Northern Srares Mountains,
Near Srares' Outskirts, Carlac
'Alright then, Milord! I think it's safe to say you've done enough coordinating for now!', Yorunarr exclaimed through laughter as he saw the Predator Launch-Platforms' payloads unleash high-impact hell on the undead hordes approaching from the city's broken northern wall. To see such a ceaseless smoothbore barrage on it's own before, in all it's carbonite-cooled glory, was something that was quite new to the eyes of the Shaman, so seeing the missiles fired from the Munros as a second offensive layer would serve as a means to further amaze the Novanian to awestruck proportions for the second time that night. However, Yorunarr knew that the ever-ticking clock was still ticking against their efforts on Carlac, regardless of their astral travels and their carefully-deliberated coordination efforts, with the holy-man's attack on the western Srares outskirts serving as a perfect example of such; and yet, because Michael had allowed them absolute autonomy from the moment they landed, the Lord-Captain wouldn't know what the brigade's unofficial chaplain's plans were as they transpired.
'Agreed, though I'm kinda regrettin' no keepin' tabs on Brand noo. Nae idea whit the fella's got planned, but it's obvious he's gawn aw oot in the attempt! Would've been a scrap just t'get there, let alone at the western gate itself.... Karking hell, might as well just keep my end of the bargain an' hope he doesn't try anything glaikit.'
'No use in moping about it now, Milord.', the Novanian started, pausing to draw Lord Erskine's basket-hilted Vibrosword claymore, looking downhill once more as his Woad-born Lord-Captain was seen doing in that moment. Peering over the precipice of the sheer drop beneath them, Yorunarr would notice the drop didn't go as far as he previously guessed, as the snowfall before had obscured the extent of the distance to the snowdrift below, and the brief respite in the weather would only appear a few minutes after they first regained conscious lucidity again. As the Shaman turned to see if the Wanderer noticed, he found an appreciative Woad gazing on it's cold, glimmering form, prompting Yorunarr to continue by noting,
'It is a good thing that you recognise your father's blade, Michael. For it is written in Lord Erskine's will that this claymore should pass to you when he dies, Melarran forbid.', only to see his Lord-Captain's eyes widen in dumbfounded response.
'An' ti 'hink ah believed he'd be entombed wae it in 'is grasp afore! Life an' it's many surprises, eh? A gift that ne'er do wane so long as we breathe, Yorunarr.... Anyway, it's time we mounted a proper assault. Order all the XT-62s to veer around the southern rises in a pincer assault on the city's northern approach. They take the flanks, you & I clear the hazards between us an' Captain Baird. Deal?'
Deal.
Yorunarr would then reach for his comm-device, nodding with visible confirmation of his affirmative response as he pulled the device from his pocket and clicked it active with his free hand, seeing Michael reaching for his lightsabre then seeing that same hovering hand drift towards the Vibrosword's hilt instead. The young Novanian commission-prospect couldn't help but empathise with a force-wielding maniac for once in that moment, understanding that the Lord-Captain's inability to rely on that power would also mean an inability to deflect or dodge incoming fire of almost every ordnance-variety, but the way Barran's hand verged on choosing the other sabre (veering from the Kyber to Cavalry variety as if he was spoiled for choice) had Yorunarr intrigued, pondering for a moment on why it wasn't necessity that was driving the Wanderer's decision-making process. As soon as the cavalry sabre was drawn however, Lord Michael's slight dissatisfaction reared it's momentarily defeated-looking face, already comparing it with the wideness and ornate design of his father's basket-hilted broadsword counterpart though the Shaman could see that the Wanderer shook off that feeling with the comfort gained from attaining familiarity the sword he'd wielded thousands of times before.
'Yorunarr to Cataphract One! It's time, we're finally moving in on the northern Srares approach so here's the plan. The Lord-Captain wants the formation to split and veer around the hill's south face in a pincer attack, as he wants to remove the hazards there personally, and as quietly as possible. Sound like a plan, Archaisian?'
<"Much safer as far as plans go anyway, I like it. Consider it done, Novanian. Cataphract One out!">
'Aw'right then, Shaman! Lets get t'work!', the Lord-Captain exclaimed as soon as the transmission reply was concluded, running for the small twenty-foot cliff face beneath their position to jump with every faith he wouldn't injure himself. With Michael looking to test the jump anyway, Yorunarr's lip-pursed shrug had inadvertently served as a perfect tell, and for what sort of risks they would be dealing with in pursuing the aforementioned risks through to full-commitment, that was all the sign a Barran would ever need to make that stereotypically-Galidraani leap of faith before the Novanian's very eyes. Roaring out with gleeful ecstasy beneath the bodyguard, the Lord-Captain's back hit a snowy surface that seemed to act as a slide of sorts, propelling Lord Michael as he careened towards the open drop to the fresh, blizzard snowdrift pileups beneath with hoots of excitement and joyous obscenities along the way. With no other troubles holding him back any more, the Shaman wouldn't take long in following his commander in his wild jump into the unknown, ululating and abandoning all his restraint as his back hit the snowy slide beneath as Michael's did just moments before.
Michael, I just realised that you actually heard me.... Intriguing.
PROVING GROUND: THE WANDERER'S DEPLOYMENT TO CARLAC - PART 21
Western Srares Mountains,
Near Srares' Outskirts, Carlac
<"Wilkson to Goliath Two-Seven! Cooling for the next barrage, requesting permission to administer repairs.">
'Good call, AFV Three! Good call indeed. Those dorrty little undead fethers did a number on our tracks after all, and I assume equivalent circumstances for yourself, judging by that grumble in your tone o' voice alone. Meet us at the center of the line when you're done though, will ya?'
After mowing down swathes of undead on their way, the 32 remaining tanks of Brand's Goliaths of Ilum would have a wild series of engagements with the Perished as they veered around westward, though much to the relief of O'Callaghan's rag-tag, half-strength battalion, the intelligent undead soldiers would be redirected to more urgent situations elsewhere, leaving their feral comrades alone to chase and pry at the turret hatches of the VH-140s they'd boarded or fallen upon in the struggle. The AFVs among the roving band of veteran tank-crews would be working in overtime in that struggle, hurling everything their slug-loaded LMGs could spew out at any given time, and then some, as the snow-arisen dead tried their clung for dear life to the steel behemoths rushing through and past them, crushing and shooting down all who attempted to climb from the step-ladders and the flaps of their tank-tracks. After overheating their barrels in almost every engagement in their south-westward approach, the Goliath's five Scout-AFVs would have plenty to work on alongside their neighbouring Goliath-crews majority, so Brand & already O'Callaghan knew they'd be delayed in some fashion or other, well-settled into their collective standstill by the time Wilkson patched his reply through.
<"Will do. I'll be there in about five, ten minutes tops. AFV Three out!">
Kicking boots up onto counters, dashboards or other benches of the rather spacious confines within Goliath Two-Seven's Durasteel hull, the two officers and the trusted-confidant that was their tank's driver would wait in peace as all the crewmen operating it left the trio to smoke, and chat away in relative peace amongst each other; the crewmen would work on repairs as the tobacco-smoke billowed out through the viewports and opened turret-hatch, and all the while, more and more repaired Goliaths would join the barrage-line of operational smoothbore ordnance to bolster the intensity of their next round of destructive salvos. First to speak up when the others got to work, and as the roars of repulsor-engines bounced off the cliffs around them in echoes, the chaplain would exclaim to be heard over it all as he remarked,
'Almost there, O'Callaghan.... I can taste it more distinctly in the air than I can with the smoke at this point.', silently rehearing their last rites in his mind before and after speaking.
'Same here, Padre. We just need to soften them up a little more and we're golden, I tell ya. That western gate's a-crumblin', an' the walls on either side are as good as toast too. Just one more good salvo an' we're good t'go.... I am gonna miss this human caper though, wouldn't change a single second of it. How about you, McAllister? Any regrets you taking to your judgment wit' ya?'
'Who, me? Whit? Is it no obvious or that, naw?', the tank-driver responded, double-checking he wasn't mishearing the tank-commander's question after asking by looking to the other smokers' hands. Though the 1st-Leftenant had nothing in his other hand to indicate commitment to talk of the existential, McAllister then looked to the Commoner-Captain's free hand, drawing his gaze downward only to find prayer-beads being cycled through in an almost-rhythmic cadence. This only served to enrage the sergeant in contrast to what the other two had hoped, but something happened that would change the driver's darkening mood, changing McAllister's demeanour completely in the process; from a standoffish, defensively combative reaction proverbially bore a soul laid bare for both his superior-officers to behold in plains, properly turning the driver's posture around from the dashboard as his eyes lifted to see the eyes of understanding and solidarity staring back at him. Taking a long, savouring draw from his own cigarette, Sergeant McAllister would conclude,
'Not having the sacred honour of dying with my friends on Ilum, an' that's my only one.', fighting back tears throughout.
'We'll be seeing them soon, brother. Together.'
Chelenne Akaris
