Herald of the Stars - A Warhammer 40k, Rogue Trader Fanfiction Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen

“Maeve, Eire, Thorfinn,” I say, “That line of Chiras isn’t that effective anymore, now that the Necrons are so close. Ideas?”

“We could always have them charge en masse and squash the buggers,” Maeve says with a small smile, then she shakes her head. “Well, that would be wasteful and foolish. We should have a few Heralds retrieve our allies.”

“I agree,” says Eire. “Though squashing the enemy isn’t a terrible idea. Perhaps we could advance the Chiras ten tres and stagger the line by leaving our damaged vehicles behind, breaking up the Necrons’ follow up charges. They can squash a few then.”

“Good idea, but we can do more,” says Thorfinn. “Have so sweep round and start shooting at the Necrons’ flanks. Maybe even send a team to cut off their reinforcents.”

I shake my head, “The Warriors would just turn around and then they’d be the ones surrounded.”

“Not if they keep their speed up,” says Thorfinn. “They could do repeated charges, taking out small chunks, squashing the Necrons. Haven’t you noticed why they’re targeting our Chiras’ guns and little else? They can’t cut through the dozer blades and the front armour. Especially now their Destroyers are gone. They’ll be vulnerable while they retreat, but a few Chiras on the flanks can give covering fire.”

“The Chiras should drive in circles, like cogs,” Maeve nods slowly, “squeezing the Necrons and advancing.”

“So five rescue teams, and two flanking and grinding convoys, using sixty percent of our remaining Chiras. Forty percent will imdiately advance ten tres and stagger the line, leaving the disabled Chiras behind.” I frown as I think of possible counters, “Thirty percent of our Heralds and Servitors should group up in the centre of the grinding convoys to pick off any external passengers on the Chiras. The rest of our infantry can advance towards the tomb along with the staggered Chiras as we squash the Necrons. On second thoughts, forget about the disabled and destroyed vehicles; we need to advance far more than ten tres. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” says Eire and Thorfinn.

“Sending now,” says Maeve.

We watch the action play out on the holotable in little symbols as well as samples of direct footage in embedded pict-viewers along the edge of the holotable. Data is also directly stread to our minds, creating an understanding of exactly what is going on, without really having read all the data ourselves.

The battlefield shifts. Over the next five minutes the commanders on the ground reinterpret our orders sowhat and have the centre Chiras start peeling off from the centre. This disrupts the Necrons’ constant rush into lee while forming the two grinding convoys. They initially cut through the mass of soulless robots at a forty-five degree angle, taking advantage of the clearer sections between the three wedges of the Necrons’ assault.

Simultaneously, our two flanks push forwards behind the forming convoys, while the centre only advances ten tres, for now. This squeezes the left and right wedges of Necrons in the centre of the convoy, who get fired upon by half the Chiras and our flanking infantry. The rest of the Chiras fire outwards, squashing the central Necron wedge.

The two convoys finish their circle, confining both our infantry and the left and right wedges of Necron Warriors within. It takes nine and a half minutes for the Chiras to drive the whole circumference of a circle, even as the Chiras slowly shift towards the tomb and their circles close on each other. The circling Chiras don’t form a perfect line, but stagger themselves like a cog, crushing hundreds, then thousands of Necrons who continue to sprint towards us, heedless of the casualties they sustain.

Then the Leman Russ arrive and everything changes.

The Warriors are shattered and scattered by massive explosions and huge amounts of heavy bolter fire. Our central infantry and Chiras slip into the grinding convoys, now almost empty of Necrons. The Leman Russ tanks take the centre and plod towards the tomb, running over any Necrons that survive their salvos.

One company of Leman Russ, that’s three squads of eight vehicles, is exceptionally heavy hitting with three variants: Eradicator, Executioner, and Demolisher. They target the tomb and its defences.

The Eradicators fire first, their long range Eradicator Nova Cannon pumling the blackstone walls with highly volatile shells that have more in common with a nuclear blast, than a conventional explosive. They are moderately effective, wiping away teams of scarabs and weapon placents as well as penetrating the walls, leaving cracked bulges where the explosions have barely been contained.

Up next are the Executioners, slow firing and imnsely powerful, the Plasma Destroyers mounted on their turrets target the doors of the North Tomb, punching through it and lting everything in the vicinity to slag, including the Warrior reinforcents.

Last, once they get close enough, are the Demolishers who fire rocket propelled shells, so stupidly massive, that each Demolisher only carries twenty of them. Huge chunks of the tomb crumble and crash to the ground, leaving gaping holes and exposed tunnels stuffed with twisted scarabs and cracked components.

Perhaps those slow tanks aren’t so useless after all.

The other two companies of tanks have more standard loadouts with battle cannons and heavy bolters and continue to cut down the last few hundred Necrons who swiftly change targets to the tanks, coordinating salvos that chip through the dozer blades and cut into the front armour of the tanks, disabling them, one by one. This, however, leaves the Warriors vulnerable to the Chiras and infantry, who finally have free reign to shoot them with impunity and the last Warriors are destroyed within minutes.

The Stellar Corps spreads out and adopts a slower, mixed advance of Leman Russ and Chiras with the Infantry jogging behind them. The Leman Russ continue to bombard the tomb, finally removing the last of its guns for good.

At the border of the Quantum Shield, our Crassus Transports gather, alongside a few Chira and the remaining Eldar forces. The Eldar forces receive their casualties and the recovered Falcon and Fire Prism crews from the Chiras and depart, leaving six Eldar Jetbikes and their drivers to coordinate with our forces.

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“That was fucking terrifying,” says Thorfinn, “and I’m even not the one down there fighting.”

“It’s not over yet,” says Maeve.

“I know, I know,” says Thorfinn, “but the more I do it, the harder I find it to send n and won to die, no matter how necessary it might be.”

“I understand, Thorfinn,” I say. “Do you need to step out for a bit?”

“No. It’s fine. I can still do my job and, if it must be done, I will do it with my eyes open and my mind fully focused.”

I pat Thorfinn on the shoulder, “Good man.”

“Casualty estimates for the first phase are coming in,” says Eire. “Twenty thousand Servitors and seven thousand Heralds, of which six thousand Heralds are fatalities. We also lost over seven hundred Chira, thirty Vanguard Armour, twenty-two super-heavy infantry, and eight Leman Russ. All vehicles and power armour can be recovered, but it will be several days until they have all been assessed for rebuild or or scrap.”

“None of us are happy about the disparity in our forces or the casualties. That we had to resort to running over enemies is shaful. We will review the battle later.” I glance at the holotable, “Discipline remains high and our ground commanders are setting up a proper periter already. They are also checking over the tomb for any more surprises. Vox chatter suggests they will rest and reorganise for thirty minutes before sending in the first expedition. The Necrons are not currently trying to contest us settling in, likely seeing little need when we are about to march into their lair.”

“Then we are back to waiting,” says Thorfinn. “Unless we should push on imdiately?”

“There would be little point,” says Maeve. “Didn’t Aldrich say they’ve had sixty million years to prepare? Whatever defences they have will already be in place and active, or at least, being rapidly reactivated. You saw how fast those Warriors went from shambling wrecks to deadly sprinters. Nothing we can do about it now.”

Thorfinn rubs his chin, “Yeah, can’t argue with that.”

“We should gather the Necrons’ resources,” says Eire. “It will hinder their repairs and acquire the blackstone you wanted, Aldrich.”

“Let’s wait for our supply and dical convoys to be properly established first,” says Maeve. “Seizing enemy supplies too early will compromise our own forces.”

“It’s a great idea,” I say, “but we’re in no rush, Eire. We’re going to be here for at least eighteen months.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” says Eire. “I’m also rather nervous about being sent back in ti as well. Do we really have to wait out the years?”

“Yes,” I say. “While Humans in the Dark Age of Technology were capable of controlled ti travel, the location of all surviving examples of that technology are unknown and research into it is banned by order of the Emperor. It’s one of the few things the Adeptus chanicus and the Imperium of Man agree on. There’s enough ways to kill each other without resorting to chronophage weapons and other nasty tricks. The one exception on ti control devices is stasis technology. It wouldn't do for the Imperial Navy to lose its stock of amasec.”

I know psy-titans reverse ti on themselves to remove damage, but that’s supposed to be a major Imperial secret, so I’m not going to ntion it.

“They’d probably say sothing similar about our supply of toasters,” says Thorfinn.

“Sliced bread required an equally ingenious twin,” I say.

Maeve frowns, “If we are cracking jokes, it is ti to return to our usual watches now that the initial combat is over. I believe I have two hours left of mine, then you are up next, Aldrich.”

“Aye, I’ll take a brief rest and return, but before we go,” I retrieve a small box from my shirt pocket and hold it up for everyone to see, giving the box a brief rattle, “A mont of silent prayer for our valiant Heralds.”

Maeve focuses her attention on the holotable. Thorfinn folds his arms, hiding his shaking hands. Eire sighs then squares her shoulders.

I remove a dozen incense cones. I place one cone in each of the twelve small brass bowls, filled with sand, atop the railings surrounding our platform. With a brief burst of psychic power, I light all the cones simultaneously. I lower my head and make the Sign of the Cogwheel; I hold my hands close to my chest, then half fold my fingers and interlace them so that my knuckles are prominent.

This incense doesn’t rise, but sinks like dry ice, flowing down the stairs and into the communication officers’ pits, reminding of empty graves on a misty morning, right before a funeral.

The others copy . While the others are silent, I can tell from the electronic emissions flitting between Maeve and the holotable, she hasn’t taken her attention from the battlefield, even for a mont, and neither have I. Eire and Thorfinn, however, have disconnected from the holotable and closed their eyes. Their bowed heads rest against their knuckles so that their lips touch their thumbs.

After a long minute, I straighten up and quietly depart, patting Maeve on the shoulder as I go. I look into the pits as I pass. So officers have lit a small, fake candle, and any that are not quietly talking into their vox are taking a mont to gather their thoughts. So bow in prayer, others stare up at the ceiling, and so stare at their pict-viewers, repeatedly squeezing exercise grips in one hand. A quiet determination fills the room and as I walk down the stairs and the room returns to its previous murmur of activity.

After resting in my quarters and having a short chat with Brigid, I return to the operations room. During my shift, the door to the tomb is demolished and cleared. Three companies prepare to venture inside and they depart at the sa ti my shift ends.

Once it is over, I spend a few hours in the Auto-Temple. Not praying, even after all this ti I can’t take worship seriously. Instead, I enjoy the peaceful atmosphere and bow my head, looking suitably pious for all to see.

Simultaneously, I look over the data the Eldar are sending us and can’t help but feel they are showing off as their reported casualty numbers are missing yet they are rapidly mapping out the Equatorial Tomb Alpha, and sending it to . Thinking of it as ET Alpha, or ETA makes laugh in my thoughts even as I try to parse the consequences of how this scenario is playing out.

Seeing the Craftworld Eldar’s superior equipnt leaves sowhat confused as to how we took the Dark Eldar raid on Marwolv out so easily, so I access those records and see that the Dark Eldar didn’t bring a single tank; only eighty Raiders, an anti-grav IFV; Warriors, their light infantry; and a retinue on three Venom transports, the anti-grav equivalent of a quad bike.

I can see why our blue water fleet shredded them so easily. There would have been no escape from the ordinance on a Missile Cruiser, or the guns of the Destroyers, especially when they have enough firepower to saturate an area. Even a single class three D-POT could probably have taken them.

Witnessing a Craftworld Eldar warhost, even a sowhat crippled one, makes realise why the Imperium rarely bothers to try and wipe them out, no matter how often they preach xenocide. Knowing how hypocritical the Imperium of Man is, the Eldar’s unearthly beauty probably has sothing to do with it too.

Lost in my thoughts, I almost don’t notice when soone sits next to on a pew, looking over, I see Owen Broin, the head of the Imperial Cult in the Stellar Fleet.

“Hello Owen.”

“Good afternoon, Magos.”

“Is this an official chat?”

“You could say that. Alternatively, I’m hoping you can enlighten on a small crisis of faith, one priest to another.”

“What’s the problem?”

“A few individuals have started praying to soone else.”