Note: Just idle brain worm after reading some fics somewhere, don't worry about it, apologies if bad, very sleepy and medicine for cold/flu? not great.
The hangar facilities were filled with a buzzing thrum of activity fit to make any hive of bees blush. Literal hundreds of techs and logistics personnel were rushing back and forth, while forklifts and trucks strained heavily under the weight of what they carried. Munitions, fuel, anything and all that could be needed in the next immediate few minutes. Certain cradles let out pneumatic hisses as enormous arms whirred back and forth to hastily weld on new armor plates. Others, for some, were reloading ammo racks, replacing damaged components, or were outright installing brand new weapon systems. None of which even came close to eclipsing what was going on outside of the hangars. The very earth trembled and shook with the sheer tonnage of infantry and tanks that were rushing forward to the outer defenses of the base. The former ran the gamut of shiny brand new recruits who had barely gotten out of basic practically stumbling every other step, while others loped along, towering above everyone else thanks to the powerful exoskeletons which covered their bodies.
Amidst the chaos, the man moved smoothly and without fear, marching straight towards a waiting ladder that led up to a higher gantry up above. Unlike any of the techs or infantry, he was almost completely naked save for his smallclothes, revealing a muscular frame that was absolutely smothered in scars and old healed wounds. Despite this, no one barred his way, nor that of the other men and women rushing through the hangar in similar states of comparative undress. In fact, the rushing personnel parted before him like a ship through the sea, by presence alone. His eyes were narrowed in thought as he listened to the reports coming in through the earbuds he'd put in. There was general panic, of course, but that was to be expected when someone recklessly threw themselves out of a pirate point and straight towards the planet, regardless of the fact that it had some of the heaviest established orbital defenses around. Half of the enemy hadn't even made it through the atmosphere, and a fourth of those that had gotten through had simply crashed into fiery wrecks afterwards.
But that didn't mean the threat was over.
Not by a long shot.
"Is it ready?" He called out as he scaled the ladder up, up, and up again, until he came face to face with a smaller woman with a three foot high mohawk marked with a black and white pattern.
Her technicians uniform was filthy with industrial oils and unguents, but her gaze was clear - albeit clear and practically dead.
"Of course it's ready," she said flatly, utterly without emotion. "Brand new, as if it was coming right out the doors of Alaric's personal factory floor."
"So they're in there, then?" He asked, appraising the behemoth of metal before him.
"Damn straight," she said tonelessly. "Brand new Ultra Glacial Freezers, courtesy of Frozen Throne Industries, and of course, the Tzarina of the Kislevite Dominion."
She emphasized her point with a slap against the metal, face still expressionless.
"This baby can fit so much fucking death in it."
"Excellent," he grinned with bared teeth before clambering inside, "And where will you be during this, oh daughter mine?"
The answer came just before the hatch began to seal.
"With the Long Toms and my Arrow Vs," she said without emotion.
He frowned at that, and toggled the radio.
"You're not putting atomics in those things, are you?"
The silence made him frown deeper before the response came in.
"...not necessarily."
"Anna!"
"I made the warheads plug and place, you know that. Besides, you should get out there, my new auspex system says they're closing in on the outer defenses faster than expected."
He rolled his eyes and started flipping switches and tabbing buttons, feeling as the absolutely ancient machine, literally crafted by inhuman hands, came to life without a flicker of static or crackle of electricity. What did come immediately however, was the challenge.
"Who are ye, that ye would wield the craft of Alaric!" Bellowed a crazed dwarf from the distant past, a section of the machine's innards protruding from the wall to reveal something that looked nothing more and nothing less than the hilt of a sword.
A hilt that the man grasped.
"A man that serves his nation, and its Gods," he said, grunting as the multiple needles within the hilt stabbed into him.
"The blood runs pure yet," Alaric's old voice ruminated fondly as the systems rapidly catalogued the sample taken. "Go on then, and kill the bastards! Fulfill the oaths sworn! Awaken!"
That last was a command for the machine, not its pilot, and the venerable creation did so, reactor fully activating and going green, other panels and screens coming to life around him, while just to his right, beneath the now withdrawing hilt, a small panel slid away to release frosted air into the confined space and a frothing mug inside as well.
"Hah!" He laughed as he saw it, and drank deep.
"Final Authorization Required," the machine itself rumbled now as he finished his drink and slid the empty mug back into the compartment and lid it shut. "Where do we live? Where do we die? Where does every Ostlander find their pride?"
Elector Count Frederick von Hohenzollern, ruler of the Ostland Province of the Confederation of Sigmar, wiped his lips and grinned.
"IN THE MUD, WITH THE BLOOD AND THE BEER!"
"AUTHORIZATION ACKNOWLEDGED."
Once more, just as it had done so for more than two thousand and some odd years, the masterwork creation of Alaric the Mad rumbled forth, out from the hangar, where more than a few Greatsword Heavy Assault Mechs began to follow. From another hangar bay, this one even larger than theirs, came the Super-Heavies under the command of no less than Urgdug Greatbellow himself, one of the few of his race to have ever achieved so high an office outside of the Mourn Kingdoms, one of the most dangerous pirate nations to ever exist Spinward or otherwise. Frederick passed by them all, feeling the powerful systems of his mech as if it were his own body, until he reached the ridge, and saw the foe that was even now trundling towards them in their ramshackle creations belching smoke and potentially even radioactive waste from their reactors. Hastily put together as they might have been, no one could ever say that the cobbled together creations of the greenskins were not capable of being dangerous.
"You don't come to my province, and you don't invade my planets, you bastards." Frederick pushed his controls forward. "Least of all this one!"
And Brain Wounder, one of the only twelve 'Runefang' Battlemechs to have ever been created, almost seemed to roar as it fired its full arsenal, obliterating a dozen approaching ork 'Mechs' in one go.
Yet again, the planet of Wulfenburg saw battle.
