Strange Bedfellows

by BRBrony9

Fillydelphia Freedom

The tanks were being slowed. Not just slowed, but held, by the Chaos defences. In spite of the heavy air attacks being unleashed upon them, the defenders of Fillydelphia were resisting with a peculiar vigor. They had given up Baltimare almost without a fight, in order to lure the Imperial forces into a trap. Here, however, there would be no such capitulation. Here, they were fighting to the death for the first line of trenches. How much more vehemently would they try and assert themselves deeper into the city itself?

Captain Mayner ordered Dinnis to move cautiously. Big Beautiful Doll was a cumbersome beast, but a talented driver, treating her like a gallant gentleman should treat a beautiful woman, could persuade her to move with ease and relative grace across the battlefield. It was hard, but it was necessary when faced with the potential of finding land mines every few feet. There was no way of telling how many were out there, so all the crew could do was to move slowly and hope.

If a tank ran over a mine, the crew would most certainly know about it. A single mine could destroy a tank, so each movement had to be done with care. One mis-step, so to speak, could be fatal to the entire crew, and no driver wanted to be responsible for that. Neither did any commander. Mayner kept a close watch through his thermoscope, looking for any tiny indication he might see which might indicate a mine lying in their path. The likelihood of him spotting one was remote, but he would certainly not see them if he did not look.

Mayner instructed Dinnis to position the tank in the wake of one of the other vehicles ahead of them. In a minefield, the only safe place was somewhere you knew for sure that there were no mines. The only place you knew there were no mines was somewhere that another vehicle had already driven over. Following in the tracks made by another tank was the safest course of action, especially when, as in this case, that other tank was fitted with a heavy dozer blade, mounted to the front of the hull, which could be lowered to clear obstacles. It could also be used to either detonate mines, or force them out of the tanks' path, depending on how deeply the mine was buried and how much pressure the blade applied to the ground.

Dinnis carefully brought the tank around. Once they were in behind the dozer tank they could be fairly assured of not running over any mines, but they still had to cross open, flat ground to get there. Mines could be all over the place. Missiles were streaking in from the enemy defences, too, just to add to their worries. The tanks of the rest of 1st Battalion were advancing slowly to their left and right, moving, as they were, with caution, watching for hidden dangers.

With skill, and more than a little luck, Big Beautiful Doll reached the tracks left by the dozer tank. Dinnis swung the vehicle around to line up with them, and followed the other vehicle toward the enemy. They were closing in on the first of the trench lines, which had taken a heavy pounding from friendly air attacks, as well as the initial artillery bombardment. There were still pockets of resistance there, men fighting to the death rather than fall back or surrender. Most of the heavy weapons in the first line had been knocked out, however, and there was little the Chaos infantry there could do to stem the flow of advancing tanks that were starting to reach their positions.

Tanks crushed the razor wire barricades and swept on, crossing the trenches with ease, sponson-mounted heavy bolters chattering as they swept adjacent sections with fire, blowing men to pieces. A few with greater presence of mind tried to hurl satchel charges or melta-bombs at the tanks, with little success, although one tank did get caught, the melta charge burning straight through its hull armour and knocking out its engine, rendering the vehicle immobile, straddling the trench it had been trying to cross.

One minor local success did not change the outcome, however, and the Imperial tanks roared across the first trench line in increasing numbers. The infantry, following behind, were able to quickly disembark from their carriers and move out, sweeping the trench and clearing it of any surviving enemies. As the infantry got to work, the tanks moved on, pushing toward the second defence line some few hundred yards to the rear.

Here, there were more heavy guns, including lascannon and missile launchers which had escaped the bombardment and air strikes. They began to take a toll on the Imperial armour as it pressed forward, striking a few lucky blows and knocking out several tanks. More air strikes were being conducted on the second line, but there were bunkers there which were proving to be a tough nut to crack from above.

'Load high explosive!' Mayner ordered. 'Gunner, target, two o'clock, bunker position, range twelve hundred.'

'Up!' Janssen called. 'Identified!' Cheyne added.

'Fire!' Mayner replied. The tank bucked as a round raced away, striking the face of the distant ferrocrete structure. The bunker was engulfed in a cloud of dust and smoke as a result, making it hard to determine if their round had been effective. Mayner looked through his thermoscope, where the thermal image allowed him to see through the smoke, giving him a clearer picture of the situation. The bunker appeared mostly intact, the barrel of a lascannon still protruding from it. Mayner could not tell if it was still operational, or at least, he couldn't until it fired. Evidently their shell had only briefly stunned the weapon team inside.

'Load high explosive! Same target, fire!' Mayner ordered. Another shell left the barrel and cut across the distance, slamming into the pillbox again, kicking up another plume of dust. The thermoscope revealed the same thing as last time; the lascannon barrel was still intact, and a moment later, it fired once more.

'Gunner! Can you put a round through that slit?' he questioned. The firing slit of the bunker was narrow, designed for maximum protection against incoming fire, just big enough for the weapons' barrel and to give the gunners good visibility of the approaches they were meant to be protecting. Nevertheless, there was an opening, and a precise enough shot could most certainly pass through it.

'If we stop, skipper,' Cheyne answered him. The Leman Russ had a gyroscopic stabilising system for the main gun which allowed it to be fired with reasonable accuracy while on the move, but to hit such a small target, the tank would have to come to a halt to stop the vibrations and bouncing induced by movement from interfering with the targeting.

'Driver, stop, stop, stop!' Mayner ordered. 'Gunner, make the shot a good one!'

'Yes sir,' Cheyne replied, and proceeded to do just that. A couple of moments was all she needed to sight in on the bunker, and she depressed the firing stud, making the tank rock as another round left the barrel. The narrow firing slit was wide enough for a shell to pass through, and pass through it did, smashing into the back interior wall and exploding. Flame, dirt and the red flash of discharging power cells erupted through the slit and through the rear door of the bunker as the shell set off the ammunition supply for the lascannon. A second later the roof almost lifted clean off of the rest of the bunker as an explosion ripped through it, incinerating anything that was left inside and scattering debris all around.

'There we go,' Mayner grunted and nodded in approval. 'That's more like it. Driver, full speed!'

The tank set off once again, following the dozer-equipped vehicle leading them. The second line of trenches was proving a tougher nut to crack, putting up considerably more resistance than the first. Big Beautiful Doll rolled across the first trench, wallowing as it scrambled up the slight slope behind the parados. Mayner checked the scope again, looking ahead. At least they would most likely be out of the minefield now, although it was always possible that the enemy could have mined the spaces between the trench lines too.

Even beyond the second line was a third set of trenches and bunkers to deal with. Only once they broke through this final line could they begin to approach the city itself. The river which flowed through the middle of Fillydelphia glittered and glistened in the early morning sunlight, a ribbon of blue cutting through the dull grey and brown of the factories and warehouses of the industrial city. That was where they were heading. Once the northern half of the city was taken, enemy positions in the southern districts could be pounded by artillery in the hopes of driving them out or making them surrender. If that failed, then a river crossing would be forced in conjunction with airlanding operations behind enemy lines. It was a simple plan, because, ultimately, most military plans were. They also relied on everything going right.

All of a sudden, everything was not going right. As the tanks approached the second trench line, heavy fire from both the second and third trenches lashed out at them. Half a dozen tanks were knocked out in the space of a few seconds. A surprising number of enemy heavy weapons had survived both the artillery, the air strikes, and the tanks, and were now reaping their rewards for such resilience. Valkyries swarming above poured down fire onto the defences in an attempt to swing the results in the favour of the Imperials, but the Chaos forces were not keen to give up their positions without a fierce fight.

For every cultist who was killed, three more seemed to take his place, springing up above the parapet to fire a missile or throw a grenade. Evidently the first trench line, though still well equipped and defended, had just been a ploy, to let the Imperial forces pass through relatively easily and straight into the teeth of the stronger rear defence lines, where the real resistance could be enacted. There was also support from the city itself, seemingly, as enemy artillery fire began to fall around the dismounted infantry who were pushing forward in support of the tanks. Some of the supporting Valkyries were quickly dispatched to locate and deal with this unexpected threat. The enemy had been able to conceal their artillery pieces from aerial and orbital observation, and were only now unleashing them upon the attacking force.

Under orders coming down from General Jahn, monitoring the battle from high above, the Imperial artillery was directed to fire upon the third line of trenches, focusing their efforts on disrupting the enemy there. The tanks were engaging the second line, but they could only shoot at so many things at once. There were plenty of targets in the second line for them to deal with. Aircraft flying in support were also directed to target the third line, and ordered to remain at a minimum altitude of several thousand feet when making their attack runs in order to stay above the level of incoming artillery shells, which would be just as effective at destroying a flyer as any specialised anti-aircraft weaponry if they were unlucky enough to collide with one in mid-air.

Captain Mayner could sense the attack bogging down. The tanks all around him were at best being slowed, and at worst destroyed, by the heavy enemy fire, and if they took too many losses, they would have to retreat. That would not necessarily end the assault, but it would mean that this sector of the line would remain unsullied and unbroken. The 2nd Stourmont Armoured was not a regiment known for retreating, and Mayner had no doubt that that would not change today, despite the obstacles placed before them. Certainly he had no intention of falling back, not unless the situation became truly dire, and he knew that none of the other crews would be entertaining such thoughts either.

'Load armour piercing!' he ordered through the intercom. Up ahead, as part of the second line, a Chaos tank was sited behind a thick protective wall of sandbags. Somehow untouched by all of the violence unleashed upon its position from both land and air, it was busy hurling shells toward the incoming Imperial forces. It was not a Leman Russ, but rather some sleek design from a distant part of the galaxy unknown to him, though he knew the type. It was a fairly common vehicle in the service of the enemy, no doubt stolen from some PDF force somewhere, and retro-engineered to suit the needs of the Dark Powers. It had a much lower profile than the Leman Russ, with a squat turret and low-slung body, no sponsons, and just a single main cannon, plus a couple of stubbers for close defence. It was also surprisingly well armoured, which perhaps accounted for its continued survival among such firepower as had been unleashed upon the area.

'Gunner, target, hull-down enemy armour, one o'clock, range eight hundred!' Mayner ordered. Cheyne looked through her targeting system.

'Identified!' she called, tracking the vehicle as Big Beautiful Doll bounced along over the uneven terrain.

'Fire!'

The armour-piercing shell struck the sandbagged embankment in front of the enemy tank, punching straight through but losing sufficient momentum and kinetic energy in the process that, when it struck the tank's glacis plate, it simply flopped almost pathetically down onto the dirt in front of the vehicle. The enemy tank fired in return, though not at Big Beautiful Doll. Another Leman Russ was struck by its shell, which tore through its right sponson, sending a spray of shrapnel bursting from the rear. The Leman Russ tried to retaliate, its turret swinging round to target the enemy vehicle. But the Chaos gunner was quicker on the draw, and another shell whistled out and struck the Imperial tank before either it or Big Beautiful Doll could get another round on target. The shell went straight through the hull armour and started a raging fire inside as the Leman Russ slewed to a halt.

Another rapid order from Mayner hurled a second shell straight at the enemy tank, striking it on the turret's glacis plate and bouncing off. The tank's turret began to rotate again, this time toward Big Beautiful Doll.

'Load armour piercing!' Mayner shouted again, keeping a close eye on the enemy tank. It was a race to get another shell into the breech and press the firing stud. There was every chance that whoever was slower wouldn't get the chance to try again. 'Fire when ready!'

Janssen slammed the shell into the breech and worked it shut. 'Up!' he shouted, and Cheyne pressed the firing stud immediately. The shell raced away, striking the enemy tank's turret again, but this time at a better angle, hitting it square on. It penetrated, slicing straight through the thick metal and spraying hot shards and debris into the interior of the turret. A small explosion blasted open the turret hatch as thick black smoke began to pour out from it.

'Good kill, good kill!' Mayner enthused. The enemy tank was ablaze internally, and no longer a threat to them. The well-oiled turret crew of Janssen and Cheyne had worked their magic once more, wasting no time in loading and firing, proving faster than their opponent, and speed in combat was about as vital a characteristic as one could possess. Only the best and most experienced crews could work so efficiently, those who know not just their vehicle, not just their fellow crewmen, but also themselves, most thoroughly. There was no doubt that the crew of Big Beautiful Doll was one of the most experienced in the entire regiment, which was why they had been assigned to Captain Mayner's command as the lead tank of the lead company of the lead battalion. Only the best of the best for such a prominent position, and they were proving it yet again on the field of battle.

The rest of the regiment continued the inexorable advance. The second line of defence was wavering under such heavy pressure, dozens of battle cannons and heavy bolters wreaking havoc among the trenches and exposed firing positions. Enemy gunners were struggling to reload their heavy weapons while under constant attack, seeing more of their number falling around them, explosions rippling along the line, hurling sandbags and bodies alike into the air. A wall of iron was closing rapidly on their position and there was not much they could do to stop it. A few desperation attacks brought down several tanks with satchel charges as men leaped up from the trenches and hurled themselves suicidally at them, immolating themselves but destroying the tanks in the process. As several key bunkers were knocked out, the whole section of the second line began to crumble and fold like a house of cards. Some enemies tried to fleet, streaming back toward the final trench line, only to find themselves running straight into the continued air attacks being unleashed by Imperial flyers. Others stayed to fight, trying to form small strongpoints of resistance even as the rest of the line crumbled all around them.

The infantry following on behind the Imperial armour reached the line and began to mop up the remaining resistance, leaving the tanks to move on, sweeping toward the final impediment before they could assault the city itself. There would still be enemies in Fillydelphia proper, no doubt, and a fierce street fight was the likely outcome, as had been the case in Manehattan. The Chaos forces would fight for each street and building, and the good progress the Imperials had been making through the outer defences could well grind to a halt as a result. Before they could get there, however, there was still one more line of defence to get rhrough.

Captain Muran watched the flicker of plasma outside his canopy as the Lightning dropped back into the atmosphere. AS part of the revolving stack of air cover for the assault, he had expended all of his Hellfury missiles and most of his autocannon ammunition, necessitating a resupply, and that meant returning to orbit and to the Emperor's Judgement from which he had launched. Landing in the docking bay, the Lightning was rapidly restocked by logistics servitors,who loaded fresh incendiary missiles onto the underwing rails, while men and women of the squadron's technical services section checked over the exterior of his craft for any combat damage and refilled its fuel tanks with a fresh batch of Promethium. Air combat was a heavy drain on fuel, especially dogfighting manoeuvres or ground attack operations at low level, where the air was denser. The Lightning was thirsty beast at the best of times, not having the lengthy endurance that the larger Marauder bomber possessed.

The climb to orbit, resupply, and re-entry had not taken more than a few minutes, thanks to the speed the Lightning's engines could accelerate it to. The orbital injection engine had lifted him up to the flagship's launch and landing bay, and now he was switching back to regular jets and powering back toward the city of Fillydelphia, which glittered in the sunlight ahead of him. The assault had apparently made progress during his orbital absence, breaking through the second enemy trench line and advancing upon the third, the final obstacle between the tanks and the waiting city beyond. Enemy artillery had been finding the range of the advancing infantry, but friendly Valkyries detailed to search and destroy missions had apparently dealt with most of them.

The third line was still offering stiff resistance, however, and it wasn't long before Muran and Rall were called into action once again. They had been orbiting high above as part of the stack of waiting aircraft, and now it was their turn to make a run on the enemy line. Smoke rose into the air from several dozen spots, the funeral pyres of tank crews and enemy heavy weapons teams inside bunkers and pillboxes. Muran hoped to be adding to that very shortly.

'Hammer Flight, cleared in hot. Targets of opportunity, engage at will, over,' came the call.

'Hammer Flight cleared in hot, engage at will, out,' Muran replied. 'In we go,' he muttered to Rall over the vox. He pushed the nose down. The trenches stretched out before him, almost following the bends and curves of the river as it passed through the city, though they were a good mile or two away from the water. Enemies were scurrying like ants, fleeing from the broken second line and back to the third, trying to find cover among the trenches but finding that, once they reached the third line, they were running straight into their own razor wire defences.

Muran decided to help put them out of their misery. He lined up on a section of wire where some dozen or so men were trying to weave their way through the protective cordon that was supposed to keep the enemy out, but was now keeping their own soldiers at bay. A pair of Hellfury missiles laid at their feet but paid to any attempts they were making to reach safety, sending blazing human torches running and screaming in every direction. Several of the Chaos infantry became entangled in the very wire they had been trying to get through, to add to their agonies.

Rall followed his leader in and unleashed a long droning blast of autocannon fire which cut men to ribbons, those few who had escaped the flames. Las-fire flashed up at him from below, but it was a waste of effort by the men in the trenches. He climbed away to rejoin Muran as they rose back up into the sky to come around for another pass before rejoining the stack. There were other Lightnings awaiting their turn, as well as Marauders with heavier payloads who could flatten a section of trench if called upon to do so.

Muran cast his eye down over the enemy line, seeking a suitable target for his next run. He had four missiles left, plus his autocannon and wingtip lascannon, if he could spot a target worth using them on. A bunker would be good, a tank even better. He brought the jet around in a sweeping turn, then back the other way to line up along the trenches. There; a small pillbox which appeared to contain some kind of heavy weapon, a stubber or perhaps a heavy bolter, which had somehow escaped the attentions of all the other pilots and tank crews. That would do nicely. He flicked over to lascannon targeting, bringing the crosshairs over the pillbox and firing.

Bright red flashes of las-fire stabbed out and struck the pillbox, blasting through the wood and earth with ease, incinerating those within. A string of small, rapid explosions, like firecrackers, began inside as the belts of ammunition cooked off, ignited by the heat. Muran pulled up into a climb, heading back to the stack of other aircraft as Rall began his run behind him.

They were the last flight to be called to strike the third trench line. Friendly forces were getting into the killzone, and any air attacks were suspended until specifically called for. The Lightnings and Marauders continued to circle off to the east of the city, waiting for orders and watching from on high as the tanks rolled over the final line, breaking through. The infantry moved on behind, and there was nothing but clear ground now between them and Fillydelphia.

A sudden, brilliant flash off to his left made Muran look round. He winced and shielded his eyes against the glare, which was coming from above the city. Not again, surely? Not another atomic attack?

No, it wasn't. There had been no double flash, the characteristic of an atomic explosion, and the light was fading rapidly. The polarisation filters of the Lightning's canopy were working hard to reduce the glare, and Muran peered toward the city as the vox net came alive with alarm calls and shouts of distress. But why? There had been no atomic attack; there was no mushroom cloud towering above Fillydelphia. As the light faded, however, Muran could see that there was something there, in the sky above the city. Not an atomic cloud, but something far, far worse.

Comments

[Booster Spice]

The lunar Demon was finally summoned the last distance by the Chaos Sorceror? or its the Sorceror himself?

[BRBrony9]

10108778
Tune in next time to find out!