General Shivran was drowning in reports. The fourth wave had made landfall and he was in their midst as they rapidly established a forward HQ. The surviving armoured elements of the third wave were still driving deeper into enemy territory, suffering horrendous losses but keeping the enemy just off balanced enough to keep them from counterattacking in force. They were exchanging their lives for time. A deafening growl rolled over the base and permeated the thick, armoured hull of the crash-landed bunker. A wave of static washed over the base and the sensitive equipment flickered for a bit, before the shield fully went up and the feeling faded. The fourth wave was rapidly digging in and setting up their defences and finally the call went out to the third wave that they could cease their attack and start pulling back. The sound of distant thunder told Shivran that Imperial artillery was lending their fire in support, covering their retreat. From up above the navy kept a close watch and occasionally a streak of light would zip down to the planet, followed by a significant dust cloud as they took out larger targets of opportunity.

He looked towards the displays that tallied the strengths of his units, constantly being amended as they received updates, and gritted his teeth as new reports came in. His Atmospheric Wings from the first wave were all but destroyed and were being reformed into a handful of functional wings. The second wave had fared better, but even so they had lost half their number. The third wave and it's heavy armoured columns had landed well and hit the dispersed Novican full force. Thanks to the sacrifices from the first two waves, they had managed to get enough troops planetside in one piece to mount assaults on enemy strongpoints, bringing down their shields long enough for the navy to get a shot in, which typically meant the stronghold was vaporised. No unshielded surface structure could withstand an orbital barrage. Even so, despite their initial success, the Novicans had been expecting the attack and they hadn't been slacking on their defences. As the survivors of the third wave limbed back to safety, either doing so physically or reporting in over the radio, a final tally was made up. His face contorted in an ugly grimace as the numbers came in. Two thirds were lost.

He forced his eyes away from his own losses and looked at the display next to it, the one that detailed the enemy losses. The exchange was slightly in favour of the Novicans, which was a damned miracle in itself given that they were assaulting a prepared position. Still, the numbers mattered little this early in. What had mattered was the ground gained. They had made landfall, the fourth wave was digging in at a rapid pace and even as the Novicans were finally acquiring proper target coordinates on his forces, it was too late. Their shields were up and the rounds that struck it failed to penetrate. Heavy defensive guns formed a thick perimeter around the quickly growing HQ and any missiles that broke through the Imperial shields were quickly dispatched as powerful lasers blew them to smithereens. Shivran grinned as his forward elements confirmed that they were holding out fine, with more guns and artillery pieces being put into place with every passing moment. So far the assault was going well, great even. He hated the losses, as every Imperial officer did, but he could not deny that the Fourteenth Army was making good headway. He double checked the reports a final time and signalled for the fifth wave to commence landing.

The danger with landing troops on a contested planet was mostly a matter of keeping shields up. Orbital barrages could overwhelm shields, forcing overlapping barriers to be a must, but that in turn severely limited the mobility of the forces underneath. Artillery, tanks, hell, even soldiers couldn't fire through a shield, as they worked both ways, which meant that his forces had to move outside the protective radius and be exposed to enemy fire. They couldn't just dart in and out of a shield either; while most ground vehicles and troops were granted a measure of protection against the powerful currents that the shields generated, it didn't last indefinitely and needed maintenance. Ground combat was a giant game of chess. Take out the enemy generators or projectors while protecting your own. Except that this game was played in three dimensions, because orbital defences and warships could wreck your forces in an instant the moment shields went down. Usually nobody tried to overwhelm shields because of the raw planetary devastation that would cause. It was all but impossible to predict when a shield would go down or how much would bleed through and in the past such accidents had lead to nuclear winters or other apocalyptic events. Verloff had considered blowing the planet to kingdom come, as the veteran Admiral cared little for the lives of anyone not Imperial and even less for traitors, but that plan had been thrown out of the window. The Novican HQ simply had too many defences, both in terms of shield projectors as well as orbital defences, so they'd have to do it the old fashioned way.

As the fifth wave began their rapid descent, light destroyers and nimble attack craft covering them from up in space and the final reserves of his Atmospheric Wings doing the same a lot closer to the planet, new data started trickling in. The Novicans knew that this was the best moment to wipe out the Imperials and had already been preparing a massive counterattack. They knew where the main Imperial landing sites were, had plotted the most likely avenues of attack and with the majority of the actual army still being brought planetside in the fifth, sixth and seventh waves, the Fourteenth Army was at their most vulnerable. Which was exactly what they had been planning for. The troops already on the ground had taken a formidable beating, but with the fourth wave's reinforcements they weren't as weak as the Novicans believed. Their defensive fortifications had literally been crashed into the planet into intricate formations with overlapping fields of fire, missile and artillery batteries, both stationary and mobile, were ready. The last surviving Gungnirs were trundling into the bases now and being directed into firebases, hiding behind thick barriers or grouped up in quick reaction forces to debilitate assaults. Thousands of soldiers in power armour and hundreds of vehicles were digging out trenches, logistical units were deploying even more shield generators, radar installations and minefields. It wasn't done perfectly, but this wasn't an exercise and parade perfection didn't matter a damn. It was done well enough and, most important of all, it was done quickly. He was proud of his men.

Now it was just a matter of readying an assault of his own as the fifth wave landed, weathering the Novican assault while drawing them in deep enough to do a fuckton of damage, then go all out and carve deeply into enemy territory while maintaining a close connection with the fleet. Wouldn't do anyone much good if they pushed in deep, only to leave Imperial naval coverage and get atomised from up above. Planetary assaults were fairly straight forward in theory. Advance, take out enemy generators and shield projectors, bring your own forward. Rinse and repeat. Well, there was also the existence of chokepoints, artillery batteries, logistic checkpoints and everything strategical and tactical to take care of, but all that ceased to matter instantly if you managed to leave both shield coverage and naval coverage at once. His men knew the drill, though. They would be ready in an hour or two to launch the first assault. The Novicans would retreat after their own offensive and just turtle up. They had the advantage there, but once the assault began a lot would boil down to how quickly officers could network and reorganise their troops.

Shivran grinned as the first Novican scouts were spotted. The bastards were about to discover just how well the Imperials could play that game.

An hour later Novican General Vsevolod slammed his fist on the table as his third and strongest wave entered the combat, not so much to reinforce the former two waves as to replace them. The Imperial scum had dug in with a speed that had belied even his most pessimistic projections. Not only that, apparently the rumour that the Imperial Army no longer used normal infantry had been true. Every soldier they encountered was either in a vehicle or wearing blasted power armour. He briefly shook his head in disbelief at the impossible budget they must have, before ordering the third armoured battalion to advance to point Sigma. They had been making a fair bit of headway, but they had failed to bring the landing zones within the reach of their cannons and he didn't lie to himself. The forces there were organising and would soon join the fray and he'd have to initiate a retreat. He hadn't expected to win, but it would have been nice to at least dish out some solid damage to the Imperials before the siege would begin in earnest.

'Sir, Commander Yuliy has reached point Sword and is ready to advance,' one of his staff officers reported.

'Finally some good news. Any changes in Imperial artillery?'

'No sir, all known positions are marked.'

'Good! Tell him to advance to point Shield and take up overwatch.'

'Aye sir. Orders away.'

'Now get me Colonel Yakovna, she's to take the twelfth Corps and take point Spear. Tell her Yuliy'll cover her.' He looked at the battle map, absentmindedly pulling on his long, greying moustache. The Imps had held out annoyingly well so far, but now it was time to see how well they'd fare against Commander Yuliy and his heavy walkers.

'Orders acknowledged Captain. We are moving,' Yuliy confirmed, before switching frequencies. 'Alright you sons of bitches. The Imps are sitting in their trenches, hiding underneath shields and in bunkers and think they're safe. We're going to move forward and politely correct that little notion of theirs by shoving several tons of ordnance up their collective arses. We're moving to Shield. You all know your orders. Red, you're on point. Arrow formation with Gold in the back. Let's show them the spirit of the Mean Machines!'

'Huurah!' came twenty-four loud responses as the heavy walker unit set out from the chokepoint they had been guarding. The ground shattered under the heavy legs as the enormous war machines began marching towards the enemy. Heavy gears grinding as the massive cannons began rotating towards the enemy.

'We still good on ordnance, right?' he asked his gunnery officer in the seat next to him.

'Aye sir, we've only taken a few potshots at the enemy so far. Bit low on shield breakers, but I don't expect it to be a problem.'

'Good. I'd hate to run out. Would be awfully rude of us to our guests.' A round of smirks passed through the cockpit. 'Right, we're to cover the twelfth Corps and we're not going to fall short. Get me target coordinates for the nearest set of Imperial bunkers and load a round of busters. Those things can survive crashing into the planet from orbit, so anything short of a direct hit won't destroy them.'

'Sir?' came the gunnery officer's haughty answer.

'Yes?'

'It's a stationary target.'

Yuliy grinned.

'Ah fuck,' groaned Lieutenant Herrigan as he put the scanner down. 'Everyone get ready to evacuate! We've got walkers incoming!' He jumped off the perch, ignoring the small arms fire that was plinking against the reinforced walls of the bunker, before a long burst of machinegun fire silenced the attacking soldiers. Whether they were dead or simply forced in cover he didn't know, but it didn't matter. If they weren't dead yet, the mortars would fix that issue soon enough. 'Barges, get the general on the coms. He's going to want to hear this.'

Sergeant Barges fiddled with the large radio for a brief moment, before sending a short, coded message through. The general was a busy man and normally a lowly lieutenant had no business skipping several steps in the chain of command, but Barges was an old hand and knew how rules could be bent. He also knew how to parse priority codes to his colleagues that would definitely get their attention. He didn't have to wait long, within the minute the radio pinged and he threw a thumbs up at Herrigan.

'Bastion here,' came the general's gruff voice. Barges leaned back and withdrew himself tactically from the conversation between his higher ups. He enjoyed that about his job. The sheer professionalism that surrounded him. He had originally tried mercenary work as a young, self-centred buffoon, before realising that idiocy and laziness got people killed and he had enlisted after a fuck-up had seen half the squad die in a crossfire. Basic had been brutal. They beat every lesson into you until you breathed it and punished you for every mistake you made until you reached the point where you felt so bloody awful about anything you did wrong that any punishment became welcome. He remembered bawling his eyes out when he had been too slow in reporting a sudden change during a combat test, a mistake that had seen a forward platoon get 'wiped out'. The look of satisfaction on his instructor's face, the calming hand on his back and the words well done were things he'd never forget. The goal of the training wasn't to create perfect soldiers. It was to show them the importance of cohesion, of how many depended on you to do your job and how you had to depend on them in turn and to make you want to be the best you could. Skills, tactics, knowledge, all of that came later. Basic was about teaching you the right attitude. It was the true reason why the Imperial Army was such a devastatingly effective fighting force. Every man fought to protect those beside him and rose above and beyond themselves in the process.

A soft ping on the radio pulled him out of his memories and he immediately went to work again, all focus.

'Red Square reporting. Novican walkers spotted. Full unit.'

'Sir,' Barges interjected softly. 'Red Line just called in. We've got corps-sized movement heading our way.'

'Bastion, we've got a corps heading our way as well. Requesting permission to fall back. Those walkers will obliterate us if we stay here.'

There was a moment of silence before the general replied. 'Give me an estimate where those walkers are headed.'

'Roger.' He picked up the scanner again and saw the large red dots slowly move across the screen, towards a hilly outcrop. The perfect location to bombard his lines from. He told the general as much. The man's reply made the blood in his veins turn to ice.

'How are your trenches?'

Herrigan swallowed. He wanted to say that they were insufficient, but he'd be lying. He shook off the moment of cowardice and straightened his back. 'They're functional.'

'Good. Hold the line, Red Square. Make the Empire proud.'

'Red Square to Bastion, acknowledged,' Herrigan replied, somehow managing to keep the tremble out of his voice. 'Remember us, Bastion. Out.'

Sergeant Barges saw the determined look on his Lt's ash stricken face and knew that the orders hadn't been good.

'We're holding the line. I want a minimal occupation in the bunkers. Two men in the trenches for every man in here.'

'Sir,' Barges complied. 'We're stopping them here?'

'That we are, sergeant. Reckon the general is planning on luring them in to take them out in one go. So he'll need something to bait them in.'

'Ah. I see.' Barges gave a rueful smile. 'Well then sir, best get your ass out in the trenches then. With a bit of luck you might make it. If not, I reckon I'll be seeing you soon enough.'

'Don't be stupid Barges,' the young Lt huffed, the response broadening Barges' smile. He knew the Lt was married with twins on the way, and he'd only just become an uncle as well. The man had even more reasons to stay alive than he himself had. Barges didn't worry about his kids, they were adults, serving as well. Even so the officer refused to abandon his post and his men, which was noble, but stupid.

'Get out of here Lt. You need to be where your men are. That's an order, pipsqueak.' He gave the Lt a punch to the shoulder, knocking the man back a bit. Then he turned to the corporal next to him. 'Vanhaluwe, take everything that isn't nailed down. You're in charge of the radio now. I'll stay here.'

'Sir,' the veteran corporal saluted, before setting to his task.

Barges smiled at the sight of his squad rapidly clearing out the radio equipment from the bunker. The Lt was still visibly struggling between doing what was tactically right and what was morally right, before two of the older soldiers shoved him towards the exit.

'Barges!' Herrigan called out.

'Aye sir?'

The lieutenant stood at attention and offered the radio-man a parade perfect salute. Barely visible through the faceplate, Barges saw the raw emotions running wild in his CO's eyes. He returned the salute, no less perfect. 'God speed.'

'It was an honour, sir.'

They didn't need to say more. The sergeant returned to his duties and oversaw the evacuation of the bunkers, the lieutenant guided the men into the trenches and prepared for a prolonged, defensive combat. Barges smiled as he heard the heavy door slide shut. Chances were rather high none of them were getting out of this alive, but at least they'd all die giving the Novicans a bloody nose. That was another thing he had come to love about the Empire. No empty bravado, no false promises, but brutal honesty. The Eleventh Infantry would be left to die so that others may live. Exchange a few hundred lives for a few thousand. The cold equations that everyone hated. He shook his head. It was fine to die. He had lived a good life. He hadn't been planning on dying today, but if that was what the Empire needed, well...

He picked up the scanner and saw the imposing war machines. As tall as skyscrapers, donned with surprisingly durable shield projectors and far too many cannons for his liking. They were going to pound the bunker line to dust without ever entering Imperial artillery range. It was only a matter of time now.

Lieutenant Herrigan was doing his damned best to stay alive. The walkers had opened fire just before the enemy corps had arrived and the bunker line was rapidly evaporating. The structures were tough, but not tough enough to withstand the thrice damned bunker-busters. The surviving bunkers were easy to spot, torrents of fire pouring forth from the firing slots, tracers breaking through the clouds of dust thrown up by the explosions.

'Vanhaluwe! Tell the fourth to move to the second! They're running low on missiles!' he shouted. The corporal wrestled with his radio to get the signal through.

'Sir! First took a hit! They've lost two squads!' the man shouted back, before a shell struck the trenches to their left, the shockwave roiling across the surface and throwing the men down.

'And we just lost one too! Tell them to make do!'

Herrigan climbed back to his feet and pulled the older radioman up. He wiped the dust of his scanner and was relieved when it still worked. He peeked over the top of the trench and was immediately blown back as a mortar shell exploded less than a dozen feet away.

'Fucking... They're close enough to use mortars already!' he swore. 'Any update on reinforcements?'

'Negative sir,' came the immediate response. 'Eight just got wiped as well and the seventh and nineth are trying to regroup, but they're being pounded by the walkers.'

Herrigan closed his eyes for a moment and thought of his wife. Of his parents. Of his unborn children. He took a deep breath, tasted the chemicals from the filters, then opened his eyes again.

'Right. Signal all units, we're abandoning the trenches. All out assault on the enemy. Close in and do as much damage as possible. Retain unit cohesion, but stay dispersed. Forget about conserving ammunition.'

'Sir?' hesitated Vanhaluwe, before his training kicked in. 'Aye sir, sending orders.'

'Good man. Once you're done, frag the radio and grab your rifle.' He stood straighter and made sure he had the attention of all the men around him. 'Today is not the day we die,' he began. 'Today is the day we go on to live forever!' He had to shout the words to overcome the constant barrage of explosions and gunfire all around him, but his trained voice rang true. 'Today is the day we show those worthless, traitorous bastards how the Empire fights! Now men!' He paused as another shell landed straight on one of the surviving bunkers, sending another shockwave through the trenches. He caught himself before he fell over. 'Now men!' he shouted, louder. 'Grab your rifles! Grab your launchers! Grab your 'nades, pistols and balls! Now we go over the top and show those cowardly shitheads who they're dealing with! WHO ARE WE!'

'WE'RE THE ELEVENTH!!!' roared a dozen voices.

'Damn right we are!' He turned around, ignored the tears running down from his eyes and grasped the top of the trench and gave the final order of his career. 'CHARGE!'

Colonel Yokovna swore with enough vitriol in her voice that her straight-laced second-in-command paled. 'Ma'am?'

'The damned fuckers! Contact Commander Yuliy immediately! Tell him to stop the bombardment!'

'Stop the bombardment? But why? Weren't we advancing?'

Yokovna grabbed him by the collar and all but threw him at the radio. 'Do it now! They're shelling our lines as well! The Imperials have abandoned their trenches and are charging us!'

'What?'

'CONTACT HIM!'

'Yes ma'am!'

'Cease fire! Cease fire! Cease fire!' screamed Yuliy. 'Goddammit all, all units, cease fire!'

'Sir?' came the confused answer from his gunnery officer.

Yuliy's knuckles turned white as he dug his fingers into the armrests. 'Those fucking bastards.'

'Come on! Forward!' screamed Herrigan, his gauss rifle barking as he ran up the hill of a crater. Behind him were the four survivors of his unit and six others that he had picked up along the way. They'd done it. They'd crossed the no man's land and were now firmly wedging their armoured boot up the Novican's asses.

'Eleven, five!' screamed Vanhaluwe, followed immediately by an even louder shout. 'Grenade!'

The squad threw themselves aside and the grenade went off, a rain of fragmentation embedding itself in their armour but not harming any of them. Herrigan rolled over and turned into the direction the grenade had come from, ignoring the small arms fire slamming into his power armour and opened fire with punishing accuracy. He grinned from ear to ear when he saw three hostiles go down, before another grenade finished off the survivors.

The counterattack had taken the Novicans by surprise and while he had lost the majority of his men getting here, it had been worth it. This wasn't the world wars of old were trenches and lines contained thousands of men squished together on a few square metres. This was a modern battle, with squads and platoon spread out over a vast amount of terrain. It really did help that most Novican soldiers were infantry though, the poor bastards.

A heavy impact rocked his world and he was hurled back into the crater. He vaguely became aware of a red warning light flashing in his HUD and some distant sensation in his right arm, before he realised that an enemy power armour unit had joined the battle and their opening gambit had been blowing his arm straight off.

They hadn't seen them coming though. Why hadn't they seen the coming? Oh right, he belatedly realised. Dust fucking our sensors. Heh. Stupid me. He was going into shock and he knew it, even as the armour squeezed shut on the wound to keep him from bleeding out. A drug cocktail was being pumped into his system to counteract the pain and he felt his awareness slowly return as the mother of all adrenaline shocks kicked his brain back in action. Beside him Corporal Vanhaluwe was rallying a swift response. Every man knew his role and it showed. Their Lt may be down and bleeding, but in the few moments it took him to get up again, the enemy squad had been torn apart. Not without cost, however, as two of their own were dead and a third was heavily wounded. Still, it was a two for one trade. Not bad for being ambushed.

Vanhaluwe, now also promoted to field medic, slid down next to his CO and quickly ran his medipad over the armour ports. 'You'll be fine Lt, your suit's still got plenty of juice. Come on now, no sleeping on the job.'

Herrigan grinned and unclipped his pistol from the magnetic lock and rejoined his men in their suicidal charge, laughing madly as explosions roared all around them. Death may be coming for him, but he'd kick the bastard in the nuts before going out.

'Enemy neutralised, ma'am,' came the report.

Yolkova let out a deep sigh. 'Finally.' She looked at her fragmented line and shook her head. Zealots and fanatical madmen, the lot of them. 'Damage report?''

'Report sent to your terminal, ma'am.'

She looked at the numbers and felt her brow crease. 'Dammit. That's more than expected. Tenacious bastards. Continue the assault and tell Yuliy to move to Spear.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'They held onto this ground. They bled and died for it, but they failed in the end,' she stated, pride in her voice. 'It's time we kicked these invaders of our planet. Send word of our findings to General Vsevolod and tell him I'm pulling the corps together for a deep push. I reckon Yuliy will be able to hit the enemy HQ within an hour or two at most.' Her lips curled up in a feral grin. It had only been a matter of time before a chink would appear in the Imperial armour. The initiative lay with the Novicans now and she wouldn't give it back to them. With a bit of luck she'd get enough success with this mission to make it to lieutenant-general in a single push.

General Shivran was mobilising the fifth wave, who had finally fully landed and organised themselves, with the sixth wave about to make for the planet as well. The range of their orbital superiority was slowly growing as Nemesis steadily tore down the Novican satellites and space stations and the Novican assault was beginning to run out of reinforcements. They had taken the bait and rushed deep into his lines. He had sacrificed three regiments to set up the trap, consigned thousands of brave men and women to their deaths as they held the line and were overrun. But now... Now it was time to return the favour. The Novicans still weren't used to the way the Empire fought wars and they likely never would get used to it. Every man he had sent to their deaths had done so knowingly and willingly. No hesitation, no cowardice, no desertion or mutiny. A simple trust, that others nations labelled as fanaticism. It was the glue that held the Imperial forces together. Every man would willingly give their life to save the others. Every soldier served the Empire and the Empire in turn served them. An entire military forged into a single entity. It was why the Empire hated war. War meant the death of the brothers and sisters they were sworn to protect. If need be they'd spend lives by the million, but only when left with no alternative.

Shivran ran his hand across the names of the fallen. Three full regiments lost to a man. He gritted his teeth. It was for the greater good and he knew it, but that didn't make the truth any less ugly. It was something all officers had to live with and knowing that it was, ultimately, the enemy who did the actual killing, did not make the regret any less.

Now, however, it was time to extract a harsh vengeance. He motioned the coms officer to pass him the mic.

'This is Bastion to Vengeance,' he began, addressing the near hundred thousand men of the fifth wave. 'Commence Titanomachy. Bastion out.'

Shivran breathed in, slowly, calmly, willing his hand steady even as the tens of thousands of soldiers and thousands of vehicles began charging towards their forward lines. He looked at the map, saw the large spread of red that had penetrated deep into their lines. Originally only a single corps, only to be supplemented by a total of two divisions as they realised the Imperial lines had partially collapsed. Several companies of walkers had joined the fray too, pushing the shattered Imperial lines back as they hurriedly tried to re-establish a defensive perimeter to stop them from reaching their headquarters. It had been a proper attack, costly on both sides but the Novicans were only fifteen kilometres out from his headquarters now. They believed the Empire's attack would fall apart if they took it out. They didn't know the truth. Couldn't comprehend that back up plans were always in place and that they would only slow the offensive at best. The Empire did not lack cohesion or capable officers. One of the many things that the corrupt armed forces of the Novic Confederacy could not comprehend. However, it was not the gravest mistake they had made today.

'This is Bastion to Ouranos,' he whispered, pronouncing each word with care, savouring the moment.

'Ouranos to Bastion, ready to copy,' came the instant reply.

Shivran could hear the raw hunger in the colonel's voice. She knew what she was about to unleash and she longed for the order, unable to hide her impatience from slipping through.

'Commence Sun Chariot.'

'Ouranos to Bastion,' Colonel Tassen replied. 'Confirmed.'

The colonel pressed the button she had specifically made for occasions like this. A big, shiny red button that would instantly alert every unit under her command that the operation was a go. She would have loved to cherish it for a bit longer, perhaps indulge in a good drink before pressing it. Hell, she had a whole list of things she'd love to do before pressing it, actually. It made her downright giddy with excitement. Alas, she would have to savour her joy for later. The job came first. The glorious task of opening the grand offensive, of the slow push towards the Novican HQ and, not unimportant, the honour and privilege of obliterating the blasted fools who had claimed thousands of Imperial lives.

All those thoughts ran through her head as she slammed her fist down on the button and the signal went out.

A loud humming ran through her bunker, quickly growing in strength before it suddenly transformed into an impossibly loud roar as her mobile artillery unleashed everything. It was time to introduce the Novicans to the concept of a saturation strike.

Commander Yuliy heard the reports coming in over the coms but couldn't quite believe it. It wasn't that the concept of bombing a forward force was alien to him, hell, he'd done it often enough. No, it was the sheer scope of it. He heard the panicked reports, saw the soldiers and tanks below him scatter and huddle near shield tanks, but his brain just refused to believe it.

'Commander? Sir? What's going on?' his gunnery officer asked.

Yuliy could only stare at him mutely, unable to form an answer. The gunnery officer saw the pale look on his commander's face, saw the raw disbelief mar his features and wondered just what the hell was going on.The question didn't remain unanswered for long. Soon enough the attack became visible as the sky visibly darkened.

'What the fuck...' the man whispered, his eyes going wide in fear. A rancid smell filled the cockpit as someone soiled himself. He didn't know who. It might have been himself. He didn't care. He couldn't care. He could only gaze upon his oncoming death.

Then the world went white.

'Jesus Christ on a pogo-stick commander, what the fuck happened here?' Ball asked as he steered the Gungnir through another massive crater. So far their advance had been remarkably quiet and the scanners were showing nothing but green and grey, courtesy of the massive number of Imperial forces besides them and the countless Novican corpses and wrecks. Even though Yellow squadron was down to two tanks and had been part of the third wave, they had been reassigned, at their own request, to the fifth wave's offensive. So it was that Commander Prance and his crew were now trundling along the wasteland towards Novican lines, although so far it was a pure sightseeing trip as they gazed upon a series of massive Novican walkers, now reduced to burning, half molten carcasses.

'I'm not entirely sure, Ball,' Prance admitted. The sheer destruction around them was overwhelming. There was scarcely any terrain left that hadn't been cratered.

'Heh,' Crank interjected. 'You kids never seen a saturation strike before?'

'You've seen this before?'

'Only on vids. Never in real life. Basically our arty emptied their arsenal and shot everything they had. Poor bastards never had a chance. Supposedly the sky itself turns black and red from all the warheads being thrown at ya. Always pegged that for superstition. Not so sure of that now.'

'Fucking hell,' Gunny whispered, his voice barely audible over the engine. 'Just... Just how many missiles did we throw at them?' Must've been thousands.' He shook his head, running the maths in his head. He knew explosives. 'No,' he amended. 'Tens of thousands.'

Prance nodded. 'Take care when driving, Ball. Don't want to throw our passengers off.' He turned towards the hatch and opened it slightly. 'You boys good up there?'

'Aye, just taking in the view. Damn sight for sore eyes this.' Captain Ulyr said, audibly touched. Prance shook his head with a grin. Infantry types really did have a few screws loose. 'Makes me all weepy and shit. Not to mention we're going to have a hell of a time trying to outdo our boys in the back. Glad you're here to play taxi for us though. Would've been one hell of a walk and I reckon I'd be too emotional by the end of it to be of any use to the lads. Damn art is what this is, I tell you.'

'Right,' Prance said, quickly closing the hatch again and leaving the Captain and his men behind in their own little world.

'So,' Ball began. 'Go over the plan again boss?'

'Simple enough. We're with Green now. We're on the flank of our main offensive, far out flank. We'll be cleaning up anything the boys up front don't destroy and we rush to their aid if they run into heavy armour. It's mostly babysitting until the going gets tough and then the tough get going. Usual drill. Shouldn't run into any minefields without warning though and our shield tanks are a short ways behind us so we'll not have to worry about enemy artillery.'

'What about our flyboys? Thought I'd spot them by now, but the scanners are all clear,' Jeffers commented.

'Took too much of a beating. They're held back as rapid response units but otherwise we'll not see them pop up unless we're in deep.'

'Right.'

The rest of the trip was spent in relative silence, which deepened when they drove through what was once a walker company. The impossibly huge war machines looked no less imposing blasted to pieces and laying on their sides. Even then their carcasses still towered above the massive tank. Prance knew the things to be thoroughly dead. He had seen the distant flashes of light when the missiles had impacted. Still, their presence was unnerving, which worsened when Captain Ulyr began reciting a poem of all things. The tank crew shared a look with one another and had a moment of mutual understanding that infantry was fucking weird. Not too long after that they reached their destination and the soldiers hopped off while Ball steered their Gungnir towards their spot in the formation, while Jeffers listened to the stream of reports and the gunners carefully swept the horizon in search of anything hostile.

'Situation's awfully calm,' Prance muttered. 'I don't like that one bit.'

Shivran was grinning widely as the assault slammed into, then through the Novican lines. Their loss of two full divisions had left a major gap in their defences that the Empire was greedily pushing into. There was no risk of a return strike, the Novicans simply didn't have the launching capabilities for it and even if they did, the Empire didn't skimp on shield tanks and missile interceptors. The Novicans had stretched out their hand in an attempt to grasp the Fourth Army by the throat and had left the coverage of their heavy shield defences in doing so. A fatal mistake that led to more than forty thousand men being slaughtered in a scant few instant, along with eight walker companies to boot. And they had thinned their own lines in the process. The war was far from over, but his intel officers had confirmed that the Novicans were enacting a general withdrawal to their second line in a bid to conserve troops. They were failing quite spectacularly at it, too. No, he thought. This battle won't start again until we hit the second defensive line. Then it'll get bloody again. He looked over to the casualty lists again, reminding himself that this first victory had come at a heavy cost, and that tally would only climb.

Then he grinned again. Without joy this time and his eyes reflected the cold ferocity burning within him. He would make sure that the Novicans paid a far greater price.

She slowly woke up and immediately wished that she hadn't. Her head felt like it was about to explode, her entire body felt like it was covered in second degree burns, her throat felt like she had just swallowed a window's worth of glass and that wasn't counting the other hundred and one other pains and unpleasantries that she was experiencing. Still, Assault Commander Filedi thought to herself, cringing as even doing something as simple as thinking hurt tremendously. I'm alive.

She willed her eyes open and found her body in a state of mutiny. It took her several long minutes to realise that blood had pooled onto them and had caked them shut. She then tried to wipe it off and ran into the same issue of her body refusing any command she sent to it. She formed a half coherent curse and willed harder.

A soft pressure washed against her thigh and the pain began to slowly recede and with a shock she realised that it was her pilot suit.

Why was she wearing a pilot suit? For that matter, where was she? What had she been doing? As the suit flooded her with a cocktail that slowly lessened the pain she felt, she tried to piece her memory together.

Right. There had been three shields. I crashed through the first. Got knocked unconscious by the second for a moment. Then I saw the third. She should have been dead. Nobody survived the third shield, because you were knocked out cold and then you just crashed into the ground with all the aerodynamic capabilities of a brick. Would explain why she felt like she'd been worked over on a grill though.

Well, if this is heaven it sure feels like hell. She tried to sigh, then immediately regretted her decision as a new wave of pain washed over her. The memory of her teeth shattering came back to her and she realised that she must have swallowed a few on the way down. Wonder if teeth are digestible.

She laid there a bit longer, waiting for the drugs to properly kick in. Once she felt more confident in her ability to move, she gingerly brought her arms to her face. She felt something tug on her hands, very, very numbly and it wasn't until she felt something liquid drip down her arms that she realised she had cut herself on her broken visor. The next five, maybe ten, minutes were spent wrestling to get her helmet off. She succeeded in the end, but she knew damn well that she was running on fumes. The beeping of her suit indicated what she'd been injected with and it wasn't good news. First things first, she reminded herself. She forced her arms to move again and started peeling the clotted blood from her eyes. Likely taking her eyebrows off in the process, but she really couldn't bring herself to care about that. Plenty of guys would dig her just for the scars alone, even if she didn't have eyebrows, but she'd have to live through this first.

Finally done clearing her eyes, she opened them and immediately cursed herself for doing so. The light was blinding. She tried opening them one at a time, very, very slowly, giving herself time to adjust. It took an eternity and a half, but in the end she sat upright, eyes open, and began observing her surroundings. It wasn't a worst case scenario, as there were no Novicans in sight, but it was a close second. There was nothing in sight. The mystery of how she survived became clear as well, as her parachute was laying behind her. Must've pulled it on reflex when going through the third shield, she guessed. She tried to get up and immediately failed. She looked down and swore with a considerable amount of vitriol. Mentally swore. She wasn't about to abuse her throat again.

Her leg was broken.

She took a quick summary of the situation. Broken leg. Second degree burns all over. Blood loss was within decent parameters, so she at least had that going for her. Food and water? Her suit had some emergency supplies, so she'd be good for a day, but she had no way of contacting anyone else and given how there was nothing of note around her...

Fuck.

She shook her head. God dammit Maddy, you're a fucking gunship pilot! You don't bend the knee for anything! She plundered her memories for her last known position, looked up at the sun and tried to remember where the enemy's fortified locations were and where the Imperial landing zones would be. She made a few guesses where her memory fell short and what she came up with was anything but a pleasant result, but then again she had just survived being shot down and crashing through three shields. She was a survivor and the devil herself would have to fistfight her for her soul before she'd surrender to measly things such as shock, dehydration and being critically wounded. She was lying to herself, knew it, and ignored it because fuck the truth, fuck her wounds, fuck the Novicans and fuck everything else on this planet in general. With more determination than sanity, she unfastened her parachute and started crawling towards where she hoped the enemy would be, praying her allies would get to her before anyone or anything else did.