FORT IMPERIUM, THE MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (868 ABY)
+00:36:15 HOURS INTO MAWSWORN ASSAULT....
[[ VANDAL-ACTUAL //:: HELLION. ]]
A reference to the Second Battle o' Bastion? Now? But why- oh, God!
*'Dia, feuch an coimhead thu thairis orra. Tha mi a 'guidhe ort!'
**'God, please watch over them. I beg you!'
Having played a small part in repelling the Sith's assault on Ravelin, it was clear to see why the first book Erskine ever picked up in the Great Imperial Library was on the very subject that was turning the Woad's skin paler than normal. Despite the severe disparity in assault-intensity, the Lord-General could see the parallels between the defence of Ravelin and that of New Carannia respectively, intensifying his dismay as Lord Erskine continued recalling what he'd read about Vandal Squad and their rallying cry for all who would sacrifice their lives for the Imperium thereafter. A one-of-a-kind BROKEN-ARROW protocol so perfect it turned the tide of battle for Tavlar's stubborn defence against the Sith hordes, but Lord Erskine wasn't so optimistic about such a brazen, careless will to let yet another Special Forces iteration to go up in smoke like that, he was as far from approving of this action as one might expect of any commander in his shoes.
<"Strikegroup: CATHAR, this is Barran! If any of you survived that first wave, do whatever it takes to prevail! Alternatively, if you can make it back to Myrmidon Quarter, Strikegroup: ARCHAIS will do everything in our power to keep you safe! JUST KEEP FIGHTING!!!">
But it was dawning on the Lord-General, in all his unwillingness to let such a vital part of the new array die off so quickly, that having to call in a Broken-Arrow bombardment would be required of IMPAF-Command whether he willed against it or not.
A darkening thought, one the Stormchaser would accept for the sake of everyone.
As soon as he was done, listlessly dropping the comm-device onto the wide, flat border of the holographic-table, the war-planning room was once again resembling something altogether more tranquil, but with the hum of comm-links coming to life with the multitude of voices and their requests, orders, and situation reports alike. All that Erskine was hoping for in this situation was unfolding as planned, with setbacks and losses being brought down to acceptable levels as the Imperials finally got their footing enough to fight back eventually, and in this state of focused flow, the Chieftain of An-Cridheachan Province began making his preparations for a few counters to get the ball rolling. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that Barran's mood had been effected by the destruction of the Special Forces contingents in the early stages, taking the brunt of the Maw's first, most-aggressive actions in the assault, and with little to no support in the area as requested, their valiant efforts (though certainly costly for the Maw's units who dared strike at them first) had been ground down by the assaulting forces to the glaringly-obvious point that their heroic fight had been too costly to recover from.
My best playing-pieces in the area, gone before I could even react to save them. Brutal, man....
However, despite the dire situation in the east and in the north, every other front was holding and offering harsh resistance to the quick-striking efforts of the Mawsworn elements in the west and in the Myrmidon Quarter, giving hope that rectification was indeed possible, a hope that Erskine had no time to hold onto. This was a time for action after all, such actions that were expected of,
"The Stormchaser", as everyone knew him, such actions Barran could feel clicking into place in the forefront of his mind despite the harsh slap of reality that still stung him in that moment. He hardly knew these people, but felt the sting of their passing as if it were the souls of the Blue-Hearts that were departing as a result of the unexpected; and yet, such stomach-turning, heart-sinking emotion was what made the Lord-General give enough of a damn to go above and beyond, to help when it made perfect sense to let go and admit defeat.
'Spoken like a Monarch of Old, Sir Bar-... Erskine. Spoken well. My men are at your disposal. Simply give me the orders and I will relay it to them. As it stands, I also will be acting as your servant during this operation. As you need me.'
In this moment of silent reflection over the holographic-table, the Baron of Sólrike would be fortunate in his assumption that the Chieftain of An-Cridheachan would be at his most-approachable in such moments, contrary to most in his position once more. Chuckling slightly in the beginning of the Baron's reply, the Laird would still adopt a warm, approachable demeanour throughout, despite the expressed confusion at what rank or title to attribute to the Woad, as the Woad himself was still struggling with the same confusions in titles and ranks in turn. In the act of holding Alric's gaze, Erskine knew his sincerity would be taken more seriously as he said,
'My thanks for the compliments, an' from one noble to the next, you'll keep all comparisons between servants an' the perceivable self to yourself for as long as we stand as equals. The fact you're here now is more than enough merit for me to work with, the rest is pressureless proving-ground.... Masterpieces are painted within the Crucible of War we know so well after all, think on what yours might look like when the smoke clears.', bowing his head subtly, though respectfully in consideration of the fact Árheim was putting his life in the hands of IMPAF-Command.
'Private Mikla, reporting.'
Turning round to see the other man that Barran had summoned to Fort Imperium, Erskine responded,
'A private, you say? No, radtrooper. Not any more you're not.', still not completely aware of the undead threat Or't'o had personally witnessed before being brought to the Lord-General's war-planning room. As Erskine made eye-contact with one of his subordinates, he snapped his fingers and exclaimed,
'We'll be needin' Sergeant chevrons at the double, Gorman! Quickly now!', before turning back to Árheim and Mikla to continue their interaction. It wasn't until then that the smell reached Barran's nostrils, turning his stomach harder than before, knowing the specific scent of the undead like it was second-nature; it was in this moment that Lord Erskine realized that all the reports of undead soldiers were true, trying his hardest not to appear angry, as even anger at himself in the crucible could be taken the wrong way by otherwise reliable subordinates, subordinates as reliable as the likes of Or't'o Mikla.
'I have a difficult ask for you, Sergeant Mikla. An ask I would never normally consider for anyone else in your shoes, but I've been told of what you've seen, what you've achieved in your time on New Carannia thusfar.... But if you achieve this, I'll be incorporating your unit into my new legion at the first opportunity. An' on this matter, I make a solemn, god-fearing promise.'
Seeing for himself the Mawsworn raiders, marauders, cultists and undead soldiers, flashing in the eyes of the newly-promoted Sergeant as the rank-plating and unit-specific Sergeant chevrons were placed in the trooper's hands, Barran knew that Mikla would take no unnecessary risks to achieve his goals that night; even as the sun steadily set into darkness around them, with all the macabre, ghastly elements in play, Lord Erskine somehow knew that Or't'o was ready to move and strike out from within the very shadows that seemingly worked against them. This singular Radtrooper-Sergeant had all the odds stacked against him, but Lord Erskine knew he had only one chance to entice the Imperial forces in the east to advance towards the Mawite landing-zones to the north of Myrmidon quarter, one chance for the contingents in the west to meet ER'KIT in the middle, catching the attackers in something of an unorthodox vice-grip if all went smoothly.
'Cutting it short, I need you to use every resource at your disposal if you manage to link up with Strikegroup: ER'KIT. We've lost too many in the east already, I'm not willing to let the support group go out like that, but the way things are looking - you'll be pleased to know the units there are making a good fight of it, pushing westward from Saffia District's outskirts. So ready your men, an' do what you can to survive the undead on the way.... We'll talk more on that issue when you bring them to Fort Imperium, alright?'
HOLDING THE LINE - NEW ROLE, NEW STRATAGEMS: PART 5
FORT IMPERIUM, THE MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (868 ABY)
+00:49:19 HOURS INTO MAWSWORN ASSAULT....
<"Griff 1-1 for High Command, requesting infantry reinforcements. Requesting immediate support!">
'Ready up the DTs, Frayne. The longer we keep our enemies on the other side of the Myrmidon boundaries, the longer we ultimately last before we have to hold the fort against them.'
Though they weren't a great-sized host of Death-Troopers, it was all that Lord Erskine had at his disposal, what-with having to hold the Myrmidon Quarter's entire four-sided boundary with the forces he had at his disposal at the time, but Barran still had faith that sixty well-organised DTs could present something of a nagging irritation for the Mawsworn warriors assailing Sigismund's contingent. Perhaps it would be enough to buy enough time for the forward-operating Myrmidon/Agema contingent to leave some nasty marks on the Mawite contingent in the southwest, and though the Woad could only strike out from within the Myrmidons' square-shaped boundary, at least other exhaustible options were still open to IMPAF-Command on the western front at that time, options of which the Vandmaran Princeps was more than willing to have the Galidraani Lord-General make good use.
<"Requesting artillery fire on coordinates ... ">
'Gorman, get the MLVs, the Predator Launch-Platforms, an' the good ol' classics to work! Coordinates were also sent on datapad, so there is absolutely no chance o' missing or code-blues! I want you overseeing this lot personally, so look lively! MOVE IT!!!'
'Yessir!', 1st-Lieutenant Gorman replied, practically leaping out his seat to run out of the room as Lord-General Barran turned his attention back to the holographic-table. It was in turning around to the display that Erskine noticed Alric's sensitivity to the brightness of the backlighting, quickly understanding that it would take time for his like to adjust, being of a purer physical state to that of the technologically-desensitized counterpart, prompting the Chieftain to mindfully turn the brightness down to something a little less migraine-inducing for the Baron's eyes. The line-infantry commander would be needed at his best, especially for the impending attack on Fort Imperium's walls, as the Maw were always willing to try scaling the walls of whatever hold or fort they encountered in their collective rampages, and the sort that Lord Alric had brought with him were more than capable of slicing, stabbing and bludgeoning anyone and anything that climbed over the ramparts.
<"Gorman to Lance One! Target-areas zeroed, all artillery pieces locked, loaded and awaiting permission to fire! Who's going first, sir?">
'First? Whit? Naaaaw.... None o' that reserved, stoic Jedi caper here. No chances, no mercy. NOT FOR THE WOLVES WHO HOUND OUR EVERY STEP!!!!!'
<"Barran to Lance Three! Permission granted to every - single - working artillery-piece in our array! ALL GUNS WILL FIRE ON YOUR MARK - AN' NO EXCEPTIONS!!!!">
'FOR WHAT IS A WOLF TO A HUNTER'S IRON SLUG?!?!?! WHAT IS A WOLF - TO A FARMER'S BLOOD-HOUNDS?!?!?!?!'
By the time the Lord-General's metaphor was finished, thudding shots and screeching launches could be heard reverberating from the south, and though none could see the shots ringing out from inside the Imperium Gardens, (the only place within Fort Imperium that had space enough to facilitate well-covered artillery placement) everyone in the command-centre's war-planning room knew that this barrage had the makings of something truly destructive for the unlucky Mawites trying to weather it at the other end. But did any turn their noses up at the seemingly overzealous use of their long-distance payload-reserves? Did anyone scoff at the reckless abandon of it all? None, not a single soul there objected to the barbarity of the Lord-General's disregard for Mawsworn lives, as all knew and understood what Barran had endured in his recent experience on Bastion, knowing that whoever was on the other end had it coming sooner or later. Seemingly obvious to state it aloud, but even the Woad could tell that this hatred for the Brotherhood of the Maw was deep-set enough in everyone around him that they were all exhibiting the very essence of indifference towards their enemies' fates.
A sure sign that only the utmost disrespect would be afforded those who tried their luck on Fort Imperium.
Good. That's exactly what I want for them, archetypal insolence to the very last.
Infuriate them!