This story is an unofficial story based, without permission, on the Warhammer/Warhammer 40,000 intellectual property owned by Games Workshop Ltd.
"What's the story, gentlemen?"
"Situation is bad, Governor."
"How bad?"
"...Bad enough."
"How are Old Gurgenstein and Farfinburg holding up?"
"..."
"Is something wrong, gentlemen?"
"Sir, at 0800 hours this morning, Old Gurgenstein broadcast Code Omega-Omega-Violet."
"Excuse me? Did I just hear you correctly?"
"Yes, Governor. We hit it with three thermonuclear blasts. It no longer exists."
"My dear sweet God-Emperor...Farfinburg?"
"We believe it is currently under Ork control, sir."
"May the Emperor help us, gentlemen. Has the Penal Legion been mobilized?"
"It has. As well as the Armored Corps and Civil Air Patrol."
"I see. Begin air strikes against Farfinburg at the earliest possible date. And I want the Penal Legion to have Heimlin Fortress locked down with full defensive positions within 48 hours. I assume that steps have already been taken to secure the tubes against the Orks coming in that way?"
"Yes sir. We have three regiments of Penal infantry securing the tubes. They won't get in that way. The tubes leading from Old Gurgenstein have been sealed to prevent radiation leakage."
"Good, good. Gentlemen?"
"Yes, Governor?"
"Have we the slightest chance of success?"
"No, sir."
"I thought as much. Send word to sector command. Get as many Imperial Guard units here as quickly as you can."
"The proper actions have already been taken."
"Good, good. I suppose there is nothing to do at this point then, but watch, and wait."
"Yes, sir."
"May the Divine God-Emperor have mercy on us all. Dismissed, gentlemen."
Governor Gonsalves leaned back and scratched his goatee, taking another puff of his cigar as the collected generals stood and filed out of the darkened office.
"Secretary?" he said over his comm.
"Yes, Governor?"
"Get my wife and daughter off this planet. And make preparations for me to leave at a moment's notice. I want to be out of here before the Ork blockade becomes permanent."
"Y...yes, Governor."
Gonsalves momentarily considered inviting her along as well. No, no need. There were other, equally attractive young women who knew how to satisfy the many...needs, that a man of his import had, on Raglon V. No need to raise any undue suspicions with his wife. She could die with the rest of the planet. Then the governor thought of something else.
"Secretary, come in here for a moment, will you? Oh, and before you do, arrange a meeting with the Arch-Deacon for later today, I will be in need of confession."
***
Lord-General Julian Montego, commander of the 207th Kazarkanian Assault Infantry took another puff of his cigar, and a another sip of brandy. He reclined in his leather chair, in his well furnished office aboard the Imperial Navy cruiser Templar, reviewing casualty reports. His unit had been through a lot during Abaddon's 13th Black Crusade, which they were presently returning from. His boys had seen action on Nemesis Tessera, in the attempt to retake Saint Josmane's Hope, and finally in some of the more climactic battles on Cadia. Beyond that, Montego himself had fought alongside Brother-Captain Tycho and Commissar Yarrick on Armageddon, and had the privilege of personally attending briefs with Lord Castellan Ursarker E. Creed during the Cadia campaign. He was a distinguished commander, a recipient of Saint Macharias' Cross twice and the Honorifica Imperialis three times, among many other, lesser medals. A man in his late fifties, with the same dark swarthy skin as all Kazarkanians, and a graying, black mustache and hair, his face was lined with deep wrinkles and deeper scars. His emerald eyes were dulled with years of battle and sorrow. He stood at six feet three inches tall, an imposing man, clad head to toe in a metal gray storm coat replete with medals, and a brilliantly decorated scabbard, in which he kept an impeccably cleaned saber. He was a man as proud of his appearance as he was of his performance on the battlefield and that of his division, which was often lauded. He was considered by many to be among the finest assault infantry commanders in the Guard.
But he was tired, and so was his division. The sharp reports of the Cadian artillery still rang in his ears, and the ears of his men. He looked forward to a time at home on Kazarkia with his wife, Rosa, and their two sons, Benicio and Antonio. He smiled to himself for a moment, thinking of her warm smile, the smell of her impeccable cooking, and the sweet air of their mountain estate. Yes, it would be good to spend some time at home after so many years of war.
A soft beep at his desk console stirred him from his memories. The message was brief, but it drained from Montego immediately all the hope he had just been entertaining.
+++ORKS ATTACKING AT HARGON. BATTLE GROUP BEING DIVERTED TO DEFEND. 207th INFANTRY DEPLOYED. MISSION TYPE: HIVE SIEGE.+++
The blood drained from Montego's face at the last two words. Hive siege. Hive sieges were affairs that lasted years, sometimes decades on end, with no discernable victory one way or another. Montego could be robbed not only of his time with his family but of decades of his career spent defending a backwater hive on a backwater world. A twist of fate so cruel, he had rarely encountered.
Sighing, Montego took one last puff of his cigar, and pressed his comm.
"Secretary, please call my colonels to my office. I need to give them a short briefing."
Montego sunk back into his leather chair and gazed at the Imperial seal that hung over his door. It was a seal he was proud to defend, but he was weary of war. He was weary of the smell of death, and the screams of young men. It was a pity he was so good at waging it.
"Very well," Montego whispered to himself, closing his eyes. "I suppose it is, once again, into the breach."
As a mighty Imperial battle group shifted course and prepared to make its way into the warp, tearing through the fabric of space and hurling forward with all the might and ingenuity of man, utilizing the powers of technology and religion to bend the very universe to the will of the Imperium, one old general sighed, sadly, before putting out his cigar and taking the last sip of his brandy.
Hive World Terra