North Ariun Hills, South Daba'r Coast,
Roon (Summer of 874 ABY)
'Yaaaaaldy! LET'S FAWKKEN GOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! If only ye'd been there wae me, Reed an' Valaar for Nirauan.... A Godly dunt an' then some, Milord! Absolute combat bliss in a single action!'
Veering off ahead by working their way around the tank-and-IFV formation as the former completed the latter stages of their opening creeping-barrages, Lord Aron's small column would have their head-start well and truly established by the time all the incendiaries had been sent northward, knowing that whether he willed it or not, Gowrie would need to catch a glimpse of what could be done from the summit of the nearest hill either way. It would be the only time the convoy-of-five presented easy targets of themselves for the Mawites further inland, but the risks were still there to be adapted to, great risks of the likes the Kellas had become familiar with over the years of service with the Free-State. The greener the ground got, the riskier their ascent uphill would get, especially in the process of slowing momentum in the steeper inclines of Lord Aron's attempt to get to the sprawling, lightly forested remains of the town district the Tuaths were still laying waste to at the time.
'Ah seen the report, Muir. Also heard aboot whit was revealed on' the matter o' Sir Alun's wee poach fae the Woads.... Suhin' along the lines o' bein' former rivals, is that right? A wee commoner's microcosm o' the clan wars, aye?'
Instinctively winding back his neck-posture enough to let his raised right eyebrow be seen with ease, Damien retorted,
'Aye, ye seen his scars, clearly, an' Lord Byron's seen the wans yer 2-IC left on me.... Tit for tat in Westcape, mind? Quite unlike the ever-so-peaceful Minnonraer anyway.', in the spirit of meeting his Lord-Commander's stare with equal intensity, but trying his hardest to show at least some of his feelings on the matter, even if only for a moment or so. Fortunately for everyone involved, the matter between Damien and Sir Alun had long since been resolved between them, so it would be quite easy for Muir to relent and continue,
'Peace was made between us when Sir Alun found me seven years ago, an' trust me, ah was ready for crackin' the man's skull there an' then - things change, amends are given time to be made. No regrets, Milord.... Not even in this life.', with an air of calm that neither the Lord-Commander nor the Guard-Captain had never seen in him before.
'Understandable, Muir.... Now, I've never once claimed to understand the people of Westcape, and the same would go for Milton in particular, but I will say this. At least you have principles to stand by, fair play-'
<"Wildcat one this Hawkbat 1-2 good effect on target well…">
Chuckling at the kind appraisal of the Brigade's work, Damien concluded,
'Thanks for that, Lord Byron. Though I'll admit it is somewhat strange hearing this from a Reiver.... but still, things change, amends are given time to be made.', before being distracted from the moments of silent reflection that followed. The incendiary barrage had only just faded out, so the fresh flash of light from beyond the horizon were certainly not from any of their own ordnance or any of the allied sort either, to which Gowrie, Scott and Moore all cast knowing sidelong glances in each other's direction; even before the warning came in, the intuition of the Free-State's ten long years of Imperial military service had kicked in, feeling the pre-bombardment dread that the WIldcats knew too all too well. The XT-62 was designed to take the punishment of all small-arms and high-calibre weaponry alike, even withstanding hard-hitting shells and rockets from other MLVs, but something was rightly telling Wildcat Brigade what they were really bracing for.
<”Wildcat one I repeat get your people moving you have counter battery fire inbound along the vector my suit is feeding you. I’m going to investigate the source. If you have a direct line into those Krayts tell em to head to the coordinates provided in my suit data. Hawkbat 1-2 out.”>
A focused barrage from gargantuan stationary cannonry, one of the likes the veterans among them had not experienced since Ziost or Serenno for that matter, and though the sky was lighting up already with rumbling, deathly malice, the open formation would keep the worst of it from impacting the otherwise-defenceless Cataphracts beneath. However, whether it would be enough to reply with something devastating of their own was any man's guess by then, as their ability to keep fighting hinged on how effective the first Mawite salvo was expected to be. They did not know who exactly was unleashing Hell on their positions, nor did they ever feel the need to know such things at the time, so all they knew, and going forward, all the Wildcats would ever seek to know, was what they would do if the way beyond their enemies opened up for them at any point.
'You know the drill! This is'nae yer first song an' dance noo, is it? BRACE FOR IMPACT, GENTLEMEN!!!!'
<"Gowrie to Hawkbat 1-2! I'll let ye in on a secret. It's in moments like this that a Goidel's faith burns at it's brightest, like a red-hot inferno made celestial! An' the soul of the Tuath tribe burns brightest when they trust in Dia, their comrades, an' the mighty Cataphracts they all swear by.... IT IS HERE, UNDERNEATH THE HELLFIRE, HERE IS WHERE MY TANKS REIGN SUPREME!!!!">
'BRING IT!!!!'
Then, with an almighty crash, the first of ear-splittingly loud booms off the surface of the Dunes and the hillside the Delirious Stag was steadily climbing at the time, unleashing shockwaves and burning debris alike across the valley as the artillery-inundated formation behind them kept pushing forward, advancing through the existential crucible that forged the best of them. At least twelve of the two-hundred XT-62s would perish in this process, with at least five of the IFVs in support going up in flames, despite the latter's clear manoeuvrability-advantages over the former. Meanwhile, all the people operating within the safe confines of Scott's ACV were revelling in the thrilling, fearsome delights of their predicament, all roaring, ululating and laughing with a life-affirming grace that would've seemed far too out-of-place to the average soldier in such an instance.
Ecstatic shivers, all whilst we sail through an ocean of fire....
God, at times like this - I love this job more than life itself!
But for the warriors of Galidraan, and the Goidelic tribe of Tuaths especially, this was their natural habitat, and in their minds, this was the only sort of environment where their mother-tongue sounded prettier to the ears than all the rest. A language, a people - built for the Crucible.
'AS SOON AS WE GET CLOSE ENOUGH - WE HOP OUT AN' CREST THE SUMMIT ON FOOT!!!! JUMPIN' ON MY MARK WHEN WE GET THERE!!!!'
As the shells continued to rain down around them, losing one of the two slow-moving XT-62s in the process, Sergeant Muir exclaimed,
'Aye, that's if we survive long enough t'get there! Those are some heavy projectiles bein' chucked oor way, Milord! Definitely a bit,"Extra", compared t'whit we're usually expected t'punch through - an' that might be the understatement o' the- ooh ya, CHEEKY BASTARDS!!!!', holding onto the steering-wheel for deer life as the shockwaves and metallic debris-shunts rocked him back and forth in the driver-bay. The most unenviable station to occupy in such times, as safety precautions always demanded turret-gunners and ammunition loaders to step away from their roles until heavy-bombardments had run their course, and none would envy the plucky, roguish Miltoner as each and every last one of the men onboard caught their own glimpses of the mayhem up front.
'Not long to go now, Sergeant! Working miracles so far, and we both know that's an understatement! So keep at it, Woad! SHOW US HOW BLUE-HEARTS BEHAVE IN THE CRUCIBLE!!!!'
FINDING MOMENTUM: THE KELLAS DEPLOYS AGAIN - PART FOUR
North Ariun Hills, South Daba'r Coast,
Roon (Summer of 874 ABY)
Lucky I'm well-rested enough anyway, its going to be quite the slugfest this time.... Good.
I've been begging Dia, four years of prayer and grovelling at the altar. Pleading for a proper Crucible.
The truest test of faith!
By the time the small convoy of four came to a stop, just beneath the last curve at the top of the recently-pockmarked hill they'd been ascending ahead of the formation, the Mawite artillery in the distance would be hurling the last projectiles of their first salvo, sporadically unleashing their payloads from several differing spots along the horizon Gowrie was trying to get a good visual on. All were armed with SA-65s and SMGs, all except the crew of the Delirious Stag; each man a sniper to himself, though the usual driver had been kept from deploying on medical grounds, leaving the driving to Guard-Captain Scott until Lord-Colonel Gowrie brought Sergeant Muir along to do it for them. However, much to Lord Byron's relief, the Tuath Reiver-Lord remembered the Woad-born commoner was usually the Thistle's designated marksman, reminded of this in seeing the scope fitted to Damien's customised SA-35.
'Looks like you'll be sticking with me after all, Damien. And for as long as you retain both Mortimer's and Walls' roles, we pull no ranks on each other - and I pull no rank on you.... Who knows? Maybe we'll make a Guardian of you yet. Follow me.'
'Ready, lads?', Lord Aron asked, barely heard over the excited mumbling and whispers from within the small fire-teams gathered around the Kellas at the time, to which two thumbs-up replies were given and received with one from the Lord-Commander to confirm. As soon as they were within audible muttering-distance, Gowrie crouched and beckoned his two subordinates closer, clearly choosing Scott and Muir as his advisors and as extra eyes before he even had a chance to say,
'You two, we're pushing off with a fifty-pace head start of the others. Will be working comms from whatever spot you think is safest.', though hearing it with their own ears left no doubt as to what the Lord-Commander had in mind. Drawing the famed Fragarach-model pistol with left hand, then unsheathing his new Vibrosword, Lord Aron smiled as he muttered,
'Onwards to the Crucible, gentlemen. Follow me.', turning northwards as Scott and Muir followed on, in complete reverence of the fact the Kellas hadn't changed a bit.
Much would be seen of the ground ahead as soon as the summit was crested, and to the extent the hypervigilant trio laughed with each other about it for a few moments, though just as Scott was able to see both the valley and the lightly forested area ahead, the artillery that had previously given them Hell were already sending more heavy-hitting payloads towards the sandy valley the main contingent were still advancing northward from. And yet, another surprise was to occur in this process, one that would give rise to what might have been the most helpful of realisations in the process, and to Lord Byron's complete amazement, he would see that the Mawites operating the guns were making a grave mistake. Sensing the opportunity, the Reiver-Lord sprinted to catch up with the others, eventually gaining enough ground and closing enough distance between them to slap his Lord-Commander across the pauldron on his right shoulder, to which Gowrie stopped and turned to listen in complete silence.
'You're good to call it in, Aron. They're overshooting much too far behind us to do any damage now.... It would seem they believe we're not the type to advance under pressure like this.'
Smiling again, the ever-indomitable Kellas drawled,
'Blessed development, Byron. But the real slugfest is yet t'begin, an' it waits beyond the treeline.... That's where I'd spring an ambush anyway, but we'll cross that bridge when we actually reach it - no use in discussing it this early in the game, is there?', in an almost dreamily blissful tone, almost as if Lord Aron was intoxicated by an outlet that had been missing from his routine for too long somehow. Even as the artillery rumbled and cracked several-hundred metres above their heads, the chieftain of the Tuaths remained completely unfazed, trusting in every part of the process as the whole district burned in what felt like every corner, nook and cranny around their smoky husk of the workshop that stood proudly before the bombardments had their way with it. The Lord-Commander held many such similarities with Lord-General Barran, but in this same regard, Gowrie would always exhibit this calm under pressure more vividly in moments like these.
'You're absolute right, Aron. By all means....'
<"Gowrie to WIldcat Two! Check yer datapad for coordinates, sendin' them as we speak.... An' load up the MLVs with the Heavier payloads I saw the other day - you know. The ones ye keep hoardin' away in the hangars aw the time!">
<"Ah know the ones, Milord. Leave it wae me. Autonomy's still mine for the MLV fire-orders anyways, so enjoy the fireworks. Wildcat Two out!">
'Yaldy!'
Khamul Kryze
