“Don’t be too eager, we’ll be in the thick of it soon. The last thing we need is for your excitement to get the better of your trigger finger and leave our flank unprotected. You’re not a driver anymore, Servius. Try to think with your head, not your limbs” Floria grinned at him, her hands gripping the other AGG-II tightly despite her cautionary tone towards him. He pretended not to hear her.
The tank lurched forward as the shield network deactivated. Once again there were shells smashing into the ground and, more often than anyone would have accepted, into the armour units moving forwards to conquer the city.
In his driver’s seat Vorlo squinted through his sights and magnified them at the city walls as he caught something move. It was the long barrel of an artillery platform and it was evidently changing target. Though the EMP had succeeded in wiping out the shield and the majority of the defensive guns, it had failed to break this one. It was monstrously big, as were its cousins to the left and right, yet still the armour had to advance.
With a pang of dread that he hadn’t felt so acutely since Colossi, Vorlo saw the barrel lower and felt his stomach curdle as it seemed to angle itself at them like his Warhound was the only one guilty of marching against the enemy. With an explosive vent of steam and fire, the weapon hurled a shell into the air.
Before Vorlo could even scream out a warning for the crew to brace for impact, the tank was struck head-on. The shell demolished it like a hammer to an egg, the yoke spilling out as a mixture of flames and the blood of the crew inside.
THE SHIELD SURROUNDING the capital like a protective green bubble popped and fizzled out as though a sharp pin had pierced through it. Lupus heard the snap of energy coursing back into the vast shield projectors inside the city before anyone else could even see it. Only the other Apostles were as quick as he, declaring the way open for attack to each of their own legions.
Guardians, with me! Lupus bellowed, the low-level psychic voice filling the minds of the 617th and surrounding legions. He climbed the rocky valley side effortlessly and watched impressed as the Warhound assault, comprised from over fifteen armour legions, began in earnest.
He saw to his right that Phoenix had already spurred her legionnaires forward, a full-on infantry charge that managed to keep pace with the lightning advance of the tanks. Calla and Valkyrie covered his immediate left flank, with the other Apostles scattered across on either side of his central prong.
Dust was filling the air as over two hundred Warhounds rolled towards the city, their cannons mercilessly pounding the walls and destroying every remaining artillery battery. In less than six minutes, the capital was practically defenceless; with the EMP blast destabilising the shield and the majority of the cannons, precious few were left to hammer the Guardian forces and the Warhounds proved more than capable of ranging and annihilating what was left.
As Lupus ran with his legion towards the wide, sole gatehouse to the city, he saw a dozen and more burnt out husks of the tanks broken by enemy fire. It was obvious that entire crews had been killed instantly every time, a small grace that he was thankful for. There was very little worse than the hopeless screaming of a legionnaire in their death throes.
It was only because there were still so many thousands around him, and his own kin, that he could not yet feel the loss of their lives. The adrenaline flooding his veins and urging him ever onwards also helped to cloud his awareness of their deaths. Something fluttered in his peripheral and he turned to see the banner of the 617th held high by Aurelia as she ran with the legion toward the city walls. She carried it as though it was weightless and the fabric, depicting a lion’s head and the number of the 617th in the style of the Black Guardian numerals, inspired the men and women around her.
Yet for all the short distraction of Aurelia’s banner, the reality of the advance came screaming back. It seemed as though all of Pheia was filled with the noise of war as the turrets of the Warhound armada hurled shells relentlessly at the thick city walls. The infantry had caught up with them now, but held the line with the way still closed to them.
We hold until the gatehouse is breached, Lupus announced, his voice going far and wide, his orders carried out to the entire assault force. The legions did not stop completely, but slowed as their armoured allies did. The gate to the city, large and made from a metal that Lupus couldn’t care to identify, was gradually buckling under the force of the Warhounds’ beating. It was huge enough to fit five Warhounds through side-by-side, but soon it would be nothing but a crippled mess on the floor. Still, the tanks would flatten the ruptured doors with their heavy treads and as the shells exploded against the metal, Lupus saw a certain kind of beauty in it all.
The 617th go in with the armour first. Then the 77th with Phoenix and the 10th and 402nd with Whitewolf and Valkyrie. The rest of you are to breach the walls on our flanks; the gate may be wide, but they can still bottleneck us. His words were directed at the Apostles rather than the legions, but his tone of authority was unchanging. They seemed to accept it.
Then Valkyrie spoke, but not out of disobedience. Why do the Phantoms not man the walls? They’re wide enough for three ranks back…They could field thousands up there, yet they field none…
She was right. With the artillery pieces destroyed, there was nothing left firing from the city. The only weapons fire was at it. A shiver ran up his spine. Something didn’t quite feel right.
We can’t go back now; whatever awaits us inside, we will face down and end it, he replied. Nobody seemed to object.
Looking side to side, he could see that the legionnaires under his command were ready for anything. He knew all the legions were, but for once he wondered about himself. The war was full of surprises, saturated with monsters and demons and the things of nightmares…could any one of them really go face to face with the evil abominations of the Great Enemy and never go mad?
Then he remembered himself. He remembered what he was and who gave him his power, and he felt no despair. He was ready.
Yet, for all his mental preparation as he stood alongside the same legionnaires he had fought with for the last decade, he did not expect the gates to be opened by the enemy. As they winched open in broken agony, he growled in contempt of the insult and was taken aback to see that nothing else happened. Then, as the legions began to hope that the enemy had finally learned to surrender, hell itself spilled out from the city.
In later years when humans would retell the story of the Pheian War, they would never fail to underappreciate what the legions faced that day, nor could they describe with any real accuracy the horrors that were unleashed upon them.
“STEEL IDOLS…” ARCADIUS hissed, recognising the monstrosities with revulsion.
Tall bipedal machines in the imitation of rampant, howling creatures stomped forth from the open gates. They were forged both from steel and organic matter; the latter material comprised of contorted faces sewn somehow seamlessly into the cold, otherwise faceless machinery. They had the gait of an enraged Paradigm, but their forms were inexorable in comparison. As the first Warhound fired, other units picked up the call and dealt a wall of shells at them. For all the destructive power of the few dozen tanks that had line of sight to the Steel Idols, the machines strode through the fiery haze unscathed, giving them an even more unearthly appearance as they marched out.
There must have only been a third as many Idols as there were Warhounds, but it was clear that they could handle being outnumbered several to one. Undaunted, the infantry legions nearest the enemy formed ranks and added their firepower to the mix. There was a blizzard of pulsar fire, AGG-II bursts and missiles flying into the approaching machines, yet it did little to slow them down as they sought out their prey.
Warhounds to the fore. Group your fire against shared targets. Avoid sporadic volleys, give them no chance to move, the Lion commanded almost immediately. Arcadius could see that other Apostles had ordered their own forces into various positions, but it was his own that seemed to have the best response.
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Despite the Lion’s personal inexperience with Steel Idols, it was clear that he had some understanding of their existence and the threat that they posed. Or, at the least, his tactical prowess was adaptable enough to react to anything he hadn’t seen before with lethal efficiency and grim resolve.
Arcadius had faced these beastly war machines only a handful of times in battle, the last on Colossi itself when it seemed the very Dimension had turned upside-down, and it was true that only focussed fire could hope to beat them back. Still, it was rare for so many Idols to be present at any one time, as they were usually driven by a third party psychic beacon and that could only mean something darker was yet to reveal itself.
Almost as if to answer his suspicions, the Apostle Valkyrie shrieked in pain, the noise carrying over the entire battlefield and reaching every ear. Seconds later her cry ceased, her psychic mind instinctually forming a shield around itself to protect her from the unseen assailant.
Vengeful for the Apostle’s pain, the legions redoubled their efforts even as the Idols marched forward seemingly impervious to their firepower. Yet, as the Warhounds fired again and again even as the Idols closed the gap between the gate and the Guardians, the might of the tanks coupled with the ranks of infantry was beginning to win through. Despite the malign powers protecting the machines, even they could not withstand the ferocious assault forever.
One after another, the walkers began to simply stop and sink, their armour penetrated and their systems obliterated by the withering storm of fire. Others continued to march forward and as shocking as the number still was, only a few dozen of the Steel Idols made it to the legionnaire lines.
Here and there, the odd machine would collapse to the floor, the explosive shells slamming into their armour plating ruining the fleshy exterior on their face and chest sections, the grenades and missiles of the infantry tearing their legs apart. Some would just cease to function altogether, bowing down as if in disuse and suffering poor repair, the force manipulating them unable to sustain the energy to drive them forward whilst warding off the inevitable damage that the Guardians inflicted on them, but with those victories came a harder battle against the Phantom machines.
Arcadius poured his entire magazine into the nearest Idol, urging the Pulsar rifle to do at least something to it, but the PR-5 was useless against such thick armour. Now that the Guardians had culled their numbers, whatever was controlling them had more energy to spread between those that remained. The disheartening truth meant only one thing; each time another Idol went down, the rest would just become harder and harder to kill.
A Warhound tank rolled past Arcadius and brought its AGG-IIs to bear on the Phantom walker that had defied his own weapon. Streams of heavy pulsar fire smashed into the metal plating, but the effect was minimal and simply encouraged the thing to stalk the tank instead of him.
With an ear-splitting creak, the Idol’s arms folded out and doubled in size, each bearing a sword as tall as its legs in thick hands that could crush the barrel of the Warhound with a simple pinch. The blades seemed to be made from the same metal as the machine itself, as though it had grown the close combat weapons from its own body in mockery of both nature and science. The ground shook with the force of a small earthquake as it charged across the distance between itself and where the Warhound sat still firing in hopeless ignorance of its imminent doom. The Idol brought both arms up high, spinning the handles of the swords in its hands so that the tips were face down as it jumped towards the tank.
Arcadius watched with morbid fascination as the turret of the Warhound traversed and raised its barrels in a desperate, last ditch attempt to destroy the Idol, but it was too late. The Phantom landed on the tank’s hull faster than the legionnaires inside could fire, denting its armour plating as though sinking in quicksand and sheared the turret in half with its blades before gutting its engine at the rear. Though the tank went up in a conflagration of burning flesh, metal and smoke, the Idol was unfazed.
The thing’s melting faces turned to gaze at Arcadius who, despite the legionnaires around him, suddenly felt like the only person in the universe with the Great Enemy Himself at his door. As if in slow motion, the machine leapt from where it was and brought its swords to cut where his head was joined to his body.
Closing his eyes and accepting his fate, he was amazed to find seconds later that he had not been decapitated. Instead, the Idol had been knocked aside by a far deadlier missile than the Warhound tank could ever have fired when it was still intact. Thrashing on the floor, it fought against the massive form that pinned it down.
When I jump away, use your gauss grenades. All of them the Lion ordered, his muscular legs struggling to keep the Idol in one place.
Before Arcadius even had a chance to acknowledge the command, the Apostle rolled away from the Phantom. Reacting quickly enough, the legionnaire unlatched the grenades from his belt and tossed them into the air above the Idol. His own was joined by others, all aimed at different sections of the machine from the legionnaires around him. In any other situation, it would have been considered a waste of their most powerful ammunition, but it was clear that the Idols had now become worthy of them.
With a thunderous clap, the grenades detonated and stripped the Idol one atom at a time, though it appeared to disintegrate almost instantly. It vaporised in a flash, the combined strength of the grenades overwhelming its armour despite how much tougher it had become since its counterparts were defeated. As the Phantom was wiped from the ground, Arcadius couldn’t help but wish the Guardians had some kind of gauss rifle…but maybe that kind of power was forbidden, even to them.
“We need more of these…” Sulla said next to him. She was a member of his squad also serving in the 617th, though she often lacked the discipline that the others could claim to have. She reminded him of Olympus in that respect.
Arcadius bobbed his head in silent agreement, already searching for the Lion, but the Apostle was gone. All around them, the battle raged. He reloaded his rifle, unsuccessfully checked the ruined Warhound for any survivors and, respectfully but shamelessly, took their ammunition. The dead could no longer fight, despite what the legends said and he needed their magazines and grenades more than they did.
When he was done, he surveyed the battle again and looked for where he was most needed. With more than a dozen Idols still causing havoc to the centre of the armoured assault force, there were still plenty of Phantoms to kill before they could enter the city unimpeded. Picking his next target, Arcadius roared a battle cry in the Guardian native tongue and the squads around him followed suite.
CALLA WAS NEAR her sister on the Lion’s left flank when the Steel Idols attacked. Ordering her legion into firing lines in front of the Warhounds, she reacted quickly enough for the Phantom war machines to be halted before they could reach her troops. Unlike Lupus, she had no reluctance in giving the order to use gauss grenades and instructed the infantry to employ them without delay. She could feel the danger the Idols represented and had no intention to wait until her hunches were proven true.
With a sudden scream of pain Valkyrie, who had been fighting at her side and helping to direct the legionnaires into battle, held her hands to the sides of her helmet and crashed to her knees. Rushing over to her still in human form, Calla pushed past the legionnaires reorganising themselves to assist their fellow Guardians further afield so she could get to her sister.
Calla knelt down and held her by the shoulder. “Raina, what happened?” she asked urgently as Raina wrestled against her.
“Calla…” her sister wept. “There’s something…something controlling them…it’s trying to get in my head!”
Chana, the commander of the 10th legion, came up to Calla. She beheld the state of the two Apostles and for a moment was unsure what to do. It was the cries of death around her that forced her to speak as though she wasn’t witnessing Valkyrie’s torment.
“My Grace, what are your orders? The Steel Idols continue to harass the core ass
ault” she asked Calla.
She desperately wanted to help Raina, but she didn’t know how. The other Apostles needed her too, let alone her legion. Whichever ally she chose to help, the others would suffer for it. She asked herself what Lupus would do. She made her decision.
As she went to answer Chana, Raina still struggling in her arms against a force no-one else could see, a section of the city wall closest to them burst apart in a shower of dust and falling masonry. It was a demolition charge, probably several score, that much was certain from the way the breach was made in a single strike. It could mean only one thing; ambush.
Some pieces of the wall landed amongst the assault force, crushing troops and immobilising tanks. The gap in the wall of the city was now easily a mile long. Anyone would have argued that it was a foolhardy risk for the enemy to take; undoing the protection of the defensive curtain to strike at the unsuspecting flank of the Guardian force was a deadly gamble, but when the smoke from the explosions faded away and the swarm of enemy tanks rolled out to meet them, there was very little risk to be seen.
“Commander, bring our Warhounds about to the left flank! Sustained fire! Kill everything!” Calla yelled as the enemy armour units opened up. A dozen legion tanks had already brought their turrets to bear on the new threat, the Steel Idols now a faraway worry.
With Chana’s frantic commands the majority of the left flank, previously headed towards the city gates, redirected themselves against the new Phantom attack. For some, it was already too late and the casualties began to rise.
“Calla…” Valkyrie murmured, shaking her head from side to side as if trying to cast away her psychic assailant. “There is something in the city, something vast and yet so small...”
Calla looked into her sister’s eyes and saw nothing but the truth in them. She barely noticed that her sister had stopped shaking after the collapse of the wall and as Valkyrie closed her eyes and rose to her feet, Calla let go and watched as an ethereal energy surrounded her helm. “I have created a barrier to my mind,” she explained, opening her eyes with a resolute expression, “but I cannot enter the city”.
The Deian War: Vermillion's Apostles Page 35