Klast turned his head and gazed out of the view port in the Thunderhawk's side, his enhanced vision easily penetrating the murky night sky outside. From his current viewpoint the target was out of sight to the front of the aircraft, but he could just make out flashes of heavy gunfire lighting up the surrounding landscape. The constant booming of the artillery was providing the perfect cover for their infiltration, the sound masking the Thunderhawks roaring engines. Turning his attention back to the aircraft's interior, he watched his brother marines going through their pre-combat rituals and superstitions. Selan repeatedly checking his Melta-gun's cabling, Victer and Furisan arguing over the last missions kill ratios, Masen with his helmet off cleaning the visor, his face forever an emotionless mask of scar tissue after being torched by an Ork burner back on Aranidil, and then there was Dragarn still and silent as ever with the squad's other Melta-gun across his lap. With a thought Klast ran his armour's system integrity check, through the spinal link it's sensors reported 100% optimal performance, no breaches or damage. Satisfied, he looked down at his armours exterior, the new dark grey and brown camouflage scheme designed specifically for Avengis would blend in perfectly, reminding him how naive the other chapters are to ignore the obvious advantage camouflage provides. With a snort of amusment he remembered the Ultramarines at Belaan, their blue armour easy targets in the woods and farmlands.
"Sergeant?" Selan enquired seeing Klast's humoured expression.
"Ahh, I was just remembering Belaan, some fine target practice we had there."
Selan laughed, the sound distorted through his power armours voice filters. "Ha! Moving round bold as brass in their bright blue armour. That lot made even Dragarn laugh!" At his name Dragarn looked blankly towards them, but said nothing. Within his armour Selan grinned. "Well almost..."
Victer patted his master crafted Bolter, the gleam of it's ornate carvings had been dulled with matt carbon paste. "Bagged myself this from that Captain I shot back there." his nazel tone grating the air
Furisan piped in. "Heh! What do you mean that 'you' shot?"
Klast sighed with good humour. "Pack it in you two, it's time to get moving we must be near the DZ."
As if on cue the pilot's voice came over the internal com.
++1 minute to DZ, prepare from drop off++
Instantly the attitude of the marines changed, an air of steely professionalism ran through the troop bay as they silently checked their systems and weaponry one more time, paying special attention to the two Melta-bombs they each carried. Klast reached up and switched the troop bay light off making sure their eyes would be fully adjusted to the darkness outside. "All helmets on, secure vox check." One by one each squad member reported ready, all com systems operational. Moving to the Thunderhawks bow doors Klast gave a hand signal indicating the squad to get into position for deployment, the Shadowhawks quickly responded.
The door swung open to reveal a lifeless wasteland. The Thunderhawk had set down in a clearing within the remains of a wood, now nothing more than a mass of husk like dead trees, the ground grey and scorched. The marines moved swiftly outside, forming an arc around the aircraft's exit, each marine scanning the immediate area for any danger. With no enemies sighted Klast opened a channel to the Thunderhawk's pilot.
++Squad Vengeance clear.++
++Confirmed, moving off.++
The Thunderhawk launched itself back into the air, the roar of it's engines turning into a screeching wail as it raced into the night sky heading back to their orbiting Strike Cruiser.
The Shadowhawks moved swiftly north into the dead forest, within moments the squad melting out of sight like ghosts. A light wind rippled through the trees, but any sound of the cracked boughs creaking was drowned out by the booming artillery. Thanks to the Shadowhawks skill and new camouflage scheme even spaced out a mere twenty metres apart Klast couldn't see the other squad members, he allowed himself a moment of pride at his squads skill. Klast knew really he should have recommended them for promotion to the company's elite Commando unit, but they had fought together now for thirty three years and he was loathe to break the best combat unit he had ever led.
As he neared the forest's edge Klast ducked down, then crawled across the dry earth. The ground sloped down away towards the remains of an Agri-Production farm, massive silos and warehouses bearing the scars from eight years of war. Before the war most of the population of Avengis' Hives had worked in the massive Agri-Production farms, but now all that remained were burnt out ruins and fields of dust. Amongst the rubble lay the massive chaos engineered siege guns. Short fat barrels the width of Rhinos angled up from giant tracked bodies, their blue and gold livery gleaming with a flash of fire each time they launched yet another huge shell towards Duron Hive.
Dragarns voiced hissed over the com.
++Enemy patrol sighted, dead north by the nearest silo.++
Klast looked to where Dragarn had indicated, a ten man light unit heading their way. At this range he couldn't make out their armaments, but they moved like trained soldiers, alert and aware. They would need to be cautious.
++Drift back then form up with me, stay concealed. We will take them up close.++
The Shadowhawks steathily dropped back into the wood, then moved forward forming a shallow staggered V from Klast's position. Each marine lay still watching the enemy unit approach, time trickling past slowly. As the soldiers stalked nearer Klast could see they were dressed in dark blue combat fatigues, blocky black industrial ear protectors keeping their ears safe from the booming gunfire and each man carrying a standard pattern Lasgun. Either an ex-Imperial Guard unit or trained chaos infantry, the enemy obviously recognised the importance of their artillery and was guarding it with professional soldiers. Klast noticed one of the troopers carried a Vox-caster, he would have to be the first to die. Oblivious of their impending doom the chaos soldiers walked straight towards the concealed marines, Klast waited until they were within metres and the nearest artillery resumed firing.
++Take them down!++
As one the Shadowhawks launched up and forwards, weapons firing. Klast's Plasma Pistol spat a ball of superheated death into the Vox carrying soldier, vaporising his head and top of half of his torso, smoking remains crumpling to the ground. Masen, Victer and Furisan's Bolters chattered, the mass reactive bolts exploding within their targets chests splattering gore over their comrades. The air infront of Salen and Dragarn rippled with a heat wave as their Melta-Guns incinerated their victims, leaving nothing more than an indistinguishable molten mess. Stunned by the sudden death of over half their unit, the four remaining soldiers reacted too slowly. Like lightning the marines were amongst them. Klast threw a monstrous power armoured punch, the blow cracking a soldiers skull and knocking the now dead body backwards through the air. Selan caught another by the shoulder and pulled the hopelessly outmatched soldier onto his bolter and held the trigger, the bolts jerking the body about like a rag doll. Leaping across the carnage Dragarn grabbed the remaining two soldier's heads smashing them together and hurling the bodies down. One of the now unrecognisable pulped faces whimpered as the solider clung to life, Dragarns boot stamped down and twisted crushing the soldiers head like a bug. In seconds the Shadowhawks had slaughtered the entire patrol, their gunfire hidden by the flash and booms of the artillery below.
++Disperse.++
The marines spread out along the edge of the forest again, concealing themselves amongst the ruined foliage. Klast drew out his Auspex and ran bio and heat scans, the specially dulled green screen flickered but found nothing, the Shadowhawks themselves not showing thanks to their armours modified dampening systems.
++We're clear, move with me.++
The ground leading from the wood to the ruined farm had once been some form of crop field, but was now nothing more than an expanse of cracked and cratered mud offering little cover. Backing onto the field was one of the huge artillery pieces nestled between a large grey plasti-crete warehouse and the crumbling remains of a grain silo. Each time it fired the flash of gunfire illuminated the surrounding area. Klast watched for a moment timing the gaps between the guns fire.
++Now!++
The Shadowhawks darted to the nearest crater as the darkness concealed their movement and ducked down inside just before the next salvo was launched. Again and again they sprinted between craters, using the sudden darkness to remain undetected. The closer they got the more the ground shook as each gun fired, the earth swirling as the vibrations sent dust and dirt bouncing in a manic dance. Roughly 100 metres from the huge siege gun Klast signaled for the unit to hold their position as they slid into a dried up ditch running alongside then heading in to the farm. Slowly Klast moved his head over the edge and surveyed the artillery's defences. To their left at the corner of the warehouse a sandbagged emplacement enclosed a fixed Hydra flak cannon, it's four crew tinkering with the loading mechanism. To the right by the first large silo another emplacement, this one a concrete bunker mounting an imposing Battlecannon, what could only be a slaneeshi cultist lay atop the turret revelling in the incredible noise of the siege guns, face to the sky his body racked in spasms of esctasy. Again Klast drew his Auspex, expanded the scan range and checked the surrounding area for enemy troops. A few sentries and weapon crew, nothing unexpected and nothing they couldn't simply bypass.
With his right hand Klast drew a circle in the air, then clenched a fist, the hand signal meaning 'silence sentries'. One by one the Shadowhawks crawled down the ditch into the enemy held farm, moving silent and unseen the ditch providing perfect cover. Klast crawled ahead first, his target the furthest gun and any sentries by the ditch.
Selan crawled out of the ditch towards the shadows of the first silo, once there he paused watching the Battlecannon emplacement. Other than the mad cultist writhing in top of it he could see no movement, the Battlecannon was facing out across the field it's crews attention focused away from his position. Like a feline stalking it's unsuspecting prey, Selan crept up to the bunker. The cultist was lying on his back, giggling like a mad fool the top of his head facing Selan. Selan raised his Melta-gun to shoulder height, the barrel tracking the cultists frantically moving head. He gave the trigger a brief, gentle squeeze. The cultist's head vanished in a hiss of steam and grey smoke, the body continued jerking manically for a few seconds, then the limbs flopped still. Selan hooked the Melta-fun to his belt, pulled the headless body off the roof, and stepped down the small flight of steps to the emplacements door half below ground level. He rapped his gauntlet against the door, his knock met with a yelled reply from within.
"Stop being an idiot Kerlag, it's open."
Selan pulled the iron door open, flung the corpse into the room and quickly ducked into the bunker. His sense of drama got the better of him. "Unfortunatly, I'm not Kerlag." The two crew stopped working on the gun's firing mechanism and slowly turned round. A look of shocked realisation started to form on their faces, but twisted into grimaces of pain as Selan moved with incredible speed catching a man by the throat with each hand. He gave them a second of eye bulging contemplation before forcing his hands into their necks, ripping his hands back and tearing their throats out, blood fountained over his armour as the gunners bodies dropped to the floor. Selan kept his arms out for a moment, looked down at the dead gunners and shrugged. Taking up his Melta-gun he went back out the door, vanishing into the darkness as he headed for his target siege gun.
Edging alongside the warehouse, Victer advanced upon the Hydra. It's crew were milling about rushing to perform some manner of maintenance routine, cleaning and reseating parts while a gunnery officer in a long black trenchcoat barked orders. Spotting movement in the corner of his eye, Victer slid into the shadow of a doorway in the warehouse's side. A sentry nonchalantly strolled towards him, the orange glow illuminating his unshaven face as he puffed a nico-stick. Victer stood still as a statue, waiting for the sentry to get in reach. Oblivious of the hidden spacemarine, the sentry ambled onwards. As the solder drew alongside, Victer reached grabbing the sentry by the face, his massive hand smothering his mouth. Victer pulled the writhing sentry into the doorway and with a sharp flick of his wrist broke the man's neck, he propped the body against the door.
Victer leaned back against the warehouse wall, the dead Ultramarine Captain's master crafted Bolter held steady at shoulder level as he targeted the Hydra crew. He flicked the mode selector to rapid fire, breathed out and waited for the nearby Siege Cannon to fire it's next shell. The Bolter kicked against his shoulder as he fired and retargeted four bolts with intense speed. The Hydra crew's heads exploded like a chain of fireworks in a street parade. Victer lowered his gun, looked left and right, and slunk off past the Hydra.
Klast had moved off first, his target the weapon furthest from their position. As he crawled past the first of the guns he gave it a quick glance, instantly taking in all detail. The gun's stubby barrels were reminiscent of a Griffon mortar, just on a much large scale. The gun and it's rear crew platform was mounted upon a large flat tracked body with a small boxy drivers compartment jutting out from the front. It had been painted in a dark blue that seemed to shift to green with a stomach churning swirling motion, the gold trim running round the edge of the body sparkling as if wet. It reminding Klast of transport units used by the Adeptus Mechanicus when recovering large damaged vehicles, except for the warping effects of chaos. The crew were dressed in the same dark blue combat fatigues as the patrol they had encountered earlier, two of them had taken their shirts off as they were working tirelessly using a chain and pulley to winch monstrous silver shells from an ammo pit next to the gun.
The ditch ran straight through the middle of the farm effectively splitting it in two, aswell as providing an easy path for the Shadowhawks. The occasional bridge of old rusting corrugated iron had been slung across, Klast couldn't tell if they were laid down by the farm's new inhabitants or not. In a momentary lull in the gunfire he heard footsteps, he paused under a bridge and carefully rolled onto his back. One human of light build and weight. His enhanced hearing had instantly assessed the threat by the sound of the steps. The footsteps clunked across the makeshift iron bridge, the suddenly stopped. He felt a sudden drop in temperature, he noticed little droplets of water freezing on the underside of the iron bridge as a tingling sensation ran up his spine. Klast cursed to himself, it was a psyker. He must have sensed a presence and was using his powers to sniff out the source. Moving with the speed only a Spacemarine could muster Klast kicked himself along the ditch head first emerging from under the bridge. He reached up grabbing the psykers ankle and yanked him to the ground. The psyker's yelp of suprise was silenced as Klast punched upwards with his right hand, his fist tearing through the man's rib cage puncturing his lungs and smashing out through his spine. The corpse landed on top of him and he rolled sideways, pulling his arm back out of the mangled chest then shoving the body under the bridge. Sub vocalised voices whispered to him over the com, Furisan, Masen and Dragarn meeting no opposition had placed their charges, Selan and Victer had cleared their exit and were now on their way to their targets.
Klast continued up the ditch, until he was opposite his assigned target. He waited as a patrolling sentry strolled past his face illuminated as he smoked a wyrd root stick, then Klast sprinted from the ditch to hide amongst a collection of fuel drums a mere 30 metres from the artillery gun. Making sure the coast was clear he made his move. It's crew were so focussed on their tasks, he simply ran past the gun, then turned, slid onto his belly and crawled under the tracked weapon's mounting. Swiftly he got on with his task unclipping the two Melta-Bombs from his belt, he checked the time delay settings and placed them both upon the fuel tank. The chance of both failing nigh on impossible. Selan and Victer's confirmed their charges in place
++Ok, keep it tight, everyone head back to DZ for pick up++
Klast couldn't help grinning, if the other artillery sites had been as easy as this Avengis would be no problem...
By Bootae