Getting Warhammered [WH 40k Fanfic]

The point-defence turrets are an absolute success … well, they will be once I fix their targeting issues, but that’s a ‘me’ problem, not anything wrong with the lasers themselves. 

I hummed thoughtfully, working on weaving the bio-processors of each PDT into a singular network. The problem was that while each turret had a pretty good targeting software that unerringly locked in on the closest missile, more than once, half a dozen turrets locked onto a single missile and then had to scramble to aim at the next incoming missile. 

The laser itself might have travelled at the speed of light, but the turrets most certainly couldn’t aim and turn at even a fraction of that speed. The obvious solution was to make a network, tie in all the PDTs into it so they could communicate, then write software that decides which turret gets which missile.

In the end, I only managed to make ship-wide networks on the fly, as I couldn’t come up with a way for the ships themselves to communicate with each other over interstellar distances. Not one up to my standards anyway. The Tyranids used Synaptic Nodes of course, and the Hive Mind to communicate — which I obviously couldn’t use myself — so I would have to get creative.

If I keep my ships far enough apart, it shouldn’t be a problem. Not everything needs a pre-made solution. I’m going to make one anyway, but decidedly later. The first salvo had been fired, and now it was time for me to give my answer to the Imperials. 

Grinning to myself, I project my voice into the many boarding pods filled to the brim with a lot of very angry orks vibrating with eager bloodlust. 

“Get ready boys, time to give the invading humiez your warm welcome.”

*****

Major Zayid Nasser of the 28th Tallarn Mobile Infantry Regiment stared down at the chaos of the other two Regiments, his own shared the grand hall with contemptuously. By the grace of the God-Emperor, his own sons of Tallarn were not so tardy and already stood at attention with their faces set into stony masks. 

He felt pride sparkle in his heart at the sight, though he showed not a single shred of it on his face. An officer of the Astra Militarum must always lead by example, and so his own face mirrored the grim determination he saw on the many younger troopers before him.

“As low as the chance is,” he started, projecting his voice over the gathered soldiers while his own commander, the Colonel, was still occupied with the hasty meeting of the upper ranks of the Astra Militarum on this fine Void-Ship. “We have been warned that we face an unconventional enemy on this day. As much as the Generals would wish to trust the great Void Shields and our brothers in the Navy to keep the enemy at bay, we must prepare for the low chance of our vile foe daring to board our ships. If they do, it will be our task to stop them, to make sure they step not one foot within these halls blessed by the grace of the Emperor. I want every last trooper in combat readiness, eyes and ears peeled for an order coming down from up high. If the enemy comes, they won’t know what hit them. Remember, the Emperor’s with us. Let his light guide you, and bring his fury down upon the enemies of Mankind!”

Major Nasser knew he was not the best of orators, but knew his Colonel could not be bothered with lengthy speeches, even for the benefit of morale. By the grace of the Emperor, the sons of Tallarn were proper religious folk, and their zeal usually more than made up for the morale boost his rousing speeches failed to bring about. 

It helped that their attached Commissar tended to shoot any trooper who didn’t show the proper level of zeal and motivation. Those of weaker faith had no place in the Divine Emperor’s Guardsman Regiments. Those of weaker faith were bound to falter in the face of the many horrors Guardsmen were forced to face in the line of duty, sending them to meet the Emperor for Judgement sooner was a kindness in truth, for in this way they escaped failing him outright and may yet earn his forgiveness for their lack of faith.

Their field of deployment was unusual for a mobile infantry regiment, they were used to fighting through wild, inhospitable, but open-air terrain located on the surface of a planet. The massive hangar bay housing the fighter squadrons of Lord Militant’s Flagship was unusual, but they would make do like they always did when push came to shove. 

“Torpedoes incoming.” His comm-bead buzzed in his ears, connected as he was to the high-priority command channel. It was one-way for someone only of the Major rank, but he could listen in on the happenings on the wider battlefield to better prepare for combat. “Void-Shield’s breached, I repeat, Void-Shields breached. Boarding pods inbound, all hands on deck. Prepare for enemy boarding actions. Prepare for hull breaches, respiratory systems and air-locked helmets are advised to be worn posthaste. ETA 1 minute.”

Major Nasser’s blood ran cold. The enemy breached the Void-Shields? Just like that? How?- 

No. It was not his place or responsibility to figure that out. His duty was to lead his men into battle and give the ones actually capable of figuring out the answers to those questions enough time to come up with proper countermeasures. He had to trust in his fellow servants of the Emperor and their skill.

“Helmets on!” Major Nasser bellowed, then grabbed his own air-locked helmet and put it on his head. A moment later, the Colonel, one Idris Khameer, stomped over with a grim scowl of determination twisting his rugged features. “And prepare for combat, men. The enemies of the Emperor are coming right to us, we will show them that even without solid ground under our feet, the sons of Tallarn are not to be underestimated. We hold this hangar bay in the name of the Emperor!”

A chorus of bellows answered him in kind, calls of ‘For the Emperor’ echoing in the grand hall as even the other two regiments stationed in the truly colossal, cavernous hangar finally got themselves into a semblance of order. 

“Alien ships,” Colonel Khameer said in his usual gruff tone as he stood next to Nasser, his arms behind his back and his spine straight as a pole. “The cog-boys suspect them to be Tyranid ships modified with dark sorcery, Biomancy, they called it. They recommend expecting the unexpected and taking all precautions we would otherwise when facing Tyranids or other foes of organic nature. The boarding pods likely transport smaller swarms of some kind. We will go with standard anti-swarm tactics.”

“Understood, sir,” Major Nasser said with a grim nod. The unexpected was never good. Then he went about whipping the men into formation, setting up barricades and firing positions, all facing the force-field separating the hangar bay from the void of space. 

Not ten minutes later, Nasser squinted as he saw something through the half-opaque force field. A small white dot against the inky black of space. First, he thought it a sign of his worsening eyesight, but as it grew and, more importantly, moved, he straightened and realised what it was.

“Battle stations!” He bellowed, making sure the lasgun hanging over his shoulder was within quick-draw reach. “Eyes on the enemy, someone with eyes that aren’t fucked yet confirm?”

“Aye, sir, I see it,” the young mechanic of Nasser’s own platoon called back, a pair of modified binoculars held to his eyes. “Looks like an oversized white missile … big as five Leman Russes put together if my auspex isn’t messing with me. Enough space in it for a whole platoon if I had to guess.”

The boarding pod approached, and the ship’s weapons batteries opened fire, spitting ionised plasma at the approaching enemy. Nasser squinted, once again doubting the truth of what his eyes saw: the concentrated plasma fire hit everything but the approaching pod.

Even when it looked like something would hit, an invisible barrier absorbed it al,l but by that point the pod was so close that Major Nasser wasn’t paying it much attention. It looked like winning this battle would fall to the hardy troopers of the Astra Militarum once more. Truly, he expected more from the mighty Imperial Navy, not Arbites and PDF levels of incompetence.

Did the tech priests forget to bless the weapons? Did the engineers responsible for maintaining the focusing matrices bail on their duties? Did the resident Magos somehow anger the great Machine Spirit of the ship? He would never know. He just hoped those failings would not befall the weaponry of his own Regiment. 

No. He tested his lasrifle just this morning and did a maintenance routine on it personally after he had the engine-seer do all the appropriate rituals and anointments. The Machine Emperor would guide his aim today.

The boarding pod approached, and it became evident it had a force-field of some kind protecting it as the weapons batteries tried to destroy it by drowning it in a hail of plasma-fire.

And then it was upon them, coming right towards the hangar bay and the force-field separating the void of space from the pressurised hangar … split. Like a door opening up before a respected visitor.

Major Nasser barely had a moment to comprehend it and then threw himself on the ground as the boarding pod didn’t slow. It sailed over their heads, and then there was a crash so loud it sent his ears ringing, making his head swim. 

Dazed and disoriented, his training and decades of experience took over. Throwing himself over the barricade of sandbags and ferrocrete boxes, he brought his lasrifle up and aimed down sights.

The boarding pond was there, embedded into the wall at the back of the hangar, with its exhaust plume still sputtering. 

His hearing returned with a pop, and only then did he realise that only now did the forcefield had finally sealed itself. A shiver of dread ran down his spine, knowing just how close he probably came to getting himself sucked through the hole and ejected into space along with the rest of the hangar.

Hazarding a brief glance behind him, he saw chunks of what used to be flesh and blood humans falling from the air. So that’s why he was still alive, some poor sods closer to the hole got turned into a human plug by the vacuum. Whether they survived the initial experience didn’t matter as the energy field didn’t care about their presence, sealing itself shut despite the dozens of humans it bisected by doing so.

He turned his attention back on the boarding pod, wondering whether anything inside could possibly survive such a rough landing. The force field that had protected it was evidently gone now, as the many lasbolts impacting it left blackened scorch marks on the once pristine white armoured hull.

The sputtering of the exhaust plume cut off, and then the sound of hissing reminiscent of explosives arming themselves sounded out under the din of the battle.

“Down!” Nasser bellowed, following his own order as he ducked down. Not a moment later, he heard the sound of an explosion, then saw the back wall of the boarding pod fly over his head, forcibly torn off by the explosion and sent flying. 

By the time he rose again, his sights set on the boarding pod … the enemy was pouring out in a tidal wave of green flesh and bolter fire. 

“WAAAAAAAAAAAGHHH!”

Explosions rocked the great hangar, the massive Orks shouldering weapons that looked like Astartes-grade Boltguns and letting loose on the humans. 

Instinct took over, and Nasser fired, his rifle’s retort kicking against his shoulder as he sent lasbolts through green head over green head, a grim smile on his face as his handiwork cut off voice after voice from their vicious war-cry.

The Orks were pouring out of the boarding pod, body after body leaping down and instantly firing or charging at the humans. Despite what should have been an easy slaughter for the humans, what with them having dug themselves in and outnumbering the greenskins by a huge margin — there couldn’t have been three Regiments’ worth of Orks inside that single pod after all — … except, the Orks just kept coming. 

A pile of green bodies was growing rapidly under the pod’s opening, the guardsmen taking advantage of the obvious chokepoint to unload into the mass of green bodies on full auto without having to even aim. There was always a body to hit after all.

They. Never. Stopped. Coming. 

He briefly wondered why none of the auto-cannons were turning them into mincemeat, why none of the many fighters in the hangar were using their spacecraft-grade weaponry to slaughter the greenskins … then he dared a brief glance at the nearest fighter and saw it up in flames, its cockpit turned into a smouldering pile of scrap by one of those massive boltguns spitting fiery death at it.

The Orks were targeting the heavy weaponry first and leaving the regular troopers alive … -ish. For now. 

The big ones were staying back, roaring their war cries and shouldering those massive bolt-rifles while the Orks, a head shorter than them, were the ones getting into the thick of it. 

Major Nasser felt an eerie onset of déjà vu strike him, remembering the hopelessness clenching his heart back when he stared down an endless horde of Tyranids charging at his positions. The dread he felt when he saw the stronger commander bioforms staying back and letting the lesser tyranid wear them down. The realisation that his enemy was beating them while holding back. That the enemy was smart enough to do that.

A miraculous, last-minute precision air-strike and a follow-up bombing run saved his life that day, and he had thanked the Emperor for it every day since.

Today? Here and now? There was no bomber saving him, no void-ships in orbit to pull his regiment out of this mess. There would be no miracle. The Orks were gaining on them, the last one he killed having come within arm’s reach of him before he put a bolt through its head. 

The next one jumped over the corpse of his kin, its maw wide open in a grin as it brought down a massive axe at Nasser. He brought up his rifle to block the attack, not having the time to grab anything better as he rolled back with the strike, managing to kick the massive Ork off of himself by using its own momentum against it.

The rifle in his hands didn’t survive the experience, and his arms were still numb from trying to block an attack from an Ork. He would need at least a few moments to recover.

The Orks didn’t give it to him, three more leaping over the shoddy barricade Nasser and a few of his men had been hiding behind. The men who were busy turning the previous Ork that Nasser had thrown at them into mincemeat didn’t have time, or enough firepower to keep them back.

The Orks didn’t even seem to care about Nasser, lying on the ground as he was, and just charged over him. His vision went white as an Ork stomped on his knee as it went, pulverising it. Another kicked him in the side hard enough that he coughed blood and felthis ribs break, puncturing his lungs.

He was barely even aware of himself when one of the larger Orks came around, and only let out a gurgled chuckle when a massive foot descended upon his head, crushing it like an overgrown grape and killing him on the spot. 

He was just one of many, many ending up with the same fate. The hangar fell soon after, overwhelmed by a tide of greenskins who then continued on their rampage through the ship. 

And that was just one out of thousands of boarding pods the Imperial Fleet had to deal with.