NEPHILIM
THE_IRON_MAIDEN
LORD EXECUTOR
// One week prior to the NIO's re-engagement...
// ALTITUDE 43762 ft
Riding high over devastated worlds had become something all too common in her itinerary, though it was by no hand's design but her own. They would not forsake Nirauan, they would not allow the soldiers and civilians left in the wake of The Maw's indiscriminate destruction to die, nor would they allow those who had sacrificed their lives in the effort to safeguard the planet to do so in vain. The Maw still ran rampant through the streets of New Carannia, spreading their pestilence recklessly, and the New Imperial Order would not allow them to do so unchecked.
She would not allow chaos to take root and penetrate the core of the world, their diplomatic heart, not while she was still drawing breath. It happened beneath all of their noses on Carlac, it would
not happen again. It was too risky, she had been told by intelligence officers, to deploy a strike force to the planet by traditional means, yet with contact mostly lost to those upon the ground, there was no way of knowing just
how risky it was, or how much time they had left before those men and women left behind would be overrun and snuffed out of existence despite fighting for every breath they drew.
The rumblings of counterattack had been underway almost as soon as they had departed the planet in their forced retreat, with the knowledge that time was needed to lick their wounds and rally more soldiers to thrust back into the meatgrinder. Diplomats and Warlords always took too long to get anything done, their egos and bickering hindering their judgment and the progression toward achievement. Still a grunt at heart, Noel could not stand idly by while the
whys and
hows were debated across the table back and forth, not while her brothers and sisters struggled for air in the chokehold of The Brotherhood of the Maw. It was around the table she announced she would be deploying her personal task force, and she would re-establish communications, taking the bold step forward that no others seemed willing to. And not a soul had protested, knowing full well she was not to be dissuaded once her mind was set on a mission, personal or otherwise. If anything, Noel's blossoming tenure as Lord Executor had only reinforced the idea that she was no dreamer, no idealist, she did not thrive in theory and discussion- she lived in action alone. There was no in-between, no compromise. If anyone was going to get in there and get it done, it was her and those loyal soldiers mutually pledged to her ever-forward momentum.
Intelligence was a hot commodity, one they were unfortunately deprived of in the days after their withdrawal. Soldiers who had been in too deep to be extracted had been left behind in the scramble, a sin unforgivable at the core of her augmented soul, and one she would justly see righted before further wrong was done. So it had been then, she overruled the
advisors who told her to stay out of it and summoned her Hellhounds to her side, those left after the original fight had eagerly gathered their kits and boarded the ship with her, their course set for Nirauan. She did not know then, just how dire the situation was on the world, nor did she know precisely how long she too would be stranded amongst those left behind, but it was of little consequence and concern in her mind. They would endure this. And they would be stronger for it.
Poised within the belly of the AV, the newly pledged Hellhounds watched her with stoic curiosity, many of them entirely unacquainted with her methods, while the veterans of the task force took the time they were afforded to doze off and enact their own pre-battle rituals, each of them understanding the severity of what it was they were to do. HALO jumps were no easy feat, especially into hot territory, but in this situation, it was reliably the only way to get their boots on the ground. Too dangerous to land the craft, and too hot to parachute down traditionally. They needed the added stealth of high altitude to cover their transport's approach, and the gamble of close ground chute deployment to ensure they were as accurate on their landing mark as possible.
<"We're approaching the drop zone, ninety seconds."> the cyborg's voice crackled over the interlinked commo, spurring the men gathered with her to animation, and she turned her head with her rise to her feet, beckoning them toward the sliding door with a hand.
<"We're going in hot, scans show active AA in the area, clouds should cover us, but the last stretch is going to be risky. Focus up, keep an eye on your monitors.">
<"Now's a fethin' bad time to tell you I'm terrified of heights, ain't it?"> Bravo spoke up, the mirialan shrugging his armored shoulders with her harsh gaze leveled toward him,
<"Just saying, I've done this before, but it never gets any easier."> His words brought Charlie some amusement it seemed, as the typically silent soldier almost wheezed over the link, his chest rattling with the gesture.
<"If you piss your pants, know I'm going to make fun of you until the day I die,"> Delta reassured him,
<"I always liked these jumps, gives lots of time to think.">
<"Check your lines and packs,"> Noel cut through the chatter dutifully, grasping at the locked handle of the door,
<"I'd rather not have to scrape any of you off the towers after this chit is done with."> The weight of a hand pressed against the flank of her shoulder, Echo was ready.
<"Awwwww, Strasza, you're gonna make me blush, getting all sentimental like that."> Were it not for the helmet clasped over her head, surely the man would have been melted by the almost spiteful glower she fixed him with.
<"You sure you don't need a chute?"> he continued despite the heat he felt from her glare,
<"You're gonna be dropping like a stone.">
<"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I was built for this bullshit."> she almost sounded exhausted, as though she had explained this a dozen times over already,
<"Waiting for the green light and we're going. And... remember, don't bite your tongues."> As if the pilots had heard her, the yellow light overhead flicked to green, and as soon as she checked all her men were stacked safely, her wrist wrenched the handle of the door upward and she pulled it back, exposing them to the bitter winds.
<"Echo, Delta, Bravo, Charlie, Foxtrot, I'll pull up the rear!"> she reminded them of their order,
<"Go!">
One by one, the men plunged from the safety of the craft, throwing themselves from the gut-wrenching height into a free fall meant for crashing stars. When each of them had assumed the position and righted himself, Strasza dove after them, tucking her arms in tightly by her sides, giving chase. And there, she found some semblance of calm before the storm. Enough of these jumps had learned her to appreciate the quiet of falling, the calming muffle of the winds rushing by, and the residual weightlessness created, even as gravity did its best to rip them from the heavens and splatter them on the ground. Fueled by a rapid influx of information across her retinal HUD, she shifted her legs, angling her body to guide her descent to the right, where she overtook the falling angels with her and showed them where to go. Seconds dragged into minutes. Minutes into more. And it wasn't until the decimated city came into clearer view and the alert to deploy her landing system flashed across her sight that she reengaged from her meditative state.
Power cells twisted into sockets, the modified armor of her back, arms, and legs shifted aside, propelled by her body's synchronization with the mechanized plates, and she gave the silent command to deploy. The Celest Landing System integrated throughout her body deployed fully, firing off crackling charges of energy to slow her descent until she could control it precisely. Their landing zone was the top of the crumbling wall left around Fortress Imperium, the remains of a stalwart beacon of their resolve. The underground portions of the fortress would serve well as redoubts for communication and coordination, providing the New Imperials on the way with the invaluable information they needed, so long as she could get it up and running again. Beside and behind her, parachutes cracked open, the ground far more in focus now, and she glimpsed over her shoulder to confirm visual on five parachutes open. The gamble had paid off.
Now it was time to get to work.
The day had come, but not swiftly enough. While their reinforcements had the luxury of rest and full kits, the soldiers entrenched at what remained of Fort Imperium had no such privilege. The days had not been kind to them, the fates even less so, and as their numbers waned, the situation became increasingly dire. What little they had, they clung to desperately, struggling in an endless fight for their lives with every battering crash against the crumbling walls, with every bold charge through their defensive line, and every howling undead push into the breached underground tunnels of the fortress proper. They were tired, low on supplies, and all but running on fumes. Yet they fought regardless, the embodiment of willpower manifested, willing to hold out for as long as they could in the hope they would be saved. And when the Hellhounds, spear-headed by the Lord Executor herself arrived, the end was finally in sight.
Or so they had thought.
Swiftly, she had reestablished order and communications, repairing and projecting the antennas to carry information back across the BattleNet, giving insight where High Command had otherwise been blinded. Dropzones were marked and shared, the frequent routes of their enemies flagged, and an effort had been made to beat back the ravenous dead and dogs at their doorstep, providing them all with some breathing room that saw the first sleeping shifts established within days. Strasza was ruthlessly efficient in how she settled so effortlessly into her element, taking command of the banded survivors, and even ordering their doors opened to any survivors and Imperial citizens they could find in the leveled blocks around their bastion, as few as they were. Halketh's parting gift had left them all on the back foot, his final web cast over the mire raised the dead still intact enough to fight back into service, damning the survivors to a nightmarish end outnumbered and overwhelmed by the sheer volume of opposition.
Yet they had endured.
From the rooftop, the Iron Maiden watched through binoculars as the streaking plummet of dropships in the distance heralded in the arrival of the counterattack. Thunder rolled, the ships in orbit shuddering with the release of so many souls, and it was enough to earn cheers of relief from the men below who witnessed it. She too shared in this feeling, though she was far from the type to vocalize it. Rather, she set back into the cadence of her position, reclining her weight down into a kneel, and brought forth her tacpad. Digits rapidly flew across the cracked screen, brushing aside the dried blood and dust gathered from her week of fighting tooth and nail, dialing in her frequency.
<"Iron Maiden to Corvus, you're six mikes out from Redoubt. We've swept the streets clean on eastern approach, but expect to encounter clusters of the dead on your way in, we can't kill and burn 'em fast enough. Scanners show a horde nearly six hundred strong is roaming on the southernmost reach of the district, so keep your approach quiet. We'll clean them out in due time, over.">
"Lord Executor!" a voice shouted from below,
"The dead are rushing the tunnels again!"
"Son of a b!tch," the cyborg hissed, shoving the binoculars and tacpad she clutched into the chest of Echo beside her,
"you're on overwatch, keep sharp. I'm going under." The scout nodded hastily, accepting both the offerings unceremoniously dumped in his charge.
"You got it." Strasza arose sharply and turned to jog off, nimbly descending the busted wall to reach the ground, where she rallied the soldiers still fit to fight to join her below ground in confronting another wave of the hellish soldiers left to torment them all.
Rurik Fel
Lucien Dooku
's Myrmidon, the 173rd Legion under
Dante Corvus
Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
's Red Riders.
