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"Aye, Sergeant." Krish is two steps toward Lucky's position when the Sergeant changes his orders. Surely there would be time to patch Thudd up and still get the vox before the shells were launched? The fight could not have taken as long as it felt like...
Krish hurries to assist the medic, lending his warp-borne strength to helping her muscle the huge ogryn around. Krish takes over cutting the empty medkit case into metal strips, handing them off to her to disinfect.
As they work on the Ogryn, Krish tries to keep him distracted by reciting some of the minor Litanies to the Emperor.
*****
Krish tips the wreck of the table aside in such a way as to shield his actions from full view of the rest of the squad. Grateful for the warp-borne strength that lets him quickly extract the vox unit from Lucky's dead clutches, Krish locks the tiny, screaming voice away where it cannot get out. The quiet sounds as Krish works are enough to keep the rest of the squad from looking too closely.
Once finished, he rises to his feet. With one bloody hand he retrieves his staff while holding the vox in the other. As his puffing and wheezing augmetic limits his speed, Krish calls up the stairs, "Vox is here, sergeant. Intact as far as I can tell." There is a slight catch in his voice, "Lucky did his duty well."
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The fighting isn't the worst part of battle. No. The bad part is what comes AFTER. Thud roars and screams and bites down HARD on his weapon. If you didn't see Leni there you'd swear the process of stitching him back was actually killing him.
It seems like forever when it's actually rather short. After the hard work with the broken down kit is done Krish goes to get the Vox and Thud is left with Leni alone for a while. Everything slowly gets better thanks to staggering amounts of disinfectant and medicinal metal.
Occasionally, in between flare-ups of tremendous pain, Thud feels his mommy's hand brush his cheek. Part of him knew it couldn't be her. He wasn't laying on Akwa-Bed, after all. But still, she was there, and he held on for her. He gritted and groaned and cried for her. Part of him knows it's Leni doing all this. It's her that's saving him yet again. These two halves meet and mingle in his mind in the midst of the pain-induced delirium.
Finally it is over. Finally. He breathes deeply and feels no pain. He stands and feels his flesh stretch and pull where his wounds are literally clamped together. He looks down at Leni and smiles his horrifying smile of sharp, damaged teeth. Thanks, Mommy-Leni!
The last Ork is not even done bleeding out when the squad jumps to their respective fields of expertise.
Simmins and Cort bring up the defense, setting up overwatch trigger-happy and ready for the arrival of new greenskins within half a minute.
Thud'dr is busy being half dead after taking more damage than some APV - again - bringing 'Mommy-Leni' into the picture, who is getting better and better with the task of solving Ogryn-Flesh-Puzzles, aided by no small amount by the warp-powered strong hands of Krish.
Cormaeg is shouting everyone in order, focusing on their mission and the task of not loosing his mind about the view from the window and the implications he is able to draw.
The militiamen is ... done and spent. Being the sole survivor of his fireteam, he summoned his wits and tried to crawl under the desk to reach Lucky and the vox - but looses his wits at last. Jumping back with a terrified howl, his hands red with the blood of his former comrade and probably childhood friend. His eyes wide, he struggles silently for control for a few more second before his eyes turn inwards and he falls to the ground, his crouch curiously darkening.
Leni finishes her procedure on Thud'dr, now without needing Krish's help.
Krish is fetching the bloody vox from under the desk.
"Grokk...just...well...grokk!"
Picking up the mic cormaeg quickly presses the button to send.
"Priority message alpha! Priority message alpha!
This is Sergeant Macommon, delta, gamma, gamma, beta.
Patch me through to the general, urgent message!"
Low on ammo sarge Simmins says as loudly as he can, which isn't much considering how close to dead he is. Also blood. He helps Cort reload the half filled stubber clip rather than the quarter filled one.
You are not even through the third character of your code as you are already met with the shouting of the general.
"Yes General, be advised, target is mobile.
Currently at sector 45.60, moving at a westerly trajectory at a speed of roughly one click per hour.
Target is a massive mobile fortress, or more like a gun platform for artillery.
I swear on my very soul I am neither making this up or exaggerating General!"
"For Maximum effect, recommend a broad spectrum shelling over a wide area.
Standing by as a ground spotter General.
Can also report the demise of Bigbull the slaver."
This, makes the general shut up for all of three heartbeats.
The voice of the general is abruptly interrupted by a metallic sound that pains the ears bug time.
Then,a new voice sounds up.
This one terribly, terribly deep but perfectly calm and speaking a splendidly clear gothic.
"Sergeant MacCommon, can you discern any kind of sigils, glyphs, banners or other kind of iconography on the fortress?
Do you have any kind of marker tool with you that could be used to guide a precision strike to the target?
Maybe a laser marker or a smoke bomb?"
"Stand by, attempting to find any sigils through magnoculars now...
As for markings, we do have smoke, but no way of getting it close enough to the fortress platform to make a difference.
I'm sorry sir, not making excuses, but I can see no way to mark target from here."
Cormaeg is quite proud of the fact that he manages to continue with the same professionalism he had before, despite not knowing whom he is currently addressing.
He is also wise enough not to ask, THAT answer is probably WELL beyond his pay grade.
"Copy that, no markers available.
What is your exact position and disposition relative to the target, Sergeant?"
Checking over the massive thing is not easy, just keeping focused proves hard already, everywhere you look you seem to see weapon platforms, working Orks wielding more armor plating and weapons into place and Orks clinging onto the thing for the thrill of it. It takes you another half a minute to get the big picture and notice the sheer scale of the single pictographic glyph painted all over the front of the thing - if the ramp the Ork walkers stumple up is the front. It is a truly massive, leering Ork skull, with a stylised mechanical, red eye framed in a hexagonal, yellow frame that looks kind of similar to the head of some screws. On bottom-side of the hexagon, stylised tracks are painted.
If you remember correctly, Lucky was originally a spotter for Ashora. Spotters and forward-observers are sometimes equipped with marking tools used to guide in precision air strikes.
"I have spotted a glyph, stand by...
It is a leering ork skull, one eye appears mechanical and red, surrounded...no wait, framed in a hexagon...color yellow.
I would...I would say it looks a bit like the head of a screw.
Something is pained below the hexagon, looking like...tracks?
As for our relative distance, we are currently in sector 44.59, at the top of the administratum building.
That would mean the distance is...1.5 clicks, east of target, sir.
That is all sir."
Turning of the mic for a moment, Cormaeg turns to the others.
"Any of you have an idea how we could "paint" that target from here?"
"Sergeant! If I remember correctly, Lucky was orginally a spotter! Perhaps he has a marking device." Krish wheels and begins running back down the stairs to where Lucky lay in death, his augmetic leg puffing, hissing, and whining the whole way.
Thud hears Krish and understands that he needs to get to Lucky quick. He bolts up the stairs towards the psyker, scoops the man off his feet and bolts back down as fast as his abhuman gait allows. He deposits him on the far side of the table without looking, not wanting to see the state of luck's body. He already had Notch's death seared across his mind. He doesn't need Lucky's too.
Leni nods as Krish moves on to the Vox "Thanks, I'll manage from here."
Hearing Thuds new name for her Leni smiles. A bit of a pained smile but still, a smile "Yeah that's not... ah whatever. Everything alright, big'un. For now."
Then Krishs anouncement of Luckies end comes and she freezes in place for a moment. A single piece of snot tries to escape during this lapse of control but she has lost too many on this mission already and she's back in the present again after the moment passes. She wipes away the snot and packs up the hospital - giving a quick disinfection, you can never tell how urgent the next time it'll be used will be - before moving over to Simmins to do what she can for who she still can.
"No, don't get up. I'll do as much of this as possible while you cover the door."
Most of Simmins wounds are from shrapnel, with the occasional bullet in between so she treats the small cuts by pulling the clothes to the side, disinfecting the wound and applting an instant of spray-on synth skin from the medkit. It only starts getting uncomfortable - and interfering with Simmins overwatch - when she gets to the bullet wounds. She needs to get them out of the wounds - and almost even more importantly the clothes they pressed in with them too. But this is almost routine to her now and she makes quick work of it, applying a localized pain supressant before picking out the foreign objects, then disinfecting again and closing the wounds with a stitch or two
Your description of the glyph is followed by a few seconds of static, then the voice is back, now with a clear undertone of urgency.
"Good work, soldier, you have Big Boss Hexa'ScruwDrivas HQ in your sight. This beast escaped it's death by Imperial hand too many times already. This time, we will make sure of its demise.
We will need exact range and angle information from your position for the next 60 seconds to guide in the torpedo strike - as fast and precise as you can manage.
Be advised that General Dirkins ordered a saturation bombing of the plaza and adjacent area, ETA 60 seconds.
Our prayers are with you and your men.
The Emperor protects."
Exact measurements and angles are not easy with your tools at hand. Making estimates and calculating approximated fire coordinates is one thing, but exact angle and distance would require at least a range finder and a fix point you could use as 0 degree axis for angle measurement.
That later one can probably be done by choosing one of the other hive spires in the distance, but the distance...
Being carried by the Ogryn is kinda nice, especially as it unburdens your bad leg for a change.
Being back at Lucky's dead body so fast on the other hand, is all kind of things but none of them is 'nice'.
Rummaging through the belongings of the dead feels pretty darn wrong, even for someone who has gazed through the veil.
At first, you are disappointed. No fancy tool that looks like it would be able to send out a guiding beam or anything like that turns up.
Then you notice that his binoculars are of a higher quality than those usually issued to a common guardsman. Checking them over, you find that they have a range finder and angle-index build in. Not exactly a 'painting' tool, but should be very helpful in cooking up coordinates.
The corridor is still remarkable silent, nothing moves, no stampede of falling boots and no "WAAAAGH!" shouts either.
Maybe there really are no more Orks in the immediate vicinity?
"Yes sir, working on those coordinates as we speak.
Sir, we appreciate your prayers, but if the general carries his threat of turning our regiment into a penal one, death might be preferable to facing our comrades knowing we failed them so badly."
Simmins grunts as Leni expertly patches him up, trying not to twitch when she gets to the bullets.
Me'n Cort owe ya a beer. he says as he keeps the Stubber trained on the door. I mean, we owe ya our lives, but a beer'll have to do.
"Thanks, Thudd." With a deep breath to brace himself for the task, Krish kneels beside Lucky's corpse once more and begins looking through the dead soldier's equipment.
"Your concern for your brothers in arms does you honor, Sergeant.
But worry not, the com-traffic was monitored and logged.
I can not see any neclectance of duty of you or your men that would make such punishment appropriate."
Maybe, only maybe, the voice takes on a (slightly) respectful tone at that, before returning to the leveled, serious Color of before.
"We will need the first measurement soon, MacCommon."
To make the required measurements at the precision and speed, you will need help.
Someone good with numbers to make the calculations.
Someone with a good eye for distances to judge the distances to different landmarks.
Someone good with maps to search and find useful landmarks you could use for measuring angles.
"Lucky didn't have anything we could use? Tivnan, you check as well.
Krish, up here with me.
I need you to take this dataslate and find some usable landmarks we could use to calculate angles with."
"This would be a lot more useful if we had more than one set of magnoculars!"
"Anyone here good with numbers?"
"Well Sarge I DID calculate AND direct an artillery strike on a motorized ork advance without blowing up OUR guys who got almost run down by them. But that only happened one time..."
"That's better than the rest of us no doubt.
Now hurry up, check Lucky and then come over here and help me crunch numbers!"
Anything's better'n nothing Simmins says in a much stronger voice than before. Lucky must have had something useful. I ain't no sharpshooter but I guess I might be the best left at sighting, Sarge. If we all regroup at the highest point then I can help out while stayin' close to my gun.
Krish stands from Lucky's body and looks back up the stairs to Cormaeg, "No targeting device that I could find, Sergeant." Krish hurries back up the stairs to the top level where he takes the dataslate from Cormaeg and starts trying to orient himself to the dataslate and the terrain outside.
"Aye!"
She gets over to Lucky. In a way she hates having to do this but on the other hand she has seen too many dead bodies in her life, even before the enrollment. It's the fact that her friends die that unnerves her, not the bodies.
And so she just takes a quick moment to clean the blood off his face and close his eyes respectfully before starting to methodically search him, even thought she doesn't have a clear image of what she is looking for except something that marks a target
Thud reaches down and pulls out a holster-like belt from under Lucky that was hidden due to angle from the others. This the thing?
"Lemme see, big guy." Leni grabs the belt from him and opens it... to find binoculars.
That's not what they are looking for. But on second thought she gives it a through check, flipping a switch that's definitly NOT there on any she has ever seen and looking through it.
"This might do!" she rushes over to Sarge while explaining: "It doesn't mark where you look but it tells you the the range, and the angle you're looking!"
"Excellent! This is exactly what we need.
Everyone, I want you all to step back and find the best cover you can, we might see incidental bombardment of this position, and I want you all to stay safe!
Go!
And Thud? Grab the militiaman as well and drag him into cover with you."
Grabbing the range finder from Leni, Cormaeg turns back while switching the mic on.
"Sir, we have procured a range finder manocular, so this coordinates should be as accurate as I can make them.
As follows.
District 45.60, range 1.3 clicks, angle at 35 degrees, movement speed approximately 1 click per hour.
That would make it 35, 45 degrees north by northwest, about to hit 35, 46 nnnnnow!"
The squad huddles together in the uppermost level, gorey as it may be, with MacCommon voxing in angles, distance and speed every few seconds. For the first time, everyone else can get a clear view of what is outside.
Even though you knew it must be bad, facing it is still a memory for ones nightmares. The sheer military might on display combined with the amount of Imperial casualties in the background and on top of that an entire sub-spire that became a mobile fortress able to hurl Micro-Rocks filled with Ork walkers over a distance of several score clicks...
The vox communication has become entirety one-sided by now, the com-partner haven't been responding for nearly a minute now.
Every second now, things should get really interesting.
The seconds tick down, only Cormaegs voice calling numbers into the vox as an indicator.
Then the sound everyone has been waiting for finally reaches your ears.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEHHHHH
Incoming artillery.
Lots of it.
Sometimes it's good to be dumb. Thud sees and comprehends enough to know it was bad, but his childlike mind simply assumes they can do it. Of course they can! Emprah Proteks, after all!
At the sound of incoming artillery he herds everyone into the best cover he can find and makes sure he's protecting everyone, especially Mommy-Leni. If the are any intact tables left he tries to make a shelter from them. Just in case.
Up here, the only table is the massive wooden one you fought the Boss with.
It is very bloody, topped with the carcass of Bigbull and its right half is singed and burned from the melta blast, but otherwise it is perfectly intact.
Thud tucks it under his arm on the way down and uses it to reinforce what meagre cover he can find for his squad.
Cormaeg is still busy rattling off last-second coordinates, so he cannot leave the window just yet.
And even you would struggle to lift this monster of a table.
Thud attempts to lift the table, but his newly stiched and stapled and viceed-together muscles are not having it today. He groans and resigns himself to protecting his Squad with his own hide should it come to that.
Krish surveys the scene outside with grim stoicism. It is bad, but the uncounted billions of humanity will drown these invaders in a tide of Imperial blood if that was what it took to put them down.
As the whistling of incoming artillery fills the air, Krish allows himself to be herded into a safer position. How does one argue with an Ogryn, anyway. He looks around at these who he has known for such a short time. As always, the fires of war have forged the bonds of kinship in far less time than could have been done in any other situation. Krish's voice is a little deeper when he speaks quietly, barely audible of the whine of incoming destruction, "I have not been with you all for long, but it has been my absolute honor to serve with you. The Emperor willing, we will have many more days to serve together, but I wanted that to be known in case my duty to Him ends this day."
FP reroll.
Simmins didn't want to die, in fact he'd done everything he could to avoid dying as long as it didn't dishonor the emperor or his duty to his squadmates. But looking over the room soaked with orc blood and knowing he'd been a big part of guiding the Emperor's orbital wrath onto countless more he smiles and nudges Cort. Even if this is the end it'll blast us right to his side. And we can look up right at him and say to him that we took out way more of them then they were able to do to us. Yeah Sarge?
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Cormaeg pauses for a moment, time slowing down at the possibility of death, and bringing with it a sense of ice cold clarity.
If I die here, I suppose it would be seen as a glorious death, and my last recorded words were of concern towards my fellow soldiers, not bad...
But I would rather my TRUE last words were something more...pithy...
Taking his finger of the send rune on the vox for a moment, to make sure ONLY the squad hears him, Cormaeg smiles a dry smile and quips.
"Off the record, most generals are complete grokkshites..."
"As for taking some with us, thanks to us, an entire fortress of vile xenos are about to be obliterated by imperial might.
I'd say that earns us a place by the golden throne Olways."
Of course, the sergeant had no intention of dying here, not when he realized just how much credit he has earned on this mission.
Much more than could possibly be spent in one go. More than enough to jump him all the way to captain, though that would not happen as it wouldn't be seen to promote a Sergeant that high in one go, no mater how much of a hero he might be.
Killing a warboss, being instrumental in the death of another one, possibly having killed one of their "big meks", recovered the mortal remains of a commissar, sending coordinates during a "friendly fire" incident...the list goes on.
It's not a question of needing more honors for more promotions, just a bit of time...
@T-15s to T-5s: First to arrive at the vast target area is a flight of three dozen Storm Eagle missiles coming in from three different directions. Their firery rocket trails seem to be setting the entire sky ablaze - as if they were the proverbial spark setting a sea of Promethium off. Only they are not. The blazing sky is the first ominous signs of something forcing its way through the atmosphere with horrendous speed and force, something coming from orbit. Then the warheads of the (most) missiles break open, releasing a swiftly spreading host of bombletts raining down all over the plaza like an explosive hailstorm. A trio of missiles simply crash into the ground without exploding. The resulting cacophony of the thousands of released sub-ammunition detonating is drowing out any other sound for the next few seconds even over the distance of a thousand and more meters. It is like a thousand thunderclaps in an unending, overlapping series. You can feel the very floor below your feet vibrate and shake as if in sympathy to the blasted plaza. Orks are thrown around like discarded (and mutilated) dolls. Vehicles are flipped over by the concussive effects or explode into blooming fireballs from direct hits to the weak top armor. The havoc is immense but something tells you that this is only child's play in what is about to come...
"The destruction of the empires enemies is...GLORIOUS!"
Thud braces in front of his Little 'Uns. He almost pulls Sarge back invoulentarily, but he is the boss, so Thud refrains. He squats down and makes sure he's ready to Protek, just like the Emprah.
@T-5s to T+5s: Next in line, is the might of what must be an entire regiment of earthshaker cannons let loose in one go. A walking barrage of heavy ballistic shells ripp into the ground, starting directly opposite of your end of the plaza, creeping Ng closer by the second. The heavy shells blast craters into the ground, each one half a score wide, showering anything close by with deadly showers of shrapnel. The floor starts to shake in earnest and you can only guess how massive the concussive effects must be on ground level. Over the incredible, ear ringing impacts, the vox sounds up again. This time, the connection is riddled with static and the background roar of some kind of rocket engine on full burn. The familiar voice remains calm and composed. "If you are crrr there, crrr-ommon, one final set crrr can. Once done, get into serious crrr, we crrr right behind crrr strike."
Meanwhile you are witness to the first couple of direct hits against the massive fortress - or rather its flaring energy shield vaporizing the shells prior to impact.
And you are also witness to the final barrage of shells directly hitting some the administratum spire some score floors below. Then a dozen floors below. And then ... It stops. Parts of the ceiling has come down hitting the massive frame of the Ogryn protecting you with his huge frame. The big guy does not seem overly troubled by that, praise be as some of those rockrete chunks could have smashed in skulls with some bad luck!
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Starting in the few seconds before the rocket strike, and continuing into the few gaps in the thunder, the miniscule less-loud moments, Krish's voice can be heard among the guardsmen huddled close. Quiet at first, and growing in volume until he is almost shouting into the deafening roar of the unleashed fury of the Imperium of Man.
"A spiritu dominatus,
Domine, libra nos,
From the lightning and the tempest,
Our Emperor, deliver us."
"From plague, deceit, temptation and war,
Our Emperor, deliver us.
From the scourge of the Kraken,
Our Emperor, deliver us.
From the blasphemy of the Fallen,
Our Emperor, deliver us."
"From the begetting of daemons,
Our Emperor, deliver us.
From the curse of the mutant,
Our Emperor, deliver us.
A morte perpetua,
Domine, libra nos."
"Final transmission, fortress stopped, same district, same distance, north-northwest 34, 43!"
Rushing towards the best cover he can reach, Cormaeg roars at the others.
"COVER!"
Thud sees the ceiling parts fall and quickly moves to cover his Squad. Using a couple of the metal bands Leni fashioned to close his wounds and his own thick hide he either blocks or actively bats away several large hunks of rockrete.
Edit: response to Krish
Thud tries to follow along in the prayer, but can't get most of the words right, but Emprah did he try!
@T+5s to T+15s: As Cormaeg shouts his last transmission into the vox, Thud'dr is doing his best impression of a living shield and Krish is praying with more fervour than any company priest you ever knew, the next stage of utter annihilation starts from due east. An evenly spaced carpet bombing falls from the sky erupting into fireballs few meters above ground in mind numbing detonations. The last remaining windows scatter, the floor behaves like a Grox trying to throw off a rider and you feel your entire bodies reverberate from the force of the shockwaves. Midway through the carpet bombing, probably executed by an entire flotilla of marauder hight altitude bombers, Cormaeg is done and you cuddle together, praying for the emperor's (or EMPRAHs) protection...
"A little too close for comfort, but a grand spectacle nonetheless..."
@T+15.000001s to T+16s: A blinding flash of light - burning white even through closed eyes followed by a shockwave so powerful it rips off the hinges and part of the wall of the high window Cormaeg was using to call in the coordinates.
The air is sucked out of your lungs in a single woosh of displaced air and something in your ear goes *pop*, leaving nothing but silence behind.
Then, the heat wave strucks home like a suckerpunch. You feel your skin smoldering on whichever side of your body faces the window at the time of impact. Your uniform darkens and curls. Your hair frizzles and the smell of burnt hair enters your noses. The rasping gasps for air painful like thrusts of knife into your lungs.
More debris falling from the ceiling hitting the ground all around you.
Hitting Thud'dr.
A few hitting you.
Then, a second stormwind brings ash and smoke, paining the lungs some more.
And then ...
Nothing.
No sounds.
No light but for an impenetrable, uniform grey.
The only certain thing is a taste of ash and dust and an all encompassing pain.
Is this ...
Death?
Not...not heaven...too much pain...
What...what to do?
Small...yes, start...small...
Fingers, yes, fingers...try to move your...fingers old man!
Cormaeg attempts to move the fingers on his left hand, trying to see if he can even feel them.