Author Notes:
CHOOMCHOOMCHOOM CHOOM CHOOM CHOOM CHOOM CHOOM CHOOM CHOOM CHOOM CHOOM
Ei! This chapter is finally out for public viewing at last! Oh, boy, I am quite excited to read your comments, lol
Other than that, it's been one hell of a start of a week for me. I think I misjudged just how draining it is to my brain whenever Mom has to go to the docs. It's literally one of the more agonizing torture, knowing that you have time while waiting to brainstorm about stuff but not being able to jot them down. I also make the stupid mistake of forgetting it will be a national holiday in Vietnam at the start of next month. This mean I won't have a working bank to pay the house owner the rent on date.
I LEGIT HATE HOLIDAYS, GARGH!
So, pretty please, can someone help us from now till the end of this month? I really don't want my Mom to see the annoying face of the houseowner right when she's improving a bit. Just a happy good luck comment also work.
On behalf of my Mom, thank you, and enjoy.
https://www.patre-on.com/Heartbreak117
https://ko-fi.com/heartbreak117/goal?g=0
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"Hold the line!" Shouts a veteran Commissar affiliated with the Cadian 8th. With a swing of his finely crafted, yet adequately aged Power Sword, the Commissar decapacitated a Chaos cultist that was just about to leap upon an injured Cadian Whiteshield. "On your feet, soldier! Your duty is not yet done!"
Kicking the Whiteshield's fallen Lasrifle toward him, the Commissar then sidestepped to dodge a haphazard burst of ballistic projectile from another cultist's handheld stubber. Unfazed by the possibility that he could have been made a pin-cushioned, the Commissar retaliates with a swift draw of his sanctified Bolt Pistol, blasting the heretic's upper torso clean off his spinal column. "Do not falter! Stand! Fight! Deliver judgment in the name of the Emperor! Cleanse this tainted place! Seize back your home, Cadians!"
The Commissar barks his not-so-subtle encouragement, his vox-amplified voice is heard by the Cadian 8th and heretics alike. The latter, in particular, takes affront to the Commssiar's unflinching figure amidst a small hill of heretical corpses. Lacking in common wisdom but aplenty in sheer number, a fact that doesn't escape the watchful oversight of the Cadian 8th's leadership and by extension the rest of the JTF, the cultists charge a bloody path to kill the Commissar. With him out of the picture, it will be much easier to break the spirit of this unit and push the Cadians off their Landing Zone, or so they hope. Unfortunately for the heretics, they can never get close enough for a sure kill.
Like many of his brothers and sisters in the Whiteshields, and the Regulars, the injured Whiteshield helps form a solid wall of red-hot lasers and flesh, shielding not just the Commissar himself but also the rearguards behind them. The more time they buy in the frontline, the longer the rearguards have to reinforce the LZ for the main force to come. Ignoring his bleeding shoulder, the injured Whiteshield holds his position near the Commissar as he furiously shouts curses and encouragements to both foes and allies alike. The valiant figure of the veteran Commissar, standing stalwartly and unafraid of incoming fire, inspired the injured and battered Whiteshields to fight just as hard as the Regulars around them. That said, while the Cadian Whiteshields have the spirit to match the Regulars' battlefield ferocity, their lack of extensive training means their effectiveness is barely 1/3rd of the Regulars. A great many las shots the Whiteshields fire either miss or fail to kill their intended enemy, and the fire rate is not even half that of the Regulars. It's clear that the Whiteshields are what one considers the Reservists to the Cadian Regulars, being deployed only to gain precious battlefield experience and to bolster existing numbers. In the first wave, the ratio of Regulars/Whiteshields is 1:3. More than half of the Whiteshields in the first wave are then used to advance the strategic depth on Installation 08, helping to form a buffer zone between the multiple Landing Zones and the unending horde of heretics.
Understandingly, such a tactic is achievable only through blood, sweat, and overwhelming firepower. Tactics have little meaning when you can see enemies anywhere but behind you, and even then, the heretics can appear from a great many nooks and crannies. In the ten or so neverending minutes of fighting, the Commissar's unit was jumped from behind twice. One time, the heretics came spewing out of the sewer system. Another time they rammed through a building using a tainted Tarox. Both cases resulted in some casualties to both the Whiteshields and the Regulars. Both were remedied by the generous use of Melta weapons.
In fact, one of the reasons why none of the LZs have fallen is due to the superior quality of their ordinances, being a grade higher than what the heretics employed. Even if the cultists on Installation 08 were supplied by the previous corrupted Planetary Governor, their equipment has been made obsolescent for some time. It's a circumstance brought about by none other than Belisarius Cawl's parking of his Iron Revenant above Cadia. Superior equipment, when combined with near-total aerial dominance, means the first wave can hold its ground despite mounting casualties.
A rocket launched by the dense group of Chaos cultists impacts and explodes in the middle of the Cadian 8th's formation. Unexpectedly, the rocket lands a bit short of any of the covers the Cadians are hiding behind, whether they be rubbles, craters, or charred vehicle husks. Other than some scars, minor injuries caused by fragmentation, and the Commissar's coat smudged by the kicked-up dirt, the rocket fails to do anything of note. Holstering his Bolt Pistol, the Commissar flicks the dirt from his coat, watching as the heretic rocketeer is focused on by the Regulars and is turned into minced meat. However, the rocketeer's discarded launcher is then promptly picked up by another cultist, who is immediately beset by more lasers from the righteously indignant Cadian Guardsmen and Guardswomen. To prevent the dangerous weapon from assailing their line once more, the unit's Heavy Bolter let loose a heavy barrage of blessed bolt rounds. It's only when the rocket launcher is destroyed that the cultists stop scrambling for it. The Commissar's unit has weathered yet another dangerous development, but it sets some warning bells in the Commissar's head still.
Already, that is three upsetting occurrences and counting. The longer they stick to this post and their guns, the more time it takes for the heretics to bring out something truly dangerous. As a veteran Commissar, the man deeply understands that a static defense line like theirs right now is actually a ticking time bomb. With the heretics having a home-field advantage, it will be easy for them to bring out indirect-fire weapons and bombard their location flat. Aeronautica Imperialis be damned, they don't have the reaction speed necessary to intercept whatever artillery piece the cultists have until it already fires a few times. Even then, it's not like Installation 08 completely lacks anti-air equipment in addition to its anti-orbital suite, further complicating the battlefield situation. As such, counting on the Aeronautica Imperialis being proactive in its anti-artillery duty is a coin toss and a half. Instead, the Commissar finds himself favoring a personal touch.
Currently, the Commissar's unit is holding onto a large boulevard with a scant few low-hanging and flimsily constructed buildings around them. However, up ahead and at a bit of a distance is a reasonably constructed administrative building, a relic of a pre-heretical time of Installation 08. If the Commissar can seize that building, it will give them the hardcover needed to weather a few artillery hits. They also won't have to fear much when calling in very dangerous close air support. The only issue is the heretics teeming inside the administrative building and around it. Advancing forward without heavy armor is suicidal, and while the Commissar thinks that the 'suicidal' part can be remedied with enough bodies and guts, the thing is he doesn't have access to infinite soldiers. As such, it's time for him to be flexible.
"Have the Droideka things arrived?" The veteran Commissar asks the nearby Company Captain.
"They are coming toward us as we speak, sir!"
"Then let them loose against our enemies! That building over there must be retaken in the service of the Emperor!"
"At once! I will brief the troops!" True to his words, the Captain gives a very brief order to the Regulars and Whiteshields.
You see that building, it's ours. Now prepare to go and kick out the illegal occupants.
As more and more small arms fire comes down on the Commissar's location, some hitting close to but not hitting the veteran Commissar himself, circular shapes roll in between the Cadian formation. They're fast, a bit big compared to a human being, and seemingly painted in the color and marking of the Cadian 8th itself. Under the watchful gaze of the Whiteshields and the Regulars and the crazed looks of the heretics, these fast-moving metallic balls come to a swift stop in front of the Commissar before unfolding. In the blink of an eye, these metallic balls turn into quadrupedal robots that are taller than most normal citizens of the Imperium. In the couple of seconds that follow their transformations, lasers, and physical slugs come bearing the name of the veteran Commissar. However, all of them are intercepted by an overlapping membrane of blue energy shielding. Other than leaving behind multiple splashes on the cumulative energy shield, none of those shots fired by the heretics manage to damage the Droidekas, much less the Commissar behind them.
Raising his Power Sword with contempt directed at the Chaos cultists swarming on his path of war, the veteran Commissar shouts.
"We defend the human nation, from the heretics of doom! We defend the human nation from the perils of the Warp! We defend the human nation, our duty never ends!" His vox-amplified voice is once again heard across the battlezone as one by one the Cadians brace for the upcoming attack on the administrative building. "We are servants! We are masters, We perform what should be done, and the Emperor's will shall guide us...!"
"ATTACK!"
The human soldiers, even those who are injured, raise their weapons and unleash a withering hail of firepower, not at all thinking about preserving their munitions in a drawn-out battle of attrition. With hundreds of cultists blocking their path forward, they need a dense curtain of firepower to pave the way, so it's no time for being frugal. Cadians, Regulars and Whiteshields alike, never cease holding down on the trigger of their improved Lasrifles, using them in a manner akin to light machine guns. Even the Commissar himself takes his Bolt Pistol out for proactive, long-distance sniping of any foe foolish enough to be slow on their feet. However, even with their Company-level firepower being put on display, it's the recently arrived Droidekas that outshine them all.
It takes only a blink for the multiple Droidekas to scan that active battlezone for targets, and it takes no longer than that for them all to align their weapon arms at the high-priority targets of their choosing: cultists bearing heavy weapons, heretics standing on high ground, foes that are suppressing allied positions... The Droidekas see them all and the Droidekas dutifully adhere to the Commissar's earlier order, and that is 'Attack!'.
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As if rolling down the red carpet to welcome in the guests, the Droidekas swiftly dispatch the enemies that seek to undermine the Cadians' effort to take back Installation 08. Normal Hellguns are already deadly enough against a normal human body, with or without the common Flak Vest. Yet, these Hellguns that are outfitted with Ein's Twister Modules work wonders in melting through layers of building material, covers, and then the body armor worn by some of the cultists to get to the fleshy bits that shouldn't be cooked and exploded outward. The best part is, that the Droidekas are firing the Hellguns at a constant, unceasing rate, with all of the shots scoring debilitating if not fatal hits. Their fire rate is so fast to the point that it drowns out all other weapons that are active in this small battle zone. They alone suppress most if not all of the heretics impeeding the Commissar's advance.
When the Droidekas start leading the path forward, they do so with weapons blazing hot and bright. The muzzles of their Hellguns are directed up, down, left, right, and center, never once cease firing, never stopping.
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Following right behind the Droidekas are Commissar, the Cadian 8th Regulars, and its Whiteshield contingent, at least those can still fight. The injured are, understandably, sent back to the LZ where medics will be taking care of them. The veteran Commissar is not in the business of killing men and women who are unbroken in will yet are physically unable to continue fighting. Such figures are best left given the chance to heal up and fight once more in the service of the Emperor. Fortunately for the Commissar, with the Droidekas taking point and their shields blocking a great many haphazardly employed return fire, many of which go sky high, the unit proceeds with nary but a scratch.
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Under the protection of the Droidekas, the Commissar's unit makes best speed to the administrative building. Nearing the objective, however, a cultist, hiding in the carcass of his fellow Chaos followers, jumps up from behind the line of Droidekas. With the Droidkas focusing on the front arc of the formation as they get closer and closer to the target building, the cultist thinks that these executioner machines won't be able to target him as he makes for a suicidal charge at the Commissar. Yet, the Commissar never once even bothers to look at the cultist, for something else is already in the perfect position to deal with him.
A low whirl of fine motors follows by the whistling sounds of something being swung. Then comes the near-immediate yet momentary roaring of blades. A sharp, tearing, and visceral cut of flesh, blood, and bone later, the cultist finds himself suddenly staring at the murky sky above as his body is promptly bisected in a mere moment. He can't even manage to fully form an expression of stupor on his face bearing the marks of the Plague Father when something else happens.
CHOOMCHOOMCHOOM
First, his head is vaporized. Then comes his upper torso, and this is followed by the hand that holds a barely functional Chainsword. This is not a double-tap anymore, but it's a triple, quadruple-tap even. The Droideka has one of its weapon arms fitted with a Chainsword of its own probably took it personally that the heretic dared to play dead against it. For taking some manner of bothersome task away from him, the veteran Commisar regards this particular Chainsword-wielding with a calculating hum.
"Well, what do you know, the Emperor will find some duties for you just yet, Droideka."
To this, the Droideka revs its Chainsword briefly as it lowers the many blades against what's left of the dastardly heretic as if the Imperial robot is expressing its understanding. Afterward, humans and robots advance as one, making swift work of whatever manner of resistance stopping them from seizing the administrative building for themselves. Other than a singular Droideka having its shielding module temporarily overloaded due to a near-perfect hit of a Krak missile, it's safe to say that the Droidekas start its first trial by fire on good footing. Whether they can keep up this performance, however, is quite hard to predict.