Sub-sector and the enemies that we will face. While the Orks and Xenos are simple enough, the Ruinous Powers are much more insidius, turning fellow man away from the light of the Emperor into worshipping vile daemons that offer nothing but suffering.

This battle, will be the Crusade's trial by fire as we go to war against followers of the Plague. We all have our roles to play and as an Armsmen onboard the Resolute, you job is to protect the ship from boarders, be the ship's immune system. When General Quarters was sounded, everyone went to their assigned positions to protect vital areas of the ship, like the bridge, the weapon systems, the reactor, and etc. All non-essential rooms are vented to prevent an explosive decompression and fires along with all armsmen being equipped with a sealed suit, oxygen tank, and their weapons.

My assignment is to guard the reactor from enemy boarding parties. We have several heavy stubbers and an autocannon dedicated to the defense of the reactor. The corridor I am in is spaceus enough for 6 men to march in shoulder to shoulder. The door to the reactor room is behind me, with the Autocannon being set up on top of tall barricade that rise up from the floor to act as cover for defenders. In front of it is a shorter barricade that has a Heavy Stubber team instead. Me and my fellow Armsmen are at the front in much lower barricades to allow the Autocannon and Heavy stubber to shoot over our heads. For several minutes there is only the sound of your breath as the ship vibrates for a variety of reasons, from getting hit to the recoil of its cannons. However it didn't take long before numerous large crashes are felt throughout the hull which indicates that we have been boarded. Everyone double checked and cocked their weapons.

Not long after that, a horde of traitor in basic environment gear rush at our position. All we can do is pull the trigger, the results are... messy. The Heavy Stubber cutting them down like a farmer scything wheat and the Autocannon just caused whole clumps of traitors to explode into a shower of gore. Of course it is not going to be that easy. Unexpectedly a Guardsmen on my right got shot in the head. I looked back at the horde before spotting a traitor with a hunting rifle aiming right at me. I quickyly duck and I felt the bullet grave my helmet. Before he can fire again, I spray my autogun at his general direction. I was not sure if I got him, I just sprayed all of my ammo in his general direction. Once I am out I duck back behind the barricade and set about reloading my weapon. The hours of practice the instructors forced us to do even while blindfolded and in a variety of positions came in handy as I reloaded as smoothly without even looking since I was surveying my surroundings.

In the few seconds, I was able to look at our lines, several Armsmen have died to headshots, while others have been wounded with shots to the arms and torso being stablized by our medics. The Heavy Stubbers and Autocannon are still shooting and the horde and returning fire against traitors with actual weapons. With my gun reloaded, I pop back out and open fired one not of Calevar. When the wall of bodies got close enough I saw grenades being thrown out from the mob. Most of the Armsmen saw the grenades and retreated, some didn't get to cover fast enough and the shrapnel perforated their bodies.

In retaliation, several of the Armsmen throw their own grenades at the traitors with devastating results. Before long the wave of enemies dwindled until the traitors with weapons can be easily spotted and eliminated by the vengeful Heavy Stubber, Autocannon, and Autogun fire. Once the Sergeant announced the all clear on the squad vox, there is a lull among us as we take in the carnage. Piles of flesh and bone litter the floor as blood evaporate due to the vacuum. I am grateful we did not have to smell or clean this.

"I just got word from the other Armsmen, they all have successfully repelled the boarders and the captain ordered us to search the whole ship for possible stragglers. Autogun and Stubber teams stay here, Team 3 protect them. Teams 4, 5, and 6 with me, we'll search the ship."

With that said, my team followed the Sergeant to commence a through search of the ship. As we passed the remnants of the traitors, the Sergeant ordered us to see if there are survivors hiding amidst the corpses. As I check each corpse I saw that most of them are malnourished with a majority of them being young men and women, I even see a few children in smaller envirosuits. Their hollow eyes, still haunt me to this day. 'Where were you?', 'Why didn't you save us?', and 'Why did you not come sooner?' were some of the questions my mind imagined them saying. I know that we could not have come sooner, but it still felt like we failed them.

We managed to find several unarmed survivors which we arrest when they surrendered when they reveal themselves and a traitor that was still armed manage to injure a nearby corporal with a stubber before being promptly turned into mulch with every gun opening fire on his position. Once we captured everyone that was still alive for questioning and made sure everyone else is dead we began to move through the bowels of the ship with the Sergeant coordinating the search. The ship stopped vibrating from the recoil of the guns a few minutes later, likely because the enemy have retreated.

After an hour of searching and quadruple checking all of the ships nooks and cranies along with the boarding craft the traitors used general quarters was lifted and we return to our bunks to rest. Most of my squadmates and the other members of the armsmen have haunted looks in their eyes, Markus's usual jovial mood is subdued into silence as everyone agreed to rest now and deal with the horror we inflicted on ourselves and our enemies on another day. Everything has a price, my father used to say, especially in war where both sides pay. That lesson never felt more true than it felt now.

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AN: Man this took awhile, the fight scene didn't take that long, the nameless Armsmen's internal thoughts and emotions took much longer. If I made and mistake please let me know and I'll correct it.

 

[jwolfe_beta]

Well here's the drydock omake I promised.

A Solid Foundation​

To the unaugmented eye, the meeting of the ranking techpriests of Calavar was simply a group of red-robed figures standing in a circle in a room tightly packed with banks of cognitors. However if one possessed the cybernetics to link to the Noosphere, the sacred wireless communication system of the Mechanicus; one would see the figures surrounded by vast streams of data, charts and readouts as they discussed current matters.

"Sub-Magus Argel, your desire towards refitting the purified bulk hauler for active duty as a cruiser equivalent is understandable; but such an endeavor is presently illogical and would have a 73.5157% probability of jeopardizing the current war effort."

Argel did not glare at Torth but it was a near thing, his restrained irritation sending the data-streams buzzing ever so slightly around the group. The Logis had something of a reputation of a bolt-counter and 'buzz-kill' as some of the initiates put it. None could deny that he was extremely effective but none enjoyed him delivering news as 86.964% of the time it revolved around limiting the amount of resources or forge-time one could use since either or both had already been assigned to vital projects.

"Please clarify and expand on this, Logis Torth. The inclusion of a cruiser-class carrier vessel would improve the offensive/defensive capability of the fleet by at least 78.435% due to the much greater ability to bring strike craft to battle. Particularly with our new-found ability to obtain Imperial Navy grade craft from Lexicalum."

"Of course" Torth replied, gesturing to expand and highlight a series of graphs and production output charts. "The primary limitation in such ventures is that Drydock Az-0-BW-sV1 was originally fabricated with the purpose of constructing and maintaining system monitors and light merchant vessels."

"Despite the expansions and enhancements headed by Chief Artisan Artemis Zulu-9-" At this the much more heavily augmented tech-priest nodded in acknowledgement. "-the station still is not equal to even the tertiary-grade escort-classed drydocks utilized by our brethren elsewhere. While the bulk-hauler could be currently converted, it woud require the overwhelming majority of our manufacturing capacity resulting in production of escort-class vessels dropping by 329.74% until completion. During a time when every fighting hull is vital."

Argel disliked the situation. He certainly couldn't deny the Torth's logic even though it was generating a pict-cast that went against his intentions. "And do you have an alternative solution to this issue?"

"Correct" rasped Artemis, joining the conversation for the first time tossing up a large holo-lith of a dry dock. It was similar in scale to Az-0 but far more streamlined and purpose-built, with additional slips and construction centers. "Based on my previous work and the technology levels available at Calavar, this is a drydock design that can be constructed with local materials and expertise while being able to construct escort-class vessels and smaller cruiser-class ships."

"Aid in the final development process, lobby for its construction and in the coming cycles sufficient resources and technology will be set aside for the carrier project." Logis said, collecting the projected data before looking at Argel, awaiting a response.

---

Dramatis personae:

Sub-Magus Argel: Canon in both sidestory and main story post. Has developed a love for designing ships and really wants his name on the bulk hauler carrier project.

Logis Torth: Badass bureaucrat and number cruncher extraordinar. Some say he keeps track of every bolt, screw and cog that moves through the Calavar workshops and makes Administratum toddies quiver in fear. All we know is he's called Torth.

Artisan Artemis Zulu-9: Isn't from Calavar (explaining the more 'traditional' augment quantity and designs) and was actually 'reassigned to Antarctica' from his old Forgeworld due to inadvertently ticking off somebody higher up the food chain. Main artitect in getting the hodgepdoge of our modded drydock up and running to able to produce military equipment.

 

[adwarf]

Spoiler: Clad in Faith, Armed in Fury - The Last Star Knight (Turn Three, Ungaunt)

Clad in Faith, Armed in Fury - The Last Star Knight​

They were the Legion of the Sun. Their armor was their faith, the hand of the God Emperor descending from on high to bless them in their actions. Their weapons are the fury of the Emperor himself, a decree from a distant world that sounded the death of His foes. Once they had fought His Foes with sword and lance, bow and arrow, sword and shield. Row upon row of shining lance head had sparkled beneath the light of the sun accompanied by the tidal wave of stampeding Raks and the cry of the valiant warriors upon their backs,

"By the Will of the Stars!"

Their motto. Their prayer to the God-Emperor of Mankind, God of the Stars themselves from which Angels once descended bearing His word, and their undying promise to the Order of the Sun that had long been extinguished by the hand of Traitors, Orks, and the hellish anger of the Hashim. Once the mass of a cavalry charge had been enough to cripple their foes, but they grew ever better equipped as time passed until the world began to burn with the flames of an all encompassing war. People were dying and reaching out for salvation, lance and sword were no longer a weapon that could truly put the enemy to their deaths.

As one the Legion turned their eyes to the Star Knight, the woman who had cast away her name to take up the Order's sacred position of High Commander and taken up the age old title that had been granted to the founder of their Order after his return from the stars. She had washed her own name away beneath the waters of the Solar Falls in the Temple of Stars, she had taken up the Lance of Heaven which their founder had brought with him from the stars, she had thrown aside her entire life to become the Star Knight, and so... What was throwing aside their history for those they sought to defend?

At her words the Legion had taken up the arms of fallen comrades, weapons that fired lances of light to lay low the enemy and mighty contraptions that poured rounds of metal into the air at speeds far beyond any arrow. Bows were thrown aside, swords were kept merely as a last resort, and spears were used in improvised barriers as the Legion as it once was faded into the faintest glimmer of past legends. Among them only the Star Knight and her Warriors of Dawn clung to the old ways, old plate armor cast aside for new armor crafted from destroyed Hashim ships and lances crafted the sturdiest metals upon the world, an echo of times long gone.

Where once the Legion stepped out upon the plains of Ungaunt to deal death they now clustered behind high walls and rained His Fury in a new form, all the while the metal clad heart of their Order charged from quickly shut gates surrounded by thousands of warriors. Lances plunged into enemy assaults as a storm of lasers and a rain of lead fell all around, hundreds died in moments upon every battle and yet the Star Knight stepped forth from every battle with her life intact.

Wounds collected upon her form as numerous as the Warriors of Dawn that fell at her side, their bodies burned upon great pyres as old hymns of their Order called out to guide them to the Emperor's side, and she stood amidst it all in silence. It was only upon the next battle that her respect could be seen, the names of those who died beside her growing to cover massive portions of the pitch black armor she donned. Some battles were victories, some were failures. Cities fell with ease beneath the green balls of flame and damnation the Devils known as the Hashim brought to bear, even their armies would descend to the lands to bring their Devil Fire to bear.

And still the Star Knight would charge forth to clash with them, her black armored figure ever visible holding a golden lance aloft that cut through man and machine alike with an eerie ease. She did not know how many she killed. Perhaps it was tens. Perhaps it was thousands. She did not care. Again and again the Legion would adapt, fighting a war of constant delays as the guided refugees in their seemingly endless escape where ever more weapons of Man would find their way to their hands. Under her order even the Devil Fire weapons of the Hashim were claimed, a scant few usable by human hands and yet all the more terrifying for it as these Vengeful stalked the battlefields to return the damnation their enemy sought to deliver.

By the time the forces of Calavar arrived in the system the Legion safeguarded a mere dozen cities. Less than half still stood ready for combat among the common soldiery, and among the Warriors of Dawn only two hundred still lived to ride forth into battle beside their quiet leader. As the Galavar forces punched a hole in the Hashim blockade the Legion led all the refugees they could muster in a desperate flight, a small number among their order remaining behind to fight a last brutal resistance to by those fleeing time to escape to the stars.

Upon the starships of their saviors the Legion was met with suspicion for their possession of alien tech, and the men they called Armsmen looked upon the constantly armored figure of the Star Knight with a mix of fear and mockery. She didn't care, they were the last of a now dead Order. The Old Ways were shattered by her own hand, and the glorious legacy of the Warriors of Dawn was approaching it's final tomb.

She had saved hundreds of thousands. She had shielded the God of the Stars realm for as long as she could and sacrificed her own Order to carry out his will. None of the disparaging remarks thrown towards her and not a one of the fearful glances at the names scrawled upon her armor were a weight comparable to the fate she carried upon her shoulders.

She was the last Star Knight, the Order of the Sun was dying, and Ungaunt lay awash in a tide of Devils from the void. She would see them dead some day. She would ride at the tip of the spear thrust against them when the time comes. She would not die a single day before the worlds of the Hashim burned. With her the Order of Sun would die.

"May the Ashen Legion rise from the remains."

She muttered to herself, a hand upon the lance that she carried even now. Golden scripture and a picture of one of the Emperor's Angels speaking of an ancient legend where the lone Angelic Knight had slain a mighty beast in a titanic battle fueled by righteous anger at the Knight's home being extinguished by the beast.

A story idea I had when I saw @DaLintyGuy gave a feudal army from the Ungaunt action. Hope anyone who reads it enjoys.

 

[DaLintyGuy]

The former Planetary Governor mansion had been fully turned to it's new purpose as the Crusade invested in it's new headquarters. The guest wing had been refitted as housing for officers and staff, previously hidden defenses had been reinforced and a small military base had been put in place opposite it for several regiments of soldiery to protect the nerve center of the Crusade's military and economic command. But what was outside was only there to ensure that the inside was undisturbed.

The mins responsible for the prosecution of the reclamation of the Subsector had gathered and with them their security details had infested the grounds. Wary eyes and constant inspections hounded the incoming materials as their minders endured the scrutiny and delays with the stoicism of those with no other choice. This level of attention morphed into muted hostility at the approach of a handful of Ashen Legion soldiers, their bulky and stylized armor shot through with the ash of those they had lost (typically symbolic rather than literal it must be said) and with strange and alien weapons at their sides. Alien weapons brought to educate the Admiralty perhaps, but still alien in origin, still dangerous, and with the very small chance of some unseen trap or flaw in their construction.

At a small testing range covered in sensors and cameras the Ashen Legion Vengefuls showed the effectiveness of their scavenged equipment against the typical armor dispositions of Calavan troopers. From the typical firearm of the Hashim infantry (a curved device that went over and under the hand that bore it of perhaps thirty centimeters in length and fired pale green bolts of plasma) to marksman rifles (a shoulder fired weapon similar to a rocket launcher with a small support bar descending from the main body to brace against the shoulder, that fired needle thin beams of plasma) to what was presumably an anti-tank weapon (that actively guided the dully blue plasma projectile with a joystick on the foregrip, with the other hand stabilizing the bulky piece of equipment).

"These tests show a disturbing tendency." The Adept tasked with overseeing the tests explained to the gathered Fleet officers and Admirals. "Hashim command of plasma is advanced but taken in a different direction than Imperial patterns. Instead of a physical impact the Xenos projectiles rely on direct thermal transfer with the target. This means that while even typical infantry armor is proof against penetration a hit still causes heavy burns on the afflicted soldier."

"Who will then need to be recovered, treated, and tended to." Captain Ajra Kelaman concluded. While not technically an Admiralty member she was the commander of the first and currently most impressive fighting formation the Crusade had formed and so had leaned on her friends and contacts to get access to this meeting. After all, if the Xenos were to become a threat it was better that she know exactly what to expect.

"Precisely." The Adept inclined their head to the second most famous individual in the room. "In reflection of this the armor of the Xenos is designed for insulation all over the body with hardened inserts and helmets to resist piercing attacks aimed at vital organs."

As the briefing went on, showing the effectiveness of Human weapons against the Xenos armor (infantry firing auto- and lasguns against recovered body armor, lab tests on fragments of ship hull, and so forth) Ajra found her attention turning to the people that formed the ranks she would, most likely, join in a few decades. Horror stories from merchant vessels about other worlds and Navy posts notwithstanding, every Admiralty officer here was a veteran of some sort. She would be grudgingly forced to admit that the majority of the flag-rank desk-fliers only had customs experience and driving off the odd raider sniffing at the dockyard Calavar had host to but they were not the sort of self absorbed fools that centuries of isolation from actual threats would produce. Something to thank the slow descent into madness for, she supposed. Yet more evidence that the God-Emperor had a plan for her world.
The standards of dress were also different from the richly decorated Imperial Navy officers typically seen when one of their ships passed through, being much more utilitarian in purpose and lacking in color.

To her chagrin she would be a slight stand out in that regard. Other than the Lord Admiral, who had personally and aggressively hunted pirates and Orks when the Imperium still had a presence in Lativa, she was the only one to bear campaign ribbons on her dress uniform. Something that had been drawing attention from both lesser officers making their way through the academy and nominal superiors alike as those looking to Do wanted aboard the prestigious First Naval Squadron and those looking to advance their careers wanted statements of support. Most of these cases had been solved by simple applications of bureaucracy, directing the cadets to her own staff to prove their ability before they ever touched her ships, with the networkers tolerated while she was in port an ignored when deployed.


There were slight hints of shock, starts and intakes of breath, as several Xenos corpses were put up on the display. Surgically dissected and annotated to show the lethal wounds that had ravaged their bodies, it was the first time that any present had actually seen the foe. To use the phrase "lizard apes" that was the simple description did the creatures little justice as it was of course an oversimplification but it was not incorrect. While the Hashim had tough, leathery skin it was not scaled, although it could easily look as such and perhaps looked different on a corpse that was not preserved. There was a mouth full of wedge-like and serrated teeth. No hair and long, powerful arms that could be said to have stolen the extra mass from the short, stubby legs.
Truly, they were ugly creatures. The fact they were cut open to display the off-colors of their internal organs only added to their alien hideousness.

 

[DaLintyGuy]

Their ancestors would have been classified as insect analogues by Imperial survey teams. Small bodies, exoskeletons, and a reproduction scheme that relied on outbreeding the damage done to the population by predators. Yet their method of reproduction granted them an advantage over most forms of life in the galaxy for the primitive organisms cloned their offspring, body... And soul.

With each body possessing the "same" soul these creatures began to grow more complex in spirit rather than body as a simple touch expanded the soul of the collective. This collective will then recursively drove the evolution of the bodies that formed it, splitting off new strains. Increased intelligence led to the dominion over land as tactics and tools were made to magnify the abilities of the swarms of bodies.

As more and more of the planetary surface was tamed the myriad eyes of these collectives turned to each other and from there to the stars. The planet was limited in it's stores of organic substances and even extensive cultivation would soon be unfit for the continuing growth of the species. The discovery of a long lost shuttle craft gave the means to overcome the gravity well of their world and paved the way for exploitation of their system.

The first steps outside of their system were eye opening. The void itself was malevolent, with foes appearing with little warning to destroy slower than light surveyors and colony ships. Yet the capture of a defenseless Voiceless vessel and the study of its systems allowed for copies to be made that infinitely sped up the ability of the Whole to travel to not only the nearby stars but especially those locations that had existing biospheres to exploit. Principles learned from the Voiceless vessel quickly formed the next generation of craft which were sent out to quickly study nearby stellar systems.

Wrapped in armor, bristling with cannon, and engines capable of turning to self defense, the Whole vessels routed the few Connected scrapships that orbited worlds of the Voiceless and claimed them for themselves with mechanized shells controlled by Whole bodies.

Then new creatures were detected and studied. These entities were subsets of a Whole, but... Wrong. Yet when a Whole ship disabled and boarded one of the Wrong the Whole could feed on the presence that connected the bodies of the Wrong. More filling than that of the Connected, the Whole communed with their other selves:
Food had been found. Poorly protected, not hidden, and filling.

The attack commenced in full not long after.


[GM Note: The connection to Lekgolo was not immediately seen during inception. :/ Still, I like them.]