Strange Bedfellows

by BRBrony9

A Bolt From The Black

The command centre shook once more, dust raining down from another artillery strike on the palace. Major Harding grimaced, the situation on the map showing exactly why. The enemy was coming ever closer, squeezing their surviving defences, their reinforcements hammering at the eastern flank and threatening to break through in several places. He was receiving reports that the pony princess was fighting at the frontline, news that surprised him. He had been sure she would have turned tail and fled as soon as he acquiesced to her suggestion that she should go and help.

It seems I was wrong, he pondered, though he doubted that she could make an appreciable difference, even if she was a psyker. The Auspex showed that the last of the enemy landers had made their runs and deposited their cargo on the snowfield and were climbing back into orbit. With several thousand extra enemy infantry besieging the palace, it seemed that their time was limited indeed.

'Sir! Vox contact!' a Sergeant called out.

'Which company?' Harding questioned without sparing a glance, having received a steady string of reports, calls for help and enemy observations over the last few hours. The Sergeant spoke again breathlessly.

'No sir, new contact It's the fleet!'

Harding whirled around. 'The fleet? How? Are you certain?' he snapped. 'Authenticate with the weekly codes and...'

'I already have, sir!' the Sergeant replied. 'I have positive vox contact with the Emperor's Judgement!'

'But how?' Harding questioned. 'How did they get a message through the storm?'

'They didn't, sir. They got themselves through,' came the reply. Harding pounded on the table in front of him with a fist.

'Then we have a chance! Not much of one, but a chance all the same. Give me that vox.' He held out a hand and received the handset, speaking into it immediately. 'This is Major Harding, 2nd Brigade, 40th Parvian Lancers, in command of all, uh...allied ground forces in Griffonstone. We have received your transmission. We are under heavy fire and surrounded. Enemy infantry and Traitor Astartes attacking in number. Casualties heavy, ammunition low. We need immediate assistance, over.'

'Then you shall have it, Major,' came the stentorian voice of Lord-Admiral Marcos, faintly distorted by static, having demanded to speak to whoever the vox-operators managed to get into contact with on the ground. 'We have broken through the warp storm and routed the Chaos fleet. The storm is now dissipating. We will begin our landing operations shortly. Please relay exact coordinates of your location and the positions of the enemy.'

'Yes, My Lord!' Harding replied, immediately recognising the voice of the Crusade's leader. 'Relaying coordinates now.' He reeled off the string of digits showing the locations of friendly and enemy. 'My Lord, are you in contact with any other Imperial forces on the planet?'

'Not at this time, Major. You are the only ones,' Marcos replied. 'We are attempting to establish communications with any other surviving units. Fear not, Major, you are alone no longer.'

The two officers quickly exchanged the minutiae of their defensive situation, keeping things as brief as possible. The Lord-Admiral once again promised relief for the beleaguered defenders before cutting the link and allowing Harding to focus on holding the line until the promised reinforcements arrived.

We might just live to see the sun again, Harding thought.

The eastern flank was in chaos. Princess Celestia found herself trotting through a crazed muddle of smoke, flame, flashing las-fire and explosions. Men and Griffon alike huddled behind their barricades and threw themselves to the ground as mortar fire came in, but the princess strode unharmed through it all. She patrolled the line, through streets and alleys, through broken houses, positions held by her ponies, by the Griffons, by the Imperials, teleporting close to wherever it sounded like the fiercest fighting was occring. Those humans who had not been informed of her identity could quite easily infer given her regalia, her size, her ethereal unearthly mane and tale, and the fact that, wherever she appeared, enemies died. Her horn would blaze brightly at any targets of opportunity, sometimes lancing through Chaos troopers like a knife through butter, sometimes setting them aflame. Her presence raised the morale of the pony defenders- whether it did the same for the Griffons and humans was questionable, but it certainly pleased them to see their enemies burn.

Since she had no communication with the human headquarters, Celestia had no idea where the strongest push was being made, where the enemy were the closest to breaking through, where she was needed most. All she could do was rely on her senses. Wherever the gunfire rang the loudest, that was where she went. Wherever the fires burned strongest, that was where she went. Wherever the smell of blood and death was strongest, that was where she went. She knew her dawn was coming, and spared another glance skyward. The faintest flickers of the warp storm could be glimpsed, but it was fading fast, and she could see that her plan had worked, as she knew it would, at least the first part. Now it relied on the human fleet to break through the enemy ships. Harding had seemed confident they could do so, but Celestia had no idea of how accurate his belief was- based on fact, or on faith?

All she could do was continue her duty, continue to protect her ponies and their allies, potentially the last of their race left alive on the planet, and in the case of the ponies and Griffons, perhaps the last in all of creation. She was determined, determined beyond all else, not to let her subjects be wiped out, for after all, was that not her purpose? To protect her loyal citizens, to shield them from harm, to guide them, to help and nurture them and ensure their continued development? None of that could be done with these invaders from space running rampant across the planet. Their safety could not be guaranteed, none of them- not even herself. The presence still niggling at the back of her mind told her that.

With the Chaos fleet in disarray at the loss of their flagship, the Imperials had pressed home their advantage, knocking out several cruisers and a dozen escorts in the momentary confusion. The other Desolator-Class had fled, its drives pushing it hard into high orbit, but the Imperial fleet had taken too much damage to pursue, their escort squadrons ravaged especially hard. most likely it would slink away with its surviving escort frigates behind the moon or some asteroid somewhere to repair itself enough to jump to warp and flee like the cowards its crew no doubt were. Two enemy cruisers fled the scene with heavy damage, while the other who stood to fight were crippled and then destroyed with a final volley of broadside fire from their Imperial counterparts.

Low orbit, to the east of the main continent, was littered with debris; twisted metal, shattered chunks of ceramite, bodies, gutted attack craft, burned out hulks of ships-of-the-line. Both fleets had suffered grievous losses in the close-range fight, precisely why such battles were urged against whenever possible by all tactical manuals. Hundreds of thousands of fine young men and women had been killed or wounded, and even as Lord-Admiral Marcos viewed over the mopping-up of a final pair of evidently blood-crazed Chaos corvettes duelling with two Dauntless-Class cruisers in a futile mission, he knew that the Crusade would go no further. They had reached the edge of the galaxy, and as many had feared, it had brought them only death. All but two of their capital ships were gone, dozens of escorts destroyed, half a dozen cruisers all that remained, heavy losses to the bulk transports...

This was the extent of their reach out into the Western Fringe. The fleet was spent, and even though sufficient transports remained to conquer new worlds, their escort was so severely depleted as to render any further forward progress tantamount to suicide, as nobody knew what else lurked beyond this world, this strange place, this land of talking equines. It felt fundamentally wrong to have forged an alliance, albeit a temporary one, with such Xenos, and yet somehow, it did not feel...as wrong as it should.

Ever since they arrived in system, many men had reported such strange feelings. Nothing malignant, nothing from the Empyrean or the forces of the Dark Gods, but something nevertheless tugging at their minds. Unlike any warp-terror or Chaos sorcery, it was a gentle tug, gentler even than the pleasing lies of Slaanesh or the whispered secrets of Tzeentch that sought to unlock men's minds from within. This feeling held no fear, no evil intent. In fact, in private conversations with the Navigator of the Emperor's Judgement, Pericles, Marcos had learned the reason for the smoothness of their initial entry into the system.

The Astronomican, the single point of guiding light, the lighthouse that guided all interstellar travel outside of the Sol System, was a psychic signal given off by the Emperor himself with the purpose of guiding His fleets, His traders and His people. The mutant Navigators of the Navis Nobilite could use the signal as a reference point, the single fixed location from which all others could be calculated. It was this beacon alone, powered by the life-energy of thousands of expendable human psykers, that made Warp travel possible. But out on the fringes of the galaxy, even the western edge which, cosmically speaking, was closer to Holy Terra than the eastern fringe was, tens of thousand of light years from the home of humanity, the light of the Astronomican was dim. Dulled by distance, even the Emperor could only project the signal so far. In distant systems, the dulling of the Light meant that Warp travel was more difficult, and passages between systems often became bumpy, slow, off-target and dangerous.

But Pericles had reported something else. Another signal, not as strong as the Astronomican, but there nonetheless. But it was different. It was not a beacon as such; indeed it did not appear, Pericles reported, to be a psychic presence imprinted on the warp. Rather it seemed to be something outside of the fabric of the Immaterium, pressing in on it, not so much a shining psychic light as an appearance that something, something very powerful, should have been present in the warp, but was not, instead existing outside of it. Nevertheless whatever it was had enough of an effect to be able to act as a guide, ensuring the fleet's safe passage. Pericles reported that his conversations with other Navigators across the fleet had confirmed that they, too, had detected the anomaly, but unlike any other unknown signals, none of them had the slightest doubt that the beacon might have been a trick, a trap, or an ambush. It may have been a psychic signal, but it had no psychic presence within the warp, but neither did it have the symptoms of a Pariah, a psychic blank, a human who lacked any imprint or presence in the warp and led to feelings of revulsion and abhorrence in psykers. None of the Navigators had been driven mad by exposure to it, none had tried to claw their third eye out as a result, and every one of them was in agreement. Whatever the anomaly was, it radiated power, but it also radiated goodness, and it was located on this planet.

This revelation was part of the reason why Marcos had been so keen to break through the storm and to stop the Chaos fleet. Something was down there, and while he had not felt it prudent to inform the fleet, or even his command staff, of its apparent nature, he knew instinctively that it was precisely what the Archenemy and Parthax The Infidel in particular were after. Something with the power the Navigators had reported could not be allowed to fall into the hands of Chaos, and whether this was some ancient artifact, a particular Xenos, or some powerful new substance unknown to science, Marcos knew that the Crusade needed to get back down to the planet below. While it seemed unlikely, the most plausible explanation for the inherent goodness and lack of malign intent the Navigators had detected in the signal was that it was some kind of life form. But there is no goodness beyond mankind, Marcos knew, and precious little within it, either. The Emperor was the only true Good in the galaxy, and while this unknown presence lacked the intensity of even His present, weakened and enfeebled state of mind, it possessed a great strength, enough to reach across the stars and help, deliberately or unknowingly, their jump through the warp to reach its home system.

Marcos watched on as the final fragments of swirling warp energy dissolved, leaving the planet clear and free, the full expanse of its beauty laid out below them and the blackness of space above. The fleet transports were moving in. The Lord-Admiral knew that the Chaos transports had landed a large proportion of their passengers and cargo before the fleet had been able to intercept them and destroy the remnants, those that had not fled helplessly for the outer system and thus taking themselves beyond the present range of the crippled Crusade fleet. Marcos dared not split his forces, even to pursue the Archenemy, as after so many losses the chances of protecting the transports and the planet from anything of any significance was negligible, and it was always possible that the Chaos ships had been able to summon reinforcements, either from realspace or from the depths of the Empyrean itself before they were scattered to the solar winds.

With large numbers of Chaos forces planetside, the Imperials would have to commit the bulk of their own infantry, tanks, artillery, atmospheric aircraft and other forces to take it back, as excessive orbital bombardment would ruin the garden-world nature of the planet and its main attractiveness to the Imperium, and also had the potential to destroy whatever it was that was creating the psychic signal and, Marcos suspected, the feelings of relative calm induced in not just him, but reported from across the fleet since their arrival. First priority, however, was to relieve the surviving Imperial forces bottled up in the city of Griffonstone.

A barrage of rockets fell from the skies, smashing into the cobbled stones of the palace square and showering the Imperial tanks with fragments. One of the Chaos gunships raced overhead, impudent in the face of the pony airships that sat silently floating above, unable to engage as they were down to their last rounds which had to be saved for self-defence. Captain Halix, commanding the defence above ground, peered out from the windows of his makeshift headquarters. The building had already been struck by mortar fire and the roof mostly removed, though there was no indication the enemy knew their precise location. The square outside was strewn with debris from rockets, mortars and artillery fire, but still, somehow, the lines held. The vox crackled once more.

'CP, CP, this is Sapphire Sigma Two-Two! The enemy is all over us!' Rapid gunfire could be heard over the vox-call from the northeastern line. 'Requesting immediate support, over!' Halix glanced over at his expectant deputy, Lieutenant Marne, and shook his head. They had nobody to send.

'CP, CP, Sapphire Sigma Two-Two, urgent! Enemy breakthrough expected! We are being overrun! Request fire mission, danger close! I say again, we are being overrun, request fire mission, danger close, over!' the shouted message became louder and more ragged. Explosions crackled over the net, but Halix could do nothing. He had lost contact with his artillery positions some time ago and couldn't order a fire mission even if his own command post were being overrun.

'CP, CP, come in, please! For the Emperor's sake, is anybody listening?' the man screamed through the vox. 'They're breaking through! They're bre...' he suddenly fell silent as a strange sound filled the channel. Halix dropped his head as he was sure the man, if not his entire company, was dead. But after a few moments, his voice came through once more with static crackling heavily, but he was audible.

'CP, CP...Sapphire Tw...uh, correction, Sapphire Sigma Two-Two...sitrep...the, uh...the horse-alien is here...the princess,' he reported, as a string of explosions echoed across the commlink. 'The enemy, uh...the enemy are retreating. I say again, the enemy are retreating.. over.'

Halix cocked his head. The traitors were about to overrun that position, and then this Xenos princess arrived and suddenly they were fleeing. This would have puzzled and unnerved him if it weren't the tenth time he had heard such a similar report over the past hour. A position would come under heavy, sustained attack, be in danger of being overrun, and then the princess would appear and moments later, all would be well. He knew the princess was a psyker but she seemed to be popping up all over the place. Perhaps the reports were incorrect or incomplete, made by men under stress and under fire, and not all instances of her appearance were actually of the princess herself- one Xenos looked much like another to most guardsmen. But somehow Halix doubted it. Having seen her for himself he found it unlikely she could be easily mistaken for any other of her species, assuming she was indeed the same species as the rest of the, considerably smaller, horse-aliens. Whatever the truth of it, somehow she was springing up time and again at the points of greatest need and rescuing those in trouble, including, he reasoned, his fellow guardsmen and not just her ponies.

Though she alone had not kept the enemy at bay, without her the eastern flank, the most hard-pressed section of the line, would have crumbled long ago, opening a path for the enemy to charge onward to the palace and attack the rest of the defences from behind, as had happened earlier with the outer ring of positions when the Traitor Marines had arrived. Having brought themselves the extra time, the defenders' miracle was almost here.

'CP, this is headquarters,' Major Harding's voice came over the link. 'I have contact with fleet command, I say again, I have contact with fleet command. Relay to all units, friendly reinforcements are incoming from orbit. All units are to exercise appropriate fire discipline, do not engage any aircraft until positive ID is obtained.'

Halix wasn't sure he had heard correctly, but the Major repeated his whole message again just to make sure. Halix had no time to think about the how, only the when and where. After acknowledging the message he swiftly began relaying signals to units across the city, alerting them to the imminent arrival of friendly aid at a timely point in the battle when tiredness was starting to set in, ammunition running low and casualties mounting. Company commanders acknowledged his signal, and gleefully relayed it to their platoon leaders, who spread the word amongst the frontline troops. Soon enough it spread even to the pony and Griffon contingents also, and while nobody dared cheer openly, more than a few eyes were cast skyward when they had a spare moment. Even a redoubled enemy effort at both flanks, possibly in response to the same news, couldn't dismay them now. Help was finally coming.

As the Imperial dropships massed in low orbit and the bulk landers loaded up their precious cargo, atmospheric fighters swung down into the atmosphere. Captain Eliss Muran rode out his second re-entry to Kuda Prime. This time it was in darkness, although the sky was still lit by the afterglow of auroral spectacle and there was a growing patch of blue at eastern edge of the inky bowl of black. Emerging from the sheath of ionised plasma thrown up around his fighter by the speed of his re-entry compressing the air beneath it, Muran regained contact over the vox.

His first message was to his wingman, Rall. 'Hammer Two, this is Hammer One. Comm check, over.'

'Hammer One, Hammer Two. Five-by-five, over,' came the same crisp reply as last time. Rall's jet was in position a short distance behind and to the port of the flight leader. Another four Lightning strike fighters accompanied them. More were dropping in across the planet, he knew, along with Marauder bombers, scout craft, dropships, shuttles, landers, tank transports and medical barges, all the necessary airborne paraphernalia for an Imperial invasion.

After a comm check with the rest of Hammer Flight, Muran turned his attention to the skies above. 'Fleet Command, this is Hammer flight. Re-entry completed, altitude two-hundred-fifty thousand. Range to target is four hundred miles, over.'

'Fleet Command copies all. Hammer Flight, cleared to descend to angels thirty. Contact Griffonstone ground command on frequency band 121.75 for CAS instructions, over.'

'Hammer Flight, copies all, out.' Their objective was the beseiged city of Griffonstone, where Imperial forces were holed up, having apparently established an alliance with the locals. Hammer Flight were to conduct CAS, close air support, operations around the city to assist the defenders and to clear a path for the incoming Imperial reinforcements. Muran switched frequencies and tried to contact the ground forces they would be assisting.

'Griffonstone command, this is Hammer Flight, with you at angels two-five-zero, inbound for CAS, standing by for tasking, over.' He waited for a reply, which came a few seconds later over a crackly link.

'Hammer Flight, Griffonstone. Good to hear your voice, over. This is Major Harding, 2nd Brigade, 40th Parvian Lancers. Standby, I'll transfer you to my spotters.' After a few moments of static, another voice came on the line.

'Hammer Flight, this is Lieutenant Atter, Air Liason Officer. Glad to have you with us. Cleared to expedite your descent to angels thirty. Be advised, local mountain range has maximum height of 14,510ft MSL. Griffonstone is at 11,150ft MSL, surrounded by higher peaks. Do not, I say again, DO NOT engage airships located over the city, they are friendly, say again, friendly. How copy, over?'

Muran read back all the pertinent details and checked with the rest of his flight that they had received them. How odd, he pondered, that the first thing we did on our first sortie here was to shoot down one of those airships, and now they're on our side. 'Hammer Flight copies all, ALO. Descending angels thirty.' The flight of Lightnings dipped down, dropping through the thickening atmosphere, lower and lower, through thin, wispy high-altitude cloud and down into masses of cumulonimbus far to the south of the Hyperborean Mountains. Within minutes they were closing rapidly on the imposing peaks.

Still aboard the EAS Starswirl, Atter was in prime position hovering above the battlefield to observe enemy movements and direct the newly arriving friendly craft for close air support. 'Hammer Flight, ALO. Ground command reports they have you on Auspex, range 100 miles. Be advised, friendly positions are within the city itself. Enemy forces are located east, say again, easy of city perimeter, and within city perimeter outside of the northern quarter. Friendly perimeter will be marked by infrared strobes. Be advised, some enemy VTOL craft were operating in the vicinity, current locations unknown, over.'

'Hammer Flight, copy that. We are standing by for tasking. Six Lightnings, loadout four Hellfury AP, over,' Muran replied. The Hellfury missiles carried an anti-personnel warhead loaded with incendiary submunitions that would spread fire like rain, while the autocannon's high explosive rounds could pepper a target area with shrapnel and blast. While the Lightning was originally designed primarily as an air superiority aircraft, it could certainly turn its hand to close air support operations when outfitted with the right weapons, and the Hellfury was definitely the right weapon for engaging defenceless infantry. Lieutenant Atter immediately recognised the fact, and responded.

'Hammer Flight, ALO. Be advised, your target is one quarter mile east, say again, east of the city. Track north. Open snowfield, enemy LZ. Target is infantry in the open. Abort is in the clear, egress north to regroup. How copy?'

'Target one quarter mile east of city, track north, infantry in the open. Abort in the clear, egress north. Hammer Flight copies all,' Muran replied. He flicked his master-arm switch to on. 'Hammer Flight is descending angels one seven.' The six jets went lower, the outline of the mountains dim in the darkness, keeping above the report highest peak until they began their attack run. The infared targeting system built into his helmet for night operations enhanced what little light was available to show the foothills below that remained shrouded in darkness, the sun having not yet risen. The aircraft swept in, snowfields, glaciers and rugged peaks passing beneath them. On their infrared sights, the flashing and blinking of a fierce gun battle was visible ahead as the city hove into view. There were also a ring of flashing green-white strobes, the beacons indicating the location of the friendly forces.

'ALO, Hammer 1. I have visual on the city. I read your strobes, over,' Muran announced. Atter responded.

'Hammer 1, ALO, copy. Hammer Flight, cleared to orbit one-zero miles south of target. Hammer 1, standby...' A few moments passed. 'Hammer 1, you are cleared in hot from the south. Egress north, target is enemy infantry in the open. Mark with flare, over.'

'Cleared in hot, egress north, will engage, over,' Muran replied. He gripped the control column tightly and pushed the nose down. He could see the fairly open snowy area east of the city clearly. He flipped the infared system off, as he knew if he continued to look through it he would soon be functionally blinded.

Aboard the Starswirl, one of the starboard deck guns roared into life. Instead of a high-explosive round, however, it fired an illumination round, and suddenly a miniature sun blazed into life, a magnesium flare burning an intense white, lighting up the snowfield like it was noon. Enemy infantry still organising and marching from their landing zone looked up with shaded eyes.

'Hammer 1, copy your mark. Running in hot, 30 seconds.' Muran armed his missiles and pushed his nose down further. The flare was clear and bright ahead of him, and would have blinded him if he had been using the infrared system. He could clearly see small black dots, like ants, moving across the snow, and he had his target. He squeezed the firing stud multiple times.

Two of his Hellfury missiles left their underwing rails within a second of each other, screaming across the sky. Travelling at near the speed of sound, the Lightning's approach had been unnoticed by the enemy infantry below, and by the time one of them saw the flashes from the Hellfury's exhausts and shouted an alarm, it was too late. The missiles streaked in and their warheads detonated in mid-air. Submunitions contained within each weapon were thrown clear by the initial detonation, before their own explosive charges went off.

A vast swathe of sky above the snowfield suddenly turned to fire. The incendiary submunitions spread a burning gel-like mixture across the snow, and across the men marching across it. A large patch of snow melted almost instantly as the fire simply fell from the sky, creating a long flaming trail along the snowfield. Dozens of men flailed in agony, their skin blistering and blackening, their clothes igniting and melting into their flesh. Suddenly a roar filled the air as the Lightning passed overhead, almost breaking the sound barrier, racing away to the north. A cheer went up from the airship crews and from those defenders in upper floors of buildings able to observe the sudden incendiary attack.

'Hammer 1, ALO. Good effect on target. Egress north, orbit west to regroup. Hammer 2, cleared in hot, tally same target. Egress north, over.' Muran climbed away, banking to port as ordered, heading west to loop round and rejoin the 'taxi rank' of Lightnings waiting for their turn to run in. From the cockpit he could look and observe as Rall, Hammer 2, swooped in on the already panicked enemy infantry. Fire blossomed once more on the snowfield, revealing more of the bare rock beneath as the intense heat melted away both ice and man. Hammer 3 followed, then 4, 5, and 6, and before Muran was even ready to run in again, hundreds of enemy infantry, unsuspecting until moments before, lay dead or dying, hideous burns turning many of them into human mummies, their charred flesh bearing a closer resemblance to charcoal than to skin and muscle.

'Hammer 1, Hammer 1, Auspex contact!' Atter's voice came through clear as a bell. 'HQ reports Auspex contact, six miles west of your location, possible enemy VTOL craft, do you copy, over?'

Muran had been all but daydreaming, focused on watching the rest of his flight running in and dealing death to those below. But now death might be stalking him. He scanned his Auspex screen.

'Hammer 1, I copy, but I have no contact, over,' he replied, his screen being blank save for his own wingmates. But...wait, something...there! 'Hammer 1, scratch that, I have the contact. Confirm not friendly?' he queried, already bringing his jet around into a tight starboard bank.

'Hammer 1, ALO. Confirmed, contact is not friendly,' Atter replied quickly. 'You are cleared to engage the bandit, over.'

'Hammer 1, clear to engage, copy.' Muran flicked a switch, changing to his guns, one autocannon, two lascannons. His Lightning swung around, the onboard Auspex tracking the target, several thousand feet below him. A VTOL craft was of little threat to an interceptor like his, and he pushed the nose down again, determined to protect not just his squadronmates, but also the friendlies in the city below.

There he is.

'Hammer 1, I have the bandit in sight,' he called, diving in. 'Hammer 1, engaging!'

His wingtip lascannons flashed, the ventral autocannon chattering. The enemy craft, though more maneouverable than the Lightning, was considerably slower, and had almost no time to react. Las-bolts burned brightly as they cut through the thin armour of the gunship, and the autocannon added its weight to the contest, which was notably one-sided. The Chaos gunship simply exploded into a thousand pieces and spread itself across the rocks and snow beneath. Muran pulled up and swooped back into the sky, turning to rejoin the rest of his flight who had been pounding the enemy infantry below.

'Hammer Flight, ALO. Good effect on target, I say again, good effect on target. Looks like some of them are retreating, but they don't have anywhere to go,' Atter alerted the fighters. 'Hammer 1, in position?' he asked.

'Hammer 1, ready to go,' Muran replied.

'Hammer 1, you are cleared in hot, Target is enemy infantry in the open. Give 'em hell.'

Comments

[Eric Longtooth]

Hehehehe, gotta love a healthy dose of CAS.

[warpsmith]

it was a gentle tug, gentler even than the pleasing lies of Slaanesh or the whispered secrets of Tzeentch that sought to unlock men's minds from within.

How does he know about chaos gods names? they are not told to anyone except inqusition because it is deemed too dangerous to anyone else know about them. Astra militarum or navy does not even know demons exist and if they do, they are to be shot sou information does not spread. Because how could anyone worship something that they dont know even exist. In a audio drama Assassinorum: The Emperor's Judgement. There is a priest ho tells that there was 18 primarchs and not 9, and that they were lied about it. Assasin was thinking that this man was a mad man because everyone know that there was only 9 primarchs and one traitor. Switch by the way in a book "forges of mars", saying "Horus" is said to bring bad luck.
And how is major ordering aeronautica forces around? They can only be ordered by the officer of the fleet advisor that should be with is retinue.
And by the way aeronautica uses kilometers not miles.

[BRBrony9]

9730471
As far as I know the names of the Gods were known, never read anything that said otherwise, I haven't read any of the Heresy books. But if that is so, then just look at it as it's not him thinking that, it's just my way of expressing the sentiments he felt.

And the Major isn't giving the pilots orders, he's relaying them to his Air Liason Officer/spotter who gives them orders directly relating to their attack, because that's how close air support works, even if the aircraft is from a different branch or the pilot outranks the spotter. The spotter is the one who has eyes on the target, knows the situation, the locations of the enemy and friendlies, etc. Neither he nor the Major organised the mission, whoever was responsible for Aeronautica operations aboard the flagship organised it and issued the orders and the briefings to the pilots. As to the units of distance, km are pretty meaningless to me except in a broad sense as we use miles here in the UK, so I stick with what I know to avoid unit-based errors of stuff like altitude, airship length, planet diameter etc. If it helps you can translate it to KM in your head and pretend they are using them instead.

[warpsmith]

9731372
And i have never heard astra militarum using callsings for their squads nor has there never been a mention of using imperial navys support as CAS, not even in elysian audiodramas or books. What they do use is squads leaders name as a identification, for a example.

Kabanov moved into the cover of the window frame. He raised a finger to his vox-bead, keyed the command channel, pressed the transmit stud and said, ‘Everyone to firing positions, now!

---

Squads Kashr and Rahkman will be crossing the square any second. The orks are right behind them. All squads prepare to fire on my order.’

I can imagine if there are skitaari troops in the fight and they hear guard saying callsings like alpha or gamma, they would be confused because they use thous as their names.

[BRBrony9]

9732532
The Astartes use names as squad names, yes, but not sure about the Guard. Besides, there are untold thousands of regiments across the galaxy, none of them are standardised in any meaningful way, shape or form beyond STC weapons and vehicles, so it's almost a guarantee that some regiments use proper callsigns like a real military.

And if you don't use Navy/Aeronautica aircraft as close air support...what do you do instead? Pray for rain? What else are they there for? The atmospheric craft exist to support ground operations, they have no other purpose.

[Basilisk]

Good stuff, good stuff. I love reading/listening to chatter between pilots, even if I only understand it in a vague sense.