by Guy Haley
Seventh Super-Heavy Paragonian (multiple role) [@full]
18th Atraxian Super-Heavy Tank Company (generalised) [@full]
12th Savlar (light infantry; toxic environment specialists) [@72%]
13th Savlar (light Infantry; toxic environment specialists) [@57%]
121st Atraxian Mechanised (heavy infantry) [@37%]
122nd Atraxian Artillery (support) [@90%]
Atraxian Guard Paramount (heavy infantry) [note, Tempestus Scions]
Reinforcements, Battlegroup Kalidar [raised Paragon VI, 6, {Primus, Moon} “Paragon”, Paragon System, 395.M41]
63rd Paragonian Mechanised [@26%]
42nd Paragonian Armoured (number reassigned, 42nd disbanded regiment – cross ref Appendix 101, Emperor’s Gift Grants to veterans, Segmentum Pacificus, 4th century, M41). [@54%]
Reinforcements, Battlegroup Kalidar [raised Artemis V {Primus}, “Bosovar”, Artemis System, 396. M41]
31st, 32nd, 33rd and 34th Bosovar Levies [@99%, 100%, 100% respec.] (cross ref. feral world troopers of Artemis Subsector +++document missing+++)
ADDITIONAL
Command assets incl. Leviathan-class command vehicle, Magnificence [undeployed?query?]
–>–>Second Gulem Recovery Force
Commanding officer, General Maden Heldor Lo Basteen
Eighth Paragonian Super-Heavy Tank Company (assault)
477th Paragonian (foot) [note, double-size raising]
Tempestus Scions ‘Black Suns’
84th Paragonian (armoured)
109th Paragonian Artillery (support)
Beginning of Departmento Munitorum listing of Astra Militarum assets present on Geratomro. In total three merged battlegroups were present with an overall strength estimated at five million men.
Chapter Four
Landing
MATUA SUPERIOR
GERATOMRO
082398.M41
Cortein’s Honour emerged from the shadow of the lander’s protruding nose into torrential rain, the green and tan of its new camouflage darkening abruptly as it was wetted. The black sky churned with lance strikes and atmospheric disturbance brought on by the massed landing. The ground was a quagmire, cratered and stripped of life by orbital bombardment. The splintered sticks of native fauna stuck out of a sea of pale mud sticky with corpse flesh. Many men had died here during the first attempt to take back the world. The stink of their smashed bodies was so great Bannick engaged the atmospheric filters.
The city of Matua Superior was ahead. The plan had been to take it intact along with the spaceport, but it would not emerge unscathed. Fires burned everywhere even in the pouring rain, the result of stray rounds and misdirected lance bursts. It was not a large city and appeared well ordered to Bannick’s eye. What had surrounded it – farm, forest or chemical wasteland – was impossible to tell. Where it had not been smashed to pieces, the whole hinterland of the city was filled with a defensive cordon of bastions linked by a minimal trench system, islands now lapped by a sea of mud. The intention was of defence in depth, isolated forts and towers ranging in size from rockcrete gun nests to macrocannon emplacements. Formidable, but not against a merged battlegroup of their size.
Bannick quickly took in the situation on his chartdesk. Spinning a wheel, he zoomed the hololith out to a view that encompassed the whole of the attack. To the west, pre-existing Imperial forces were abandoning their siege lines and pushing into the city suburbs. To the north west, the Atraxians were landing en masse to snatch the northern landing fields before they could be sabotaged. The assault of the south side of the city and the southern port fields fell to men of Paragon, albeit regiments from two different battlegroups. The southern port group was drawn from Paragonians in the Genthus Reclamation Force, one of the three battlegroups that had gathered over Geratomro. The role of the Seventh super-heavies was to neutralise the remaining defences blocking access to the city south, before driving on to reinforce the soldiers at the port. It was strange to think of seeing new Paragonian faces. Bannick wondered if he would know anyone in their ranks.
The pillared lightning of orbital fire stabbed downwards ahead, obliterating a tower and sending the pulverised bodies of men flying out on its wave-front. Artificial thunder boomed, vying with the relentless pounding of artillery. Electrical discharge spidered through the clouds. The sky was water and fire, lightning, lances, rain and fury, streaked with the trails of burning landing craft and duelling air superiority fighters.
For all the devastation being wrought and the length of the siege preceding the attack, Matua Superior was not going down without a fight. Tracer fire streaked from its interior, chasing Navy craft around the sky. Irregularly, the sky flashed ruby as the remnants of the area’s orbital defence grid spat defiance at the fleet in orbit.
As ordered, Cortein’s Honour ploughed through the mud to take up the right. Artemen Ultrus spread out to take the left. Lux Imperator rolled down the ramp and sheltered behind Bannick’s vehicle. The tanks paused, awaiting their commander. To the rear, more heavy landing craft roared out of the sky, ramps cranking open the moment they hit the ground. Lighter ships came down with their bay doors open, spilling floods of men and machines into the mud.
‘I’ve high command on the vox, sir,’ said Epperaliant.
‘Put them through. My vox-feed only,’ said Bannick.
‘Seventh Paragonian. You have halted. Proceed to your objective, then rendezvous with the Eighth at the port,’ came a sharp voice.
‘Ostrakhan’s Rebirth is yet to emerge. Awaiting arrival of commanding officer and adoption of correct formation, please advise,’ replied Bannick. Even with the crackle of weapon-born interference, the vox was clear here, so different to the howl of Kalidar’s tortured magnetosphere.
‘Where’s Hannick?’ said Marteken over the company vox.
Hannick responded. ‘The basdacking landing claw has not retracted. We’re locked in place, we cannot disembark, we...’ Hannick began to cough again. ‘Go forwards!’ he gasped. ‘We will join you. Attack.’
‘You heard the captain,’ said Shoam. The Baneblade’s engine grumbled, and the tank set into motion. Bannick stabbed the button for private communication with the driver. ‘Hold for my command in future,’ he said, and re-engaged tank-wide comms. ‘Roll out! All forwards. Kolios, keep an eye on the transmission. This mud’s thick.’
Cortein’s Honour rolled towards the defence line in formation with Artemen Ultrus and Lux Imperator, the men and lesser machines of the Kalidar Army Group following in their wake. The tank shook with shell impacts as the enemy redirected some of their fire away from the attack to the east and onto the landing zone at the south. Very slow, thought Bannick. Either their militia’s not up to much or they’re not falling for the trick.
From towers piercing the mangled battlefield, heavy macrocannons flashed, the bark of their discharge sounding a second later, the impact of their shells a second after that. Pillars of earth roared upwards, sending men wheeling high, scattering their limbs all about. Cortein’s Honour rocked, but it was calm inside the tank. They were aboard a strong ship in a storm while others drowned in the raging surf.
‘Bannick, Hurnigen here,’ voxed the honoured lieutenant of the Lux Imperator. ‘I have alpha-priority target request upon those turrets. Stand cover while we charge.’
‘Affirmative,’ said Bannick. From the foremost part of the defence line, heavy calibre stubber fire clattered on the tank’s glacis, no more harm to the Baneblade than gravel tossed at sheet metal. Outside, men danced to the jerky tune of death.
‘Epperaliant, get me a fix on the origin of that fire.’
‘Hold-outs, sir – a platoon of Geratomran defence forces. The rest of the first line is clear.’
So it should be, thought Bannick, taking in the steaming mess left by the pre-landing bombardment. Targeting information flashed up
around a cracked bunker, half buried in mud.
‘Bannick?’ voxed Marteken from Artemen Ultrus. ‘You see that?’
‘We’ve got it. Have Artemen Ultrus cover your side. This is our quadrant, you hear me?’ Bannick said.
‘Loud and clear. You just keep your hands off our targets.’
‘You have a deal. Shoam, twenty degree right. Tertiary weapons, prepare to open fire. Take out that gun nest.’
‘Got it, honoured lieutenant. Target locked in, preparing to fire,’ said Leonates.
‘It’s time we did some good here. Meggen, get a range on those macrocannons.’
‘It’s a distance, sir,’ said Meggen.
‘Give them something to think about then! Kalligen, flatten that razor wire at forty degrees tank front. We can’t do anything about this mud, but we can make things a little easier for our comrades.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ both men said in turn. All at once, the Baneblade’s weapons fired. The twin boom of demolisher and battle cannon rocked Cortein’s Honour backwards. The noise of the discharge inside would have deafened the men had they not been wearing their vox-sets.
Hundreds of small explosions raked the gun nest, pockmarking the rockcrete as the bolts buried themselves within and detonated. Of the men in the defences, nothing could be seen, but the weapons fell silent. Meggen swore as his shots hit the macrocannon towers but exploded without doing any harm. The giant guns continued to fire, hurling ordnance into the mass of men and machinery landing behind the Baneblade.
‘We’ve come down too close to those macrocannons,’ voxed Marteken. ‘This is a bad landing zone.’
‘Distance ain’t going to make any difference to guns that big,’ muttered Meggen on the internal vox.
‘Marteken’s fears are not your concern, first gunner,’ said Bannick to Meggen. ‘Hurnigen?’
‘We’ve flipped the switch. Transmission is off and volcano cannon charging. Twenty seconds until capacitor is energised,’ responded the other.
‘Get me Hannick, Epperaliant. Boost the signal, I can’t hear him on the company vox.’
‘Aye, sir!’
‘Hannick? Honoured Captain Hannick, what are your orders?’ Bannick voxed his commander, stepping into an argument between the captain and the flight crew.
‘We leave in ten seconds,’ the pilot was saying.
‘You do not!’ Hannick shouted. ‘Belay that. Get me off this ship and with my men. This is a Navy failing. You will remain grounded until–’
‘My orders are clear,’ said the pilot. Bannick heard him click off his vox.
‘The basdacks are taking off!’ said Hannick.
The ship rose up from the ground, eight engine pods flash-drying the quagmire, ramp closing as it rose into the air.
‘Nine seconds to volcano cannon charge,’ came the voice of Hastilleen, Hurnigen’s chief gunner.
The drop-ship turned in the air, pods rotating to carry it forwards and upwards to join the steady stream of empty ships climbing back into orbit.
The macrocannons fired again.
A shot blasted into the side of the drop-ship, holing the hull. A half-second later a massive explosion tore out the sides of the transport compartment. The lander dropped out of the air, hitting the ground before the debris flung from its wreck could fall back to earth. The engines burned erratically then blew up. When the fireball cleared, the ship was blazing fiercely, forcing the men streaming past it to give it a wide berth lest they burn.
‘We’ve lost Hannick!’ said Bannick.
‘Basdack!’ replied Marteken. ‘Hang on! I’ve a target request. Ninety-eight degrees front. I’m pulling away to deal with it.’
‘Volcano cannon ready, opening fire,’ said Hurnigen.
A beam of blinding light surged from the long barrel of the Shadowsword, its firing making the air boom and adding to the artificial thunder of the bombardment. One of the macrocannon towers was decapitated, the giant gun on top disintegrating as it fell forwards.
‘Sir, I’ve had notification that high command judge force concentration to be high enough to commence the full assault. The Navy are ceasing fire in three, two, one...’ said Epperaliant.
The stabbing blades of lance fire cut out. A final shell hurtled down from orbit and exploded somewhere deep within the city.
The sky rumbled and flashed. The maelstrom in the clouds quietened.
‘All units, advance,’ came the command. The shouted response of the men amassing on the plain could be heard inside Cortein’s Honour.
‘Marteken, come in. Marteken,’ voxed Bannick.
‘He’s busy, sir,’ said Cholo, Artemen Ultrus’ commsman.
‘Ask him to return to formation. He’s got to take command!’ said Bannick.
There was a pause.
‘He says we’ll follow your lead,’ said Cholo.
Bannick clasped his head. ‘Is that you saying that, or Marteken?’ said Bannick.
‘Marteken here. Look, I’ve got my hands full here. You’re in command,’ Marteken said, sounding unusually clipped and officious.
‘You have seniority, Marteken. It’d be a breach of command protocol. What are your orders?’
The vox clicked as Marteken engaged privacy. ‘For the love of Terra, Colaron, I can’t. Just do it,’ he said in an urgent whisper.
Bannick sat back. He glanced at his men, who were unaware of what was occurring. ‘Very well.’ He keyed the company vox broadcast switch. ‘This is Colaron Artem Lo Bannick to the Seventh. I am assuming command with Marteken’s permission. We move out now. Hurnigen, recharge your weapon. Those macrocannons have to go.’
‘Aye aye.’
The tanks moved forwards, rolling down the slope towards the flatter ground before Matua Superior. Infantry transports fell in behind, flanked by the Leman Russ battle tanks of the 322nd Armoured Veterans and the remnants of Bannick’s old regiment, the 42nd Armoured.
A roar came from behind. Fire billowed skywards, illuminating the gloomy day with violent orange. A large section of burning hull fell outwards from the wrecked lander. Pushing its way out came the Hellhammer Ostrakhan’s Rebirth, paint scorched, patches of burning fuel all over its hull, but very much in one piece.
‘Hannick here!’ shouted the honoured captain over the vox-net. ‘Gentlemen, I apologise for my tardiness. Bannick, stand down. What were you about to do with my company?’
‘Good to see you, sir!’ voxed Marteken with all too evident relief.
‘Sir,’ said Bannick. ‘We’re commanded to deal with these targets, clear the way for the infantry and proceed on to the port.’ He sent a packet over the company datanet. ‘The Lucky Eights and the Four Hundred and Seventy-Seventh Foot of the Second Genthus Reclamation Force are coming down.’
‘Their forward elements are already requesting assistance,’ said Epperaliant.
‘I know the ord–’ The captain’s entrance was ruined by a round of awful coughing. He drew in a ragged breath.
‘The macrocannons, sir,’ said Hurnigen.
‘Lux Imperator, deal with them,’ said Hannick.
‘I’m getting a weapons malfunction. Capacitors charged, but the energies won’t release. Enginseer Starstan says there’s a problem with the refractor array,’ said Hurnigen.
‘Baneblades, then. Cortein, Ultrus, to the fore. Destroy them, then we move on,’ said Hannick breathlessly. ‘For the Emperor! For Terra! For Paragon!’
The Seventh grumbled on through the mud, all weapon’s blazing as they drove. Lux Imperator hung back while Cortein’s Honour and Artemen Ultrus pounded the leftmost macrocannon turret with their battle cannons, which, though inaccurate at range, could cast their shells several miles. Meggen and Ultrus’ primary gunner, Rosdosigen, zeroed in on the turret shot by shot, until their rounds pounded it directly. The macrocannons continued to lob shells
at a rate of one every thirty seconds. Three sailed overhead, crashing into the landing fields and causing carnage there. An entire platoon was vaporised as it emerged from its lander. A pair of light landing craft were broken by one shot, their shattered wrecks spinning into the men around them and killing dozens. In desperation, Colonel Sholana of the 42nd called in a lance strike, but it missed, sending up a column of steam five hundred feet high wide of the mark. The Baneblade shook as the main gun was discharged, rocket gases venting from the barrel exhausts on the muzzle in bright white streamers. The shell lift rattled constantly through the command deck, bearing fresh rounds into the turret.
‘Damn Navy,’ growled Meggen. His last round hit the side of the tower, knocking free a rush of broken rockcrete. ‘Good job we’re here.’
Rosdosigen hit also, and the Baneblades finally toppled the tower. The remaining macrocannon kept up a much lower rate of fire, leading Bannick to believe it was damaged or under-crewed. Still it fired, impacting the ground not far from the Seventh’s position.
‘They’re getting the message. They’re targeting us.’
‘Not for long,’ said Meggen.
More shells from the battle cannons slammed into it. The turret remained standing, but fell silent.
‘Get me an augur reading of that tower,’ Hannick ordered.
‘Must have got the crew,’ said Ganlick. ‘Save some for me, eh, Meggen? I’m out of range with this shotgun.’
‘The better man gets the better toys,’ said Meggen.
‘Command report zero life signs,’ said Cholo.
‘That’s it, move on,’ said Hannick. ‘All enemy alpha-class defence turrets accounted for. You may sound the general advance, General Lo Verkerigen. Advise: send a squad to check the turret is clear.’
Bannick heard only this, and not the responses Hannick would undoubtedly have. Commanding a company of tanks like the Baneblade was a world away from directing the efforts of one.
At the general’s order, the Seventh cut diagonally across the front, running roughly parallel to the city outskirts towards the landing fields of the port. They crunched over shattered rockcrete and ferrocrete fortifications, flattening razor wire, uprooting tank traps with their awesome weight, churning the bodies of the dead to slurry under their tracks. Ahead the drop-ships of the Gulem Recovery Force were coming down in numbers.