Commissar Helburk lights a Lho-stick, taking a deep drag before looking over the main street of the town. His group of kriegers has been assigned to the settlement known as Ponyville as a garrison in addition to participating in battles in the nearby forest. Most of the forces have encamped outside of town. A large group of them stand guard at the train station, maintaining the guard. A few patrols move down the streets of the town. The vat-born line troops for the most part ignore the locals, not even accepting gifts the ponies try to give to them in the form of baked goods and drinks. A couple of officers alongside the Commissar have accepted some gifts, largely out of the pragmatic idea of extending their rations.
As for Helburk himself, he’s currently sitting in front of a business seemingly made of confections. The absurdity of the local culture is not lost on the Commissar. But it’s a welcome familiarity to the agri-worlds he’d fought on prior. An appreciation for an abundance of food is certainly a trait of the mordia-born commissar. He smiles subtly as a plain bagel is brought out to him with some butter by a toothpaste-blue equine. She stands for a moment, as if contemplating conversation, but eventually returns to the building. Helburk takes a bite as a patrol passes him, staring dead ahead and walking in perfect lockstep, too perfect, it’s unnerving, even to a guy whose home regiment is renowned for efficiency and discipline.
The commissar considers the array of cheery shops. He'd never actually seen such indulgence among structures in the imperium, but that could just be the local culture. In spite of an alien invasion and the marks of tanks rolling down the cobbled streets, the locals appear to be content to keep on with their lives. He’s especially fascinated by the local governors abode, a crystalline palace with a passing resemblance to a tree. According to most locals it was grown within moments, but the commissar has his doubts, just like he doubts that the local royalty actually raises the sun and moon each and every day. He finishes his bagel before heading for the castle, which had been converted into a regional headquarters for the Imperial forces in the everfree valley, largely due to the realtime “magical” Map that lay within. It is fine grained enough to see Large orkish groups moving, well, specifically the strife that induces, thus making defense a lot easier to coordinate.
A trio of Leman Russ Vanquishers rumble around a corner, their commanders poking out of the cupolas for a good view as they head for the train station, which had been recently renovated by the Kriegers, who managed to put in the needed modifications in about a day, such as cranes and ramps for loading their armor and artillery onto the great trains they use for transporting materials to the front. Most Ponies stop what they’re doing to watch as the machines lumber on, still amazed at imperial vehicular engineering. Similar reactions were had at the first views of the armored trains that roll into station at regular intervals to collect munitions and carry them forward to the front, where trench warfare has taken hold.
The tanks pass the commissar at a good pace, turning at the end of the road and releasing the locals from their spell of fascination. The commissar, used to humans, walks towards the castle, looking straight ahead. He soon regrets this as he collides with a local, both collapsing in a heap. The commissars hat skitters off a few feet, along with a bolt pistol magazine. The commissar collects himself first, getting up to look at the local, one hand instinctively going to his bolt pistol to make an example of the offending xeno. The pistol slides out of the holster easily, and he primes the slide as he shouts down at the white unicorn.
“You filthy xeno, you dare to trip up a commissar of his godly glory the emper-” his words choke back a little at the reaction of the xeno. Most citizens dumb enough to be in the way of a commissar would be confused, or even angry at the commissar for interfering with their day. What surprises the commissar is the fact that the unicorn is obviously upset about what happened, as she, at least he thinks it's a she, he’s still getting used to identifying the equines, attempts to apologize, stammering at several points about how she’d been listening to music and wasn’t looking. What’s really shocking to the commissar is those eyes. He sees one through the remnants of a shattered purple sunglasses lens, and the other poking above the top of the other lens of the rumpled shades, which fall off after another moment. Instead of the usual range of colors one might see in a human, this equine possesses a pair of bright magenta eyes, the emotion in them takes him aback. For a man used to the dull grey, expressionless windows of a krieger, the expressiveness of the ponies astounds him still. While he would normally end any being that got in his way, the sheer expressiveness of this creature make him hesitate. He holds his pistol in one hand, still hearing the pleas of the unicorn in front of him, then he hears a voice behind him, faint and soft, but surprisingly clear.
“Um, sir, is there a problem here?” He turns around, to be faced with a pair of Equines he’d seen before, in a couple briefings. One is orange, with a blonde mane, Head of hair? He’s still not familiar with the terminology, and a brown hat. A bandage covers about half of her face and one eye, reportedly she’d been burned in fighting in a desert settlement several days ago. The other, the one that had addressed him is yellow, with a long pink mane and tail. The commissar looks from one to the other.
“Just dealing with a disobedient citizen, nothing to worry about.” He waves them off with one Black-gloved hand The orange one, Apple-something as he recalls, looks from the bolt pistol to the commissars face and back to the pistol.
“If by ‘Dealing with, you mean killin’ in cold blood’, i’d reckon that yeah, we’ve got a problem here. Now what did lil’ ol’ Vinyl do to you, she’s only about, what, half your weight and height?” The orange pony, who apparently is a living strategic resource due to a psychic connection with some sort of artifact weapon, seems to be throwing that weight.
“She tripped up a commissar of The holy God Emperor!” The commissar summons ire back into his voice, putting on the usual imperious tone of a graduate of the schola progenium. “And I would grant you the same fate for questioning an agent of the god-emperor if you weren’t a strategic asset”
“Yer pretty high and mighty there with that big flashy coat and gun of yours, aren’t ya?”
“that just happens to be my job! What knowledge do you have of war? you've lived on an idyllic agri-world all your life! You're not even a soldier, you're the local fruit farmer who was chosen by an ancient artifact because you’ve got an honest streak the width of a battleship, not a good trait for a military commander I think.” The commissar looms over Applejack, utilizing all six feet, four inches of his height to his advantage. “I bet you’ve not seen a day of combat in your life before the greenskins came.” A voice fills the silence following the commissar’s scathing remark.
“W-well, sir, we did go into combat, if you could call it that, a few years ago at canterlot.” The yellow pegasus who’d been accompanying the Orange equine looks up somewhat meekly at the commissar. “A-although those were changelings, not really aliens, but they are a threat, and there have been other times...we have a surprising number of threats to equestria”
“I see…” The commissar looks at the two Ponies for a moment. While he had been meaning to make a public showing of the ponies, at this point, it wouldn’t be worth the effort. The Commissar buckles his holster shut. He looks back to the groveling pony behind him, scowling. After a moment, he sighs. “Just know that next time, I shall not be so merciful.” He gives one more glare around before walking off, making sure to crush the dropped sunglasses underfoot as he strides towards the crystalline castle in the center of the town. The two equines he’d argued with begin to make conversation with the one he’d collided with, presumably reassuring her and telling sweet lies that everything is going to be alright.
The rest of the journey is uneventful, the commissar causing most ponies to give him a wide berth. Two Krieg Grenadiers stand at the base of the staircase, alongside a pair of Equestrian guards. The Kriegers remain at the full attention they’ve presumably been at all day. The Equines straighten up, adjusting their rifles up to be straight as they see the commissar approach. He nods at the two ponies as he climbs up the steps. When he enters the hall, he lets out a low whistle, still astounded by the large, detailed map of the realm that lies at the center of the main hall of the castle. Two Death korps generals, several Equestrian command staff, and The space marine’s second company captain all stand around the table. One of the Equestrians seems to be engrossed with the map along with the space marine as the other three individuals speak with their communications officers.
The kriegers look up at me, an almost bored expression on their faces as they rattle off their last commands to their radio operators.
The two men are almost identical appearance, being craggy, grey men. Both have placed their crested helmets on the table. The two equestrians are as different as their kind usually are, one is charcoal grey, with teal eyes, odd, reptilian wings and a suit of midnight blue armor. The other one is white, with a blue mane...oddly familiar color scheme to the one that the commissar had collided with earlier. He holds his helmet in a lavender aura of “magic” as they call it.
“What’s the current situation?”
The white Equestrian replies, his voice reminiscent of a casual youth rather than a strong warrior, odd, since I’ve seen this one explode orks with his powers. “We have been maintaining the line that imperial forces reinforced three days ago, and we are preparing a party to look for signs of ork travel in the everfree.” A Krieger finishes deadpanning his orders and looks to the commissar.
“Commissar, I have decided to have you accompany the force into the everfree. There will be a centaur personnel carrier outside for you to take to the edge of the forest.”
“Yes, M’lord” The commissar bows slightly to the General, the commander he’d been assigned to, before he turns on his heel and exits. As the general had said, a centaur sits outside, with a radio operator and a few other specialists. The drive is quiet and quick, and five minutes after leaving the castle, the Centaur arrives at the edge of the woods, where a hundred or so ponies, two death Korps Platoons and a space marine tactical squad have assembled with their vehicles. The space marines have brought a Rhino transport and a vindicator siege tank. The Death korps have ten Chimera transports, a hellhound, two leman russ tanks with battle cannons, and a leman russ punisher. The heavy weapons teams are busy packing up their equipment into the chimeras and the space marines are conducting their pre-battle prayers.
The equestrians are the source of most of the noise in the field, chatting and preparing their armor and other equipment for fighting. It takes about fifteen minutes for all forces to be prepared for combat, during which the commissar reviews the troops, whose discipline is exemplary as usual. The commissar boards the centaur, fastening his respirator as the two command teams board their centaurs as well. At a barked order, the vehicles roll forward.
The Ponies follow behind the armor, treading carefully upon the splintered remains of trees that the vehicles had bowled over. The going is slow, the vindicator and the leman Russ’ having to use their cannons to clear brush every so often. The commissar looks around as the column reaches a river. The engineer team in one of the foremost Chimeras get out to investigate a fording while the rest of the troops establish a defensive position. The commissar and his command team stand a little ways away from the preparations, observing them to ensure that the equestrians keep up with the Kriegers.
In the distance, a roar began to build. The space marines prepare their weapons, the heavy weapons operator hefting his lascannon to his shoulder as the others cock their boltguns, excluding the sergeant and melta gun operator. The sergeant places a hand to his inferno pistol in its holster, while the melta operator keeps the close range weapon lowered. The sound grows louder, The Equestrians ready themselves raising the primitive ballistic weapons towards the sound. Then, the source of the cacophony comes into view above the treetops. Unsurprisingly, The source of the sound is none other than a formation of ork rotary-wing craft, held up by little more than wind and belief. The lead craft are small, single-ork machines, each one with a grinning pilot letting loose upon the force with salvos of rockets. The rockets go wild, striking almost anywhere by their intended targets, a few manage to somehow strike the Imperial lines, causing several fatalities.
A pair of Twin-rotor craft follow the attack craft, each with a gang of about ten orks, covered in warpaint and sending bullets across the air incoherently. The Space marine with the Lascannon fires at long last after he gets the shot. The beam lasts all of an instant, a carmine slash across the air. It leaves a smoking hole through one of the one-man helicopters, and its pilot. After a moment that, in a more humorous fic, would be an opportunity to have the pilot look to the audience in surprise, the aircraft explodes in a bright orange fireball. After a few more moments of waiting for the aircraft to come into range, the Kriegers, space marines and equestrians open fire on them. The sharp cracks of lasguns and the roar of bolters mixes into the erratic staccato of the equestrian firearms and bolts of energy being flung at the orks.
One of the twin rotors succombs to the pressure, plummeting into the woods near the clearing. The heavy weapons teams finish setting up, one team with lascannons and one with autocannons. The deep thud of autocannons simply mixes into the palette of sound. Then another, deeper sound begins to come from the woods. Instead of the sound of the rotorcraft, it’s deeper, a thick, smog-laced chugging coming closer and closer. The Leman Russ Tanks turn their cannons towards the sound, along with the lascannon teams. In a scene that could only happen with orks, what looks to be a locomotive converted to run off the rails tears into view among the trees, covered in orks. The Front of the vehicle has been fashioned into a wedge, tearing trees out of the way as it powers towards the imperial lines. The tanks open fire, only succeeding in dislodging the orks riding on the front of the insane machine. The machine makes an attempt to turn to better face the force, and overcorrects, barely missing the armor, and leaving two bloody holes in the equestrian lines. It would have gotten away had the vindicator not found its target. With a mighty roar it lets loose a round into the back of the machine. The detonation of the demolisher shell manages to cripple the beast, causing it to flip and roll several times before stopping
Then the cargo of the machine emerge, dozens of orks, clad in rudimentary armor and pissed off about the loss of their transport. At their head stand six figures, head and shoulders above the orks around them. The nobs in their clanking armored suits appear unharmed by the crash, just dirtied. With a guttural roar, they sound the charge, leading their green army towards the imperial lines. The Death korps ready their firing lines, taking aim at their targets in almost perfect sync. The ponies take a little longer to level at the new threat, but eventually get a bead on target. When the cascades of fire fly into the orks, a few fall, but most disregard and try closing to melee.
The commissar arrives at the line around the same time as the orks. He draws his power sword from its scabbard, electric blue energy wrapping around the blade when he ignites it. The Kriegers brace for the charge, bayonets facing the enemy like a hedge. The commissar levels his bolt pistol at the enemy, taking careful aim and firing on the enemy with precision fire. A few orks fall before impact. The krieg line holds as the guardsmen viciously stab and slash with bayonets into the Orks. The commissar himself tears through the greenskins, sword cleanly severing them in half. The Equestrian line does not fare quite as well. The ponies, while many are individually effective, lack the discipline and inherent aggressiveness of the kriegers. Their line begins to fall back after the initial impact of the orks, the sounds of the crude weapons of the orks crashing into equine flesh almost as loud as the roar of the guns. The space marines have turned their weapons against the foe as well, bolt shells leaving craters in the flesh of the greenskins as they detonate.
The commissar takes note of the equestrian retreat, and his instincts take control. He makes his way to the equestrians lines, on the verge of breaking as the captain orders tem to pull back. He levels his bolt pistol at their captain and pulls the trigger. The Pony’s head is there one moment, and is a cloud of pink mist the next. The soldiers around The ex-captain almost break at the sight. The commissar points at a equestrian lieutenant.
“You’re in command now, ordering a retreat without my permission will yield the same result as it did for him.” The commissar fires into the orkish lines, showing his marksmanship off to punctuate his threat. Many of the ponies who’d considered retreating appear to have lost that childish notion in the face of something scarier than the orks behind them. His eagle-eyed observation of the ponies is interrupted by a sickening crunch towards the krieger lines. The commissar looks over, and his eyes widen at the sight of one of the giant armored orks using an imperial guardsman as a basing weapon, laughing like a maniac as he wades into combat. Dozens of lasbolts bounce off his armor, and boltshells do minimal damage, leaving pits in the heavy plates. The Commissar knows this ork. He’d been identified as being a leader of the force currently invading the planet, Grombrig’s his name as far as he remembers.
The ork spies the Commissar, and with a grunt, charges. Commissar Helburk braces his sword for impact. He prepares for the fight, muttering a quick prayer to the emperor. When the ork is but a few feet away, the ork is suddenly pushed over by the sergeant of the space marine squad. The sergeant pauses for a moment, shaking his power fist before punching again, leaving a crater in the armor of the ork. After he gives a few more blows, he levels his inferno pistol at the ork, a brilliant beam of energy boring into the armored ork. A cloud of smoke and steam emerges from the ork in his armor during the immolation. The rest of the space marines lay into the orks with combat knives and bolters.
Without their boss, the orks begin to break, legging it from the battle as best they can. Had they been alone, the astartes may have put more effort into the chase, but raking their backs with bolter fire suffices for the time being. In the haze of smoke and ozone after the engagement, the Commissar looks over the troops under his command. In the engagement, the kriegers suffered seventeen percent losses, perfectly acceptable given that it was an ambush. The Equestrians, who took the brunt of the charge, are a lot worse for wear. Of the original hundred and seven ponies, only forty-two remain combat-effective, of whom, only one is any sort of officer, a sergeant from the markings on her armor. The mangled remains of the other sixty-four lay in the grass and brambles. Many of the ponies are looking away, seeming quite ill at the gruesome sight. For many of the conscripts, this was their first day of real combat. The commissar nods in approval, the battle would have resulted in heavier human casualties had he not removed the coward from the head of the Equestrian forces.
“Alright, we’re going to be resting here for the night, I’ve heard it's none too pleasant to be in these woods at night, especially on the march, and we’ve had sufficient casualties today.” The commissar barks the order out, glancing at the space marines. The sergeant nods his approval as he wipes some fried viscera from his power fist. The Kriegers, upon hearing this, grab their entrenching tools, getting to work on entrenching in the area and setting up camp. Many of the ponies remain somewhat still, wide eyes looking at the corpses of their former friends and their killers. The Commissar looks towards a clump of the ponies, many of whom are the magic-using caste he’d seen all over. He approaches them, hand resting on his bolt pistol.
“Equestrians, You’re on grave duty, I want these bodies in a pile and torched by sunset, Especially the orks, they spread spores when they are left to rot.” The commissar turns on his heel, checking the sun. If the Ponies are only half as efficient as the Kriegers, they’ll get it done by sundown, in about two hours by his reckoning. SOmething bothers the Commissar, why were these orks here? A simple scouting sortie wouldn’t require the presence of the second-in-command of the operation, whose body has mixed most unpleasantly with molten sections of his armor. What were the orks up to? He decides to enquire to the Equestrian sergeant, who’s watching a small group of ponies dig out their own trench, pitifully slow compared to the siege masters of the Imperium. Her mid-grey coat is stained in places with soot and blood, in addition to greenskin viscera. Her mane, which had been well tamed earlier, is bedraggled in similar manner
“Sergeant, what would the orks be seeking in this region?” He leans against a chimera, watching as she thinks for a moment.
“Well, there is the old castle out around here, but there’s really nothing there but old records and some relics.”
“How well documented is this place outside of the area.”
“Well, there are myths out around the coast that the castle is loaded with incredibly powerful ancient relics, but since the elements of harmony got taken out of it a few years ago, nothing of note is really there.”
“So the orks were following a myth, perhaps.”
“Wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen in Equestria, sir.” The sergeant appears to be using the somewhat banal conversation to cope with the recent events
“You know, for once I agree, xeno.” The commissar draws a lho-stick from his pack, lighting it and taking a deep drag, this war’s a unique one. When they return from the sortie, he’ll request to have a force sent to investigate this castle.