Death From Above III

All Loose Ends Tied

by Lee Parnell

Part One: Endings

Previously….

“Bomb bays open, safeties off.  Clear to drop.”

“Noble flight.  Clear to drop on my mark.”

“Copy.”

“Copy.”

“Weapons gone.”

"Noble three, I can't see anything…"

"This is noble two, we have primary's!  We have secondary explosions!   The bridge is down!"

Those on the ground heard the crack of a sonic boom (the plane was hidden in the dust cloud around the bridge), followed by the thunder and lightening as four HE bombs piled into the steel bridge, hitting the Ork trucks and smashing the support pillars that held it above the troubled waters.  Yet nobody noticed, amongst all the debris, the figure who was thrown through the air by the shock-wave.  Who had sacrificed himself to save the mission.

His breath was taken away by the water's coldness, gone in a gasp induced by the shock.   He held onto the beacon for all its worth, hoping that it was still on and yet not noticing the huge chunk ripped out of the side.  His strength leaving him, his grip gone, he was swept under the surface.

It should have ended there.

It didn't.

The man lashed out, refusing to die in the cold waters of the river after coming so far.  Realising his webbing was holding him down but also realising his fingers were numbed by the icy water he quickly pulled his combat knife from his ankle scabbard and cut through the tough fabric belt. With this severed he struggled out of the heavy equipment, his lungs burning with the lack of oxygen, and fought towards the surface.

His head broke the waves and he emerged into the sunlit sky.  He breathed in the sweet tasting air before using the last of his strength to swim to the shore and drag himself onto the bank.

And there he lay, exhausted and numbed from the experience, struggling to remain awake but eventually failing as his brain called out for sleep.

It had been daylight when he had been thrown into the water but when he opened his eyes it was dark.  His first thought was that he had been blinded but the sky was not black, but indigo and purple.  He tried to get up and, for his pains, was knocked back by a wave of nausea.  It suddenly dawned on him that he was alone and beat up, possibly in enemy territory.  A quick check of his person revealed no extra wounds to those already received but it also revealed that all he had was a soggy chocolate bar and his combat knife.  He ate the chocolate bar and pondered on the day's events. Either way he thought of  it, he was well and truly fucked.

He slept with his camouflage smock pulled over his head to keep him protected from both the cold wind and prying red eyes.  It was a light sleep, every single sound causing him to stir, holding the knife ready to provide some semblance of a means of defence against unseen or imagined dangers.  But each time it came to nothing and soon morning broke over the horizon.  The rays of sunlight stretched over the skyline reaching out to him except for one Gretchin shaped silhouette.  The man uncoiled like a snake, hitting the stunted green creature in the chest with his shoulder.

The gretchin fell to the floor, firing off a shot, hitting the soldier in the stomach.   But the adrenaline kept him up long enough to slit the alien's throat before he ran out of strength.  Then he fell, unable to resist as the Orks approached.

He could not put up a fight and could only lie there as the Orks savagely beat him, kicking him in the ribs, bringing him around every time he lost consciousness so that they could enjoy his screaming again and again. Eventually they tired of their amusement and bundled him into the back of their truck, stripping and blindfolding him before heading along a bumpy track.

He had no idea of time but eventually they came to a stop.  His nose picked up the scent of raw sewage and he vomited.  The Orks loved this and dumped him face first into a conveniently positioned open sewer, forcing him to drink the liquid effluent until they finally tired of the crude entertainment.  They picked him up and dragged him into a building.  Soon they reached a large room (it echoed, a sure sign of a large space) where he was dumped onto the cold, stone floor.  He was still blindfolded so he did not see who picked him up by the throat until it removed his blindfold.  He wished it had not bothered as the largest Ork he had ever seen confronted him.

"So youz is the humie who trashed my stompa eh?"  It said in a slow, menacing voice.

"Awfully sorry.  It just kind of got in the wayaarrrgggh."  He was interrupted by the Ork pushing his arm up behind his back causing a wave of pain to sweep through his body.

"I didn't tell yuz to speak, did I?"  The Ork held him up so they were face to face.  "What am I going to do with you?"  He threw the man hard into a wall and shook his head when the prone figure didn’t move.  'These humans were too fragile' he thought, turning away.  But he was surprised to hear a lone groan come from the crumpled heap of a man.  Maybe this humie was as tough as they said.

The war was to last two years as the Imperial Guard forced its way over the continent, liberating towns, labour camps and worse still, killing grounds.

The 4th Lavarikian Armoured Brigade spearheaded the drive, the Leman Russ and Chimera AFV easily crossing the large plains when they did not have to stop and fight.  But space-borne sensors revealed a large energy build up in the south of the continent.   Military Intelligence could only think of one reason for this to be… Gargants.

Milldem Airfield

The two men walked out to their aircraft parked at the end of the apron.  At first glance it looked like any other Thunderbolt, albeit a two seater but closer inspection revealed a number of differences such as the external tanks, the lack of armament and the openings on the lower fuselage revealing lenses.  The first man, Harley Generalson, was the pilot.  The second, Peter Darlin, was navigator / airborne photographer.   They were tasked to investigate the unidentified energy emissions, flying over at low altitude, snapping off several rolls of film to identify the source.  Neither suspected nor knew of the chain of events they would set off.

"Weather looks good over the target according to the eye in the sky." Peter said as they carried out the pre-flight checks.

"Good."  Harley replied.  "The mission is going to be hard enough as it is."

"Surely a pilot of your extraordinary calibre will find this mission difficult only because you've got to stay awake."  The navigator joked.

"Want to be ejected over the Ork base?  I hear they treat prisoners really well."

"I'll shut up then."

"It'd be nice."

The plane taxied to the end of the runway before igniting its afterburners and pouncing into the sky.

The prisoner was awoken with a kick from the Ork guard and dragged outside into the fresh air.  The mans eyes strained against the harsh morning light as he was led to the Warlords lair.  Suddenly there was a commotion and the sky was filled with tracer fire.  Then he heard it.  A plane!

"Damn it.  Intel said nothing about triple-A."

"Let faith be your shield."

"Shove that, I'll let manoeuvres be mine."  Harley put the plane into a slight nose up attitude before jinking through the air, making life hard for the primitive Ork radar.

"Hold it steady, target is up ahead."

"Looks like a Mega Garga… Missile!"  The cockpit was filled with red lights and sirens as the 'Emperor's faith', the protective systems of the plane, detected a missile launch.  Harley put the agile fighter into a tight climbing turn, launching flares to defeat the heat seeking eye of the missile.  The tight turn left only the flare in the missile's field of vision.  The plane had made a lucky escape and completed its photo pass.

"Emperor be damned.  I don't know what we're going to get on the first few frames."

"Prefer it if we were skewered by that missile?"  Harley said rhetorically.

The flight home was done in silence.  Neither man realising what was held in the camera bay.

It should have ended there.

But it didn't.

Part Two: Coming home

The war was over.  The PDF had taken over control of the planet and now the Lavarikians came home.  The Imperium didn't consider it cost effective to ship regiments back but then it is used to conscript armies.  All Lavarikians, bar penal troops, are voluntary soldiers, the military mindset of the planet meaning there is no shortage of volunteers to make up the planet's quota.  It was the planet's government that paid the cost of transport, using its fleet of civilian merchant ships to bring them home.

Bring them ALL home.

The man sat in the garden of the pub, looking out across the park.  The capital was shrouded in the gloom of the autumn weather, red leaves skirting across the street as winds pushed them around.  The old man took a sip from his drink and watched the slow procession as the first of Lavarick's lost came home.  The procession would march to the grand memorial in the centre of the park and there words would be said, the soldiers' names added to the wall of the giant structure and then the caskets taken out to wherever the soldiers had said they wanted to be buried.  But the old man noticed four caskets break off from the march as it turned into the park.  These, and about twenty men, continued along a gravel path up to the 'other' memorial.

All of the men wore red berets.

The old man touched his own, laying on the table in front of him.  He was retired now, had been for nigh on twenty years, and had seen no action during his time but even those killed in the continuous training that made the Paras the best of the best were entitled to being buried in the same way as those killed by an unknown enemy on a forgotten planet.  He had buried his friends and comrades many a time and knew what would happen once the smaller procession reached the Paras' monument.  They would stop, the pallbearers lowering their caskets to the ground, maybe straightening out the Lavarikian flag draped over the wooden coffin.  Then they would step away.  The Commander in Chief of the Parachute Regiment, accompanied by the units padre and commissar would lead the men in the litany of remembrance.

There would be silence as the four dead men's names were added to the U-shaped marble wall that looped behind the original monument.  Then they would be taken to the Regimental Cemetery at Aster and buried.

There was a sound behind him and the old man turned around to meet the newcomer.   Philip Walker, Commander of the Pathfinders stood behind him.

The Pathfinders was the Lavarikian equivalent of the Storm Troopers.  Like the Parachute regiment, which recruited from the Lavarikian regiments, the Pathfinders recruited from the Paras to get the best right away.  Then they were trained to fight anywhere, anyone, with anything to hand.  Only Space Marines were tougher, and then they were not even entirely human.

"General."

"Brigadier."

"Please take a seat.  Do you want a drink?"

"A pot of tea would be nice."

The old man signalled to the waiter who took the order and left to get the drinks.   The old man turned to Walker.

"We count them out and we count them in.  But we're missing one."

"Your grandson?"

"Yes."

"One of my Sergeants served under him just before his death…"

"He's not dead."

"Really?  You have proof?"

The old man reached under his seat and pulled out a brown manila envelope just as the waiter arrived with the steaming pots of tea.  From within the envelope he pulled out a single photograph which he held face down till the waiter left.

"Towards the end of the war a recon flight made a pass of the Orks main settlement, looking for Gargants.  Understandably the Orks took exception to this and opened fire on the plane.  The pilot managed to avoid the fire but the sudden movement upset the position of the camera.  By chance the first few frames took photographs of the space outside the Warlords lair."

The man handed over the photo.  "They got this."

"By the Emperor."

"I thought you might say that."

"But I don't understand.  Why come to me?  I don't have the power to authorise anything.  Take it to the senate."

"I did.  They said they would not sacrifice time and lives to rescue one man.   Despite the fact that without his sacrifice more of our own would be making the visit to the memorial."  He shook his head.  "Hypocrites."

The old man looked back at the General.

"Sorry, I'm rambling.  But trust me.  I have pulled strings within the Imperial Intelligence corps to find where the Ork Warboss fled too.  I have maps, imagery, and financial resources to pay for transit to and from the planet.  All I need is some good men to complete the task.  To get my Grandson back."

The Old man noticed that Walker was nearly swayed, could see that he was still studying the single black and white image of a man, starved and beaten but not broken, looking up at the plane with hope.  Not seeing the Ork behind him bringing the butt of a rifle down on his head.  The Old man decided to hit him with one last line.

"Do you know why we spend millions to bring our soldiers back, no matter who they are, or where."

"Yes."

The old man didn't seem to notice that.

"Its because our soldiers expect us to.  Because they volunteer themselves to the ultimate sacrifice, laying their lives so that humanity can keep its tentative grip on the galaxy.  All they ask is that when the war is over, they come home.  Either to prepare for the next time, or to be buried."

Walker got up, putting his beret back on and brushing the fluff off his tunic.  He picked up the envelope and finished off his tea.

"I'll see what I can do.  Good Afternoon Brigadier Tyrel."

"Good afternoon to you General.  Oh, by the way.  Good hunting."

Part Three: Names in the hat.

The meeting room of the Pathfinder's base, located just down the road from the main Parachute Regiment depot at Aster, also doubled up as a trophy room for the Company's past battles.  On entering the room a person would see a battered table in the centre with four different legs held level by three piles of books.  The bullet holes in the top seemed to indicate that the original owner hadn't given it up entirely at his free will.   Around the room were a number of chairs and small coffee tables and men, sipping at cups of tea, occupied a few of the chairs.  On the walls were several photos, trophies and helmets.  Pride of place was a Space Marine helmet, stolen from a careless marine who'd put it down only for a quick-witted Pathfinder to snatch it up.   The Iron Eagle chapter was too proud to ask for it back and the Pathfinders were sure as hell not going to give it back without good reason.

Walker didn't notice all of this, he had seen it all before and now just took it all for granted.  He walked up to a brass ship's bell (again 'borrowed' by a Pathfinder just before leaving the troopship it came from) and rang it several times.  Men filed in, some where half asleep, others were dressed in combat rig carrying weapons (obviously coming from the ranges after practising weapons drill and sharp shooting), a few wore oily coveralls after working on the Company's motor pool.  The first ones in grabbed the chairs, the remainder sitting wherever possible.  No one sat on the rickety table in the centre.

"Lads.  I've got a mission."

"'bout bloody time."  Someone muttered.

"Starting to wonder why we bothered."  Another agreed.  Walker ignored this and continued.

"We have found a POW from the Maoration campaign and we have an obligation to get him back."

"Damn right."

"I'd bloody expect it."

"Who'd want to rescue you?"  There was a chuckle and Walker sighed as the laughter subsided.

"However, the powers that be have decide not to risk the lives of our esteemed service for the life of one man.  No matter about our creed."

There was a murmur of discontent from the soldiers, not only because the government would abandon one man, but because the government didn't think the Pathfinders could do it without losing a man.

"Before I ask for volunteers I must say that we are doing this ourselves. We will have no official support and you will receive no war pay."

"We ain't mercenaries Boss.  We'll do it for free."  This came from Sergeant Mulligan, a veteran of the Maoration campaign.

"I know, I just had to check."  Walker looked back at the men, all had a grim, determined look on their face, almost all had seen combat and had the 'look' familiar to all veterans.  The look of a man that had peered into the face of death and lived.

"Obviously  I can't use all of you.  Some of you already have a place on this mission because of unique skills you hold.  I'm afraid the rest of you will have to put your faith in the Emperor and your names' in a hat."

Walker threw his beret like a Frisbee, the cap landing right in the middle of the battle-worn table.

"That is all."  He turned and left to get on with preparations whilst his men put their names on pieces of paper.

Walker was sitting at his desk in his office, going over the inventory of equipment that the rescue force would need, when there was a knock at the door.  Mulligan came in, closing the door behind him.

"You sent for me boss?"  Mulligan's voice had a concerned edge to it. Nobody liked being called to the boss' office.

"Yes Sergeant.  It's about the mission."

"You're not leaving me out of it?"  Mulligan said, the reason for his concern now obvious.

"No.  Quite the opposite actually.  I'm putting you in charge."

"Er…thanks boss.  But that’s going too far the other way.   Matts has more experience."

"Matts wouldn't be able to identify the target."  Mulligan's face was a picture of puzzlement.  Walker pulled out the photograph he had received earlier and handed it to the NCO.  He stared it and then his jaw dropped.

"It can't be."

"It is."

"I saw him run on to the bridge, I saw the bombs blow it to bits."

"But you didn't see him blown to bits did you?"  This caught Mulligan off guard.  All he could do was shake his head.

"Then in that case there is no valid argument until we see him for ourselves."

"Yes Boss."

"Good.  Now I've drawn up a list of what we need and now I need to know who to pick to use it all."  He passed over the list and Mulligan quickly scanned it.

"Okay boss.  For one of the two Sniper teams I'd have to say Fitz and Davis, saved my ass many a time at North Bridge." He looked at the next heading.

"All of the Mobile Platoon are as good as each other when it comes to those new Panther scout vehicles, you'll just have to pick them from the hat, same with the assault team."

"I thought pretty much the same."  He paused to think about something but let it go for the time being.  "Okay Sergeant, I'll call the men in at 1000, tell them who's coming and briefing will be at 1030.  I need you in earlier though.   There's someone you have to meet."

Mulligan cringed.  The way Walker said that last bit made it sound very ominous indeed.  He got up and left, knowing that there was nothing to be done until morning but knowing he would not be getting much sleep tonight. No.  Tonight he would have to sleep with the ghosts, though there may now be one less.

Part Four: Good to go

Mulligan sat in the mess room waiting for the Commander to arrive.  As he had suspected sleep had been impossible and he found himself catching the late night travel tube into the capital, getting off at Memorial Station.

He had spent the night putting faces to the names on the memorial that had been added since the end of the Maoration campaign but his gaze kept going back to the first name on the list.  The name with the asterix next to it to indicate that the man was MIA, Major Ronald Tyrel, 3rd Para, 1st company.

The main door opened and Walker came in followed by another man dressed in civilian attire.

"Morning Sergeant.  If you'll come into my office we can get down to business."  Mulligan finished off his cup of tea and followed the two men into Walker's office.

"Right Sergeant.  As you are aware, Warlord Garax fled back into Ork held space after the failure of the Maoration campaign.  By the accounts of the few POWs who survived the 'liquidation' of the prisoner camps as the Orks withdrew, it would appear that Tyrel was often brought before Garax and the Warlord almost considered him as a pet, keeping him by his side during the day.  It would seem likely that Garax took Tyrel with him into the Orkdom."

Walker turned around and activated a holo-projector, a plan view of the galaxy appeared and the zoomed in on the Lavarikian Sector.  It showed the names of the major planets (Lavarick, Celti and Millan Forge World) plus the locations of Maoration.  Ork space was also shown as a red area taking up a fifth of the map.  Walker pressed a rune on the remote and the view zoomed in on a system just on the edge (but within) Ork controlled space.

"After the war Garax didn't have the resources nor the renown to immediately go to the heart of Ork space so he set up shop here, System AG-13.  Not much there but a class Theta planet (breathable atmosphere, primitive indigenous wild life, large continental deserts with little water)."  The view switched to show the planet in question.

"And this is where I introduce our visitor, Free Captain Logan Kalli.  He will be vital to the mission."

Mulligan looked him over and then turned to Walker.

"Er Boss.  What exactly do we need a civilian for?"  Logan spoke before Walker could answer.

"Civilian?  Trust me when I say I have seen as much action as you have, if not more."

"A Mercenary?  Oh this just gets better and better."  Mulligan gave Walker a sharp look.  "Boss.  We don't need no sell swords to get this done.  By the Emperor, we don't even know if he'll stay on our side!"   Lavarikian soldiers, because of their 'professional' status, took a dim view on mercenaries.

"I prefer the term negotiable soldier, as for the rest; you need me because I have a ship which will get us through the Ork patrols with the minimal fuss and as for changing sides, well.  I don't think the Orks could top what I have been offered already and changing sides is very bad for business at any rate."

Mulligan wasn't convinced and continued talking to Walker.

"What's so special about his ship then Boss?"

"It’s a captured Ork vessel fitted out with Imperial systems to make it safe and  reliable.  The Orks will thinks it one of their own."  Mulligan finally kept his mouth shut and Walker continued.  "I wanted to give you advance warning of this, er, arrangement so you could calm the men.  I know they feel exactly the same as you do about this matter."

"They won't like it Boss."  Mulligan sighed.  "But there's one of ours on the ground expecting us to bust down the door and get him back.  Even the Emperor couldn't stop us doing that."  Mulligan felt the meeting was over and left, deciding that another cup of tea might help calm his nerves.

The briefing had gone as well as could be expected.  Those not picked helped those who were load up equipment.  Weapons were taken to the ranges and tested extensively less a jam or a loose sight jeopardise the mission.  The Pathfinders took their job seriously.

Nothing was said about having to use a mercenary (some said pirate) vessel to get to the target zone.  When the men had looked to Mulligan on hearing this information, his nod put them at ease.  If the Sergeant wasn't worried then neither were they.   Since then the depot had been a hive of activity.

Mulligan sat on an ammo crate watching the men load equipment onto the two large Samson transport aircraft.  Each plane carried two panther scout vehicles.  These were a fairly new addition to the pathfinders armoury, replacing the old and cumbersome Harbinger ARAT.  The Panther resembled the all terrain trucks used by the farmers in the hilly north continent.  It was light enough to be parachuted out of an aircraft yet sturdy enough to go anywhere.  It was also well armed, packing a fixed storm-bolter, a pintle mounted Heavy Bolter and a secondary weapon in the back.  In the case of this mission the force was using two Panthers with secondary Heavy Bolters, one with Millan anti-tank missile launcher and one with a normal missile launcher.   The Panthers would also carry men and equipment into the immediate vicinity of the target.

The men were no less well-equipped.  Each Panther required a crew of three but more men were needed to go into the base and snatch the target.  As such a ten man squad was formed up.  Each man was equipped with a Boltgun, auxiliary grenade launcher (loaded with krak grenades) and hand-thrown frag and smoke grenades.  One man was also armed with the Jimp-E machine gun, a weapon unique to the Lavarikian armed forces.  This strike force was also backed up by two sniper teams giving a total of fourteen men that would need to catch a ride with the Panthers (three or four men to each truck).  Each man also carried enough food for three days, clothes, extra magazines for the Bolters and extra batteries for the communication systems and night sights plus a personal first aid kit.  One man also carried the forces long range radio and another two (trained medics) carried more extensive first aid kits. Mulligan found himself wondering if the planes could take the weight.  He train of thought was interrupted by the presence of his 2 I/C, Sergeant Triveel.  Triveel was one of those men who although physically small (Triveel was only 5' 3"), looked larger because of sheer attitude.  Once Triveel got his mind stuck into something nothing could stop him.

"Mulligan.  We've got the Panther loaded onto the planes and the rest of the stuff is going on now.  Should I get the men on?"

"Sure.  The Emperor knows we ain't going to no good sitting round here. Lets get this done."

The younger sergeant nodded and the two of them walked back to the assembled men.   All were dressed in tan desert rig with brown combat webbing round their waists and their packed bergans strapped onto their backs.  Boltguns were held in one hand, helmets (fitted with mini-Emperor's Eyes night-sights and communication systems) in the other.  All were hunched up and striking a pose for the camera before the unit's padre came round and blessed them and their equipment.  With a final wave to those who were being left behind the men began to file into the two transport aircraft.   Mulligan was the last to get on and he paused to look out along the base.   With a final nod of approval he to disappeared in the dark interior of the Samson.

The planes taxied to the end of the runway, the pilots checking that the machine's spirit was healthy and good.  Then the four engines on each plane spooled up to maximum and the planes disappeared into the evening air.

Part Five: Ingress

Mulligan sat in the seat outside the cockpit of the Samson.  He felt better for getting off the mercenary Ork vessel, the stench had been unbelievable.

But it had done the job and the vessel and its contents had got through the Ork lines easily.  He had to admit that Logan spoke good Ork, not a trace of an accent, but that was the only compliment that Mulligan would offer the man.  He was, after all, a mercenary.

But that stage of the mission was over now the ball was firmly in his court.

The two Samson transports left the flight deck of the transport and started the journey to the surface.  The flight was long but that was necessary, by flying over the barren wastelands they would avoid the primitive, but still effective, Ork radar on the ground and the battle platforms around the planet.  Mulligan looked out of the cockpit windows and could see the large, brown, planet beginning to fill the pilots view.   It didn't seem very appealing but maybe Orks just liked brown planets.  He was no expert on exo-psychology, as far as he was concerned the only good alien was a dying one who told you where his friends were.

The two giant planes plummeted through the atmosphere, the friction began to heat up the metal body of the transports causing the grey hulls to take on an orange glow and the engine covers to slide into place, protecting the delicate turbo-compressors during atmospheric entry.  Within the hulls the pilots could only hope the Emperor was watching them as they trusted the computers to fly them whilst they were blind and powerless.

Inside the lead transport Mulligan was glad of the gum shield he had brought along.   One of the first thing taught in the Paras was that the clenching your teeth was a sure way of losing them during the fearsome buffeting of atmospheric entry.  Better to invest in a gum shield and bite into that than be left with only gums.  He started to wonder if it was his imagination that the seat was starting to get hot but then put it to the back of his head.

His life was in the Emperor's hands and if anything happened it'd be quick. It wasn't much to hope in but it was all he had.

As the speed fell the ancient technology of the computers removed the engine covers and started the engines up.  As soon as all engines were on the computer handed control back to the pilots who then angled the planes into a vertical dive for the dubious safety of the desert floor.

Mulligan swallowed, trying to equalise the pressure of his brain to that of the air around him.  He suddenly felt heavier as the plane came to level a bit too quickly and decided it was time to open his eyes.  He stole a glance out of the hatch behind him and panicked when all he could see was rock.

Obviously the pilots were flying down one of the wadis that criss-crossed the planet's surface.  Mulligan wasn't sure what to consider the most dangerous, detection by the Orks or crashing into a canyon wall.  It was a tough choice.

The pilots checked the maps on their knees (the adeptus mechanicus had still not found the STC for a moving map display) and agreed that the landing zone was up ahead.  The chief loadmaster got up and headed over to Mulligan.

"Sergeant.  We're five minutes out from the landing zone."

"Okay.  Men, time to go."

The Pathfinders quickly undid the restraining belt buckles and then climbed into the two Panther vehicles.  The drivers started the diesel engines up as the loadmaster brought the rear ramp down.  In the cockpit the pilot put the airbrakes up to lose some speed and then operated the flaps and slats, allowing the plane to fly below its normal stall speed.  Mulligan made sure he had a tight grip of the Panthers roll bar.   The next bit was going to get hairy.

"One."  The two junior loadies released the straps holding the cargo pallet into the plane.

"Two."  Both men had a quick glance to make sure no limbs were in the way.

"THREE!"  One man yanked the deployment handle for the drogue chute whilst the other pushed.  The parachute caught the rushing air and shot out on its rollers.  It was possible to see the pallet from the second Samson also bouncing down the road.

"CLEAR ONE!"  The loadies deployed the chute of the first Panther causing it to shoot out the back.

"CLEAR TWO!"  Mulligan held on tighter as the plane's interior suddenly disappeared.  There was a bump as the buggy hit the ground and a growl as the driver quickly put the engine into gear and applied the brakes.

Mulligan looked up into the night sky, just able to see the transports disappearing into the night's gloom.  A quick check around him picked up that all four Panthers had touched down intact and they were now heading back to the cargo pallets to pick up the ammo and fuel bladders.

The Pathfinders had arrived.

Mulligan watched as half of the assault force helped load up the Panthers. There was no point looking for the other half, they were too well hidden.

By all accounts the force had come through unscathed from their rather risky entrance and now was the time to make a move whilst there was still some night left.  He silently indicated to the men to mount up and clicked his intercom twice.  Wraith like shadows emerged from the desert moving back to the panthers slowly, eyes scanning the desert for any enemy presence.  There was none.

If the entrance had been spectacular then the exit was a letdown as the four panthers moved swiftly but quietly into the night.

Part Six: Contact!

1743

Blinding light.

Suffocating heat.

Miles and miles of sun scorched sand.

Humans couldn't live here without moisture-capturing machinery and air-conditioned housing but humans were not the inhabitants of this planet.

Orks were a hardier species than man was, and deserts were of little trouble to them.   As such the desert world's ceaseless range of sand was broken intermittently by the crude shantytowns of the green skinned creatures, connected by crude desert tracks.

Humans can't live here.

But they can survive for short times here.

From a yard away it looked like the rest of the desert.  You would have to be right on top of the hide to spot the Sniper team hidden from the eyes of Orks and the merciless sun.  The two-man team had left the rest of the rescue unit as night fell and arrived at this spot after two hour of walking through the freezing night air.   They had set about digging into the fine sand before laying down a roll of tarpaulin and covering it with the displaced earth.  Then they had placed their equipment within the thin mouth of an entrance before they too entered.  Now they waited, the .50 calibre rifle pointing towards the Ork sentries.

Mulligan used one of the navigation maps to fan himself down.  The camo net hiding the two Panthers of his 'Alpha' section cut out some of the sun's heat but the air itself felt like an oven.  He would be glad when night fell in a few hours.  The lack of sun's heat, being rapidly lost due to the lack of clouds, turned a hot hell into a chilled one.

2130

Fitz looked through the "Emperor's Eyes" night sight.  The blackness gave way to a green image and it was possible to see the Orks moving about on the North Gate.  No doubt Fitz' bravo section counterpart would be watching the South Gate with equal interest.  Davis, Fitz' partner, nudged him and pointed at his watch.   Only half an hour till the show got on the road.

Mulligan quickly scanned the ground where 'alpha' section had laid up during the day, checking for clues that would reveal their presence before they had a chance to strike.   Surprise was the only thing the Pathfinders had going for them.  Content that all sign of their existence was removed. he climbed into the back of the lead buggy and told the Driver to go.

2155

Fitz checked his watch and then looked to Davis.  Davis checked his and then nodded.  Five minutes to go.  Fitz chambered a round into the sniper rifle and aimed up on an Ork manning a heavy weapon (looked like a crude machine gun).  From that moment the Ork was dead.  It just didn't know it yet.

Mulligan checked to make sure the magazine of his Bolter was in properly and that his webbing was done up.  A quick check over the communication system indicated that both sections were in position and he said a quick prayer to the Emperor.  If ever Mulligan need Him, now was the time.  The Sergeant quickly looked at the men in the buggy.  The Millan gunner was readying the missile launcher and the Heavy Bolter gunner was checking his weapon.  The men who would be dismounting were checking their weapons and equipment.  The last thing they needed was a stoppage or failure.

2200

Davis listened attentively to the radio set when he heard the message from Mulligan.

"All sections.  For the Emperor, proceed!"

"Fitz."

Fitz took the first pressure on the trigger.

"By the Emperor.  I strike thee down."  With that he put the final bit of pressure onto the trigger.

Rerwetz sighed.  He had been stuck on this world since the Waagh had collapsed and the ladz had been forced to run.  Now, instead of humies, the Orks had to be content with shooting at each other.  It was fun but not nearly as good as killing humans.   He was starting to thing of the good times he had had when the heavy .5 slug impacted into his chest and knocked him off his feet.  He was dead before he hit the ground.  A nearby Ork stared in shock.  If he had known it would be the last expression on his face he might have chosen a more heroic one.  It didn't matter.   There wasn't much left of his head as the bullet exploded inside his brain cavity.

The two Panthers attacking north gate raced down the dirt track.  The wall loomed ahead of them and Mulligan saw the Orks manning the battlements drop down as the Sniper team lashed out again and again.  The Heavy Bolters of the two buggies joined in the assault and the Millan launched a missile at the gate.  As the green skinned creatures scattered and shot wildly at approaching Panthers, the gate was blown clean off its hinges by the large anti-tank warhead.  The buggies formed up into an echelon formation and passed through the smoking gap.  Orks were emerging from the crude buildings only to be cut down by the large bolts from the Heavy Bolters, fixed front-firing Storm Bolters, and the Bolters carried by the men.  The men also chucked out frag and smoke grenades into doorways and windows, causing indiscriminate havoc to the inhabitants.  The Sniper teams had also stopped picking off the sentries at the North and South gates and were now firing incendiary rounds at the open fuel and ammo dumps.   The sky was lit up by the red glow of the burning fuel and Orks ran from shards of supersonic shrapnel as ammo cooked off.

The two Panthers from the north and the two from the south all raced to the large building in the centre of the town.

In a grim and dank cell a figure awoke and looked out through the thin slit of a window.  He dropped to his knees and thanked the Emperor.  His prayers had been answered.

Part Seven: Things that go KABOOM in the night

The lead panther skidded to a halt, the front heavy bolter ripping apart two Orks who were exiting the Warboss' keep.  Mulligan and the two other men leaped off leaving the driver and two gunners to cover them.  Four men got off the second Panther and ran to the right hand side of the main door, dodging a hail of poorly aimed fire.   Mulligan signalled to one of the men on the right and prepared to enter.  The right hand man threw in two frag grenades that bounced into the dark interior.  There was a flash like lightning and a boom like thunder and Mulligan entered the building, flipping the night sight goggles down.  The room was still black and he could suddenly smell the characteristic odour of an electrical fire.  The goggles had shorted out!  Chucking his helmet down the corridor he hastily reconnected his communications gear and signalled for the remainder of the men to enter.  His radio burst into life.

"Bravo to Alpha."

"Alpha here."

"We have entered the building.  Light resistance.  Most the Orks have fled."

"Yeah.  But Orks don't generally run.  They're up to something."

"You give them too much credit Mulligan.  Still we'll be careful.   Out."

Mulligan looked down the corridor and gave up.  It was too dark to see anything, better to let one of his men scout ahead and hope his goggles worked better than Mulligan's.

The two squads moved through the black, ramshackle corridors of the Ork fortress.   Mulligan's squad had engaged a few Orks who had laid in wait but they were the only ones to be seen.

"This is wrong Sarge."  Trooper Colag said.  "Orks don’t do this kind of thing.  They just run at you, waving something sharp and pointy usually."

Mulligan wasn't listening.  Colag was correct of course, even a lowly recruit knew the Orks style of attack was to run towards the enemy lines and then work from there.   And yet…  He looked up and could see a light coming from the corner ahead.

"Derrick."  He whispered.  "Go ahead."  Derrick disappeared into the gloom, appearing again as a silhouette at the corner.  Derrick seemed to pull something out of his webbing (probably a hand mirror, to see round corners).

Suddenly he started to run.

Fitz surveyed the north side of the town.  He could just about see the two Panthers, occasionally snapping off a few rounds of heavy bolter fire at any Ork who dared to stick his head around a corner.  Fitz was also looking for any targets of opportunity.  He was starting to get bored.  As he moved the sight slowly from left to right he caught a glimpse of something.  There was a number of Orks close, but not in view of, the Panthers.  If they charged then there was a chance that the Orks could overwhelm the Panthers before they had a chance to kill them all.  But the Orks didn't charge, they just stood there, waiting.  Fitz didn't shoot but instead he chose to watch, trying to figure out what was happening.

Derrick ran from the corner as fast as he could, dropping the mirror as he ran.

"Sarge.  ORKS!"  The men dived for cover.  Mulligan found a rather sound looking Cast Iron pipe that would probably stop the inferior Ork rounds.

There was a hail of fire as the aliens rounded the corner en-masse firing off several clips of ammunition.  One hit Derrick in the leg, another in the shoulder, which spun him around like a top.  He hit the ground only two meters away from Mulligan.   With the Orks keeping him and his men's heads down it might have well have been miles.  Mulligan snapped off a three round burst which took an Ork down.  A quick glance towards Derrick showed no movement yet it seemed unlikely he would be dead from a shot to his limbs.

Suddenly there was a shout.

"Sarge.  Big Ork approaching!"

"Well shoot it then!"

"They're bouncing off it!"

"Use the Jimp-E!"

"We ARE!"

Mulligan didn't have an answer for that.  He stuck his head round the cast iron pipe he was hiding behind, quickly noting a few bullet holes in the side furthest from him, and risked a peak.  Sure enough an Ork, in what appeared to be Terminator armour (or an Ork version at least) was approaching firing off a large calibre automatic weapon.   Mulligan fired off four, three shot, bursts all of which hit but ricocheted off the metal plating.  The remaining Orks were trying to hide behind this massive creature making it look like the Orks were advancing in single file. Mulligan looked back down the corridor at the other members of the squad and pointed at three of them followed by the hand signal for frag.  He then pointed to two more and made the sign for Krak.   He pointed to the Jimp-E gunner and signed off  'Full Auto'.

Time for Plan B

Outside of the central fortress and near to the North entrance the two Alpha panthers waited, engines idling.  The gunners were keeping an eye out for the inevitable counter attack.  Yet said counter attack was not happening.

It was worrying Corporal Sade, but not much.  If the Orks wanted to stay clear then it was fine by him.  He looked over his shoulder at the rear gunner manning the secondary heavy Bolter.  Sade's Panther was fitted with an additional heavy bolter on the rear mount giving the vehicle a total armament of two Heavy Bolters and a fixed storm-bolter and had so far provided the vast amount of anti-infantry fire for the two Panthers.  He was just carrying out a check of the area when the radio spluttered into life.

"Guardian one to Alpha."  Guardian One was Fitz' sniper team.

"Alpha here."

"Build up of Orks on a street just round from you.  I can also see smoke coming from the position.  Could be an Ork vehicle."

Sade smiled.  The primitive Ork trucks wouldn't even be a challenge for the Heavy Bolters let alone the anti-tank missiles of the other Panther.

"Bring 'em on."

"Roger that…BY THE EMPEROR!"

"Wh..?"  Sade never managed to finish off his question.  Two primitive, but deadly, Ork missiles hit the front of the buggy, exploding instantly.   Sade and the front gunner were both ripped apart by the shrapnel and burned by the super hot fuel.  The rear gunner was thrown clear as the Panther was lifted off the ground and by chance, or the Emperors will, survived without a scratch.

As the smoke cleared the crew of the second Panther could see the menacing silhouette of two crude Ork light dreadnoughts approaching them, the light from the burning wreck making them look even more threatening than if they had been seen in plain old daylight.

Part Eight: Bug Out

To Mulligan things seemed to be getting worse by the second.  Derrick was down, maybe even dead; a heavily armed and armoured Ork was pinning down the rest of alpha section and providing mobile cover for some other green skins behind it; and now he had lost contact with both Bravo section and the Panthers.  He didn't, however, wonder if things could get any worse.  When you started thinking that they usually did.   Instead Mulligan was quickly loading his auxiliary grenade launcher with a Krak round.

"Everyone ready?"

There were seven affirmatives.

"Okay. On three."

"One."  Mulligan slipped the safety off the grenade launcher.

"Two."  The men positioned themselves, ready to spring from cover.

"Three!"  Mulligan rolled out from behind the iron pipe.  As he came to a halt he fired the grenade launcher from the hip, catching the Mega-armoured Ork in the chest causing the beast to stagger back.  Two more shells from Mulligan's team-mates dropped it.

At the same time the Jimp-E gunners and the remaining three members fired off a hail of rounds and frag grenades ripping the Orks apart.  Mulligan saw someone fall out of the corner of his eye and turned to look.  Three Ork rounds had hit Geralds, one of the Boltgun carrying assault troops.  He had been dead almost as soon as they impacted into his face and chest.  Mulligan left Geralds to the others and moved to check Derrick.  He could feel a slight pulse but noticed that the young soldier was losing blood fast.

"Seycome, Dent."  Two Pathfinders came forward.  "Get these two back to the Panthers.  Get the medi-pack onto Derrick ASAP or we'll lose him for sure."

"Got you Sarge."  Seycome took Derrick whilst Dent took the body of Geralds.

"The rest of you follow me."

Benson didn't have much time to think.  He was panther 01's Millan gunner and if ever they needed him, now was it.  Two Ork Light Dreadnoughts emerged from the smoking wreckage that had, until recently, been Panther 02.  Benson knew he had very little time before his buggy became the next target and so quickly brought the Millan to bear.  Peering through the sight he was able to see the area in the hazy green image of the night sight and quickly placed the cross hairs onto the leading dreadnought.

Fitz had seen the Panther erupt into flames and could make out the two dreadnoughts approaching the second truck.  Time to save the day.  Again.

"Davis.  AP round."  He held out his hand and felt the cold weight of the .5 penetrator.  He slotted into the rifle.  He didn't need to check it was the right round, as he trusted Davis to know the difference.   He brought the rifle to his shoulder and reacquired the target in his sight.  Next he zoomed in, searching the metal monstrosity for a weak point such as a fuel pipe or vision slit.   Finding what he suspected to be a weakness he took the pressure on the trigger.

Benson squeezed the trigger sending the large Anti-Tank missile on its way. There was no need to 'fly' the missile.  It was too close to the target to require that.   It was now in the Emperor's hands as to whether the men lived or died.  All he could do was quickly reload the missile.  Up front the driver had the presence of mind to pop the smoke grenades making it harder for the Orks to hit them.

As this was happening Fitz' .5 sniper round shot through the air towards the trailing dreadnought.  The sniper had aimed his weapon at the vision slit, hoping to hit the Ork inside.  It was a near impossible shot, the distance, size of the target, wind all combining to make it so.  But by the Emperor's will and Fitz' skill it travelled straight and true, passing through the small vision slit and hitting the Ork's head at supersonic speed.  It exploded in a cloud of green algae and decorated the beast's cockpit with blood, shorting some circuits.  The dreadnought spiralled round before collapsing, a thin trail of smoke emerging from the slit.

As the second dread went down the first was hit by the Millan missile.  The impact alone knocked the dread back but the explosion of the large HE warhead ripped it apart in a pyrotechnic display of exploding fuel, ammunition and flying metal.

"Good shot Benson!"

"Thanks Hedges!  Lets hope the Sarge gets out before the next dread wanders along."

Mulligan led the three remaining men down the steps, which were believed to lead to the dungeon.  Each man scanned the shadows for an ambush and kept an ear open for any signs of danger.  Mulligan was the first to hear it, the sound of something trying to sneak up on them.  He indicated to his men to stop and crept forward.  He had borrowed Derrick's helmet and was glad that the night vision goggles worked on this helmet.  Holding his Boltgun in front of him he came to the corner and spun round.

To face Sergeant Triveel leading Bravo section.

"Triveel.  I thought you guys were dead!"

"Likewise.  I've been trying to contact you on the radio.  Where's the other four?"

"I've lost two.  I had the other two get them out.  The radio's must not be able to penetrate all this metal."

"Figures.  Lets get our fella out and then leave this joint eh?"

"Sounds good."  Mulligan led the eleven men down the corridor, occasionally banging on an iron door.  Finally he found the right one.

KNOCK

"'BOUT BLOODY TIME!"

"Major Tyrel?"

"That’s me.  You going to open this door?"

Mulligan nodded to the demolition expert who quickly placed a low power melta charge on the doors frame.

"Get back Sir."

The expert twisted the handle and the charge detonated, melting the lock. Two men rushed in and picked up the Major.  Mulligan was shocked as to how bad Tyrel looked.

"Sergeant Mulligan!  I see you survived the war."

"Likewise.  Everyone thought you were dead."

"I wish I was."

Outside the two bravo section Panthers raced round to the remaining Alpha section Panther.  In the hills surrounding the town the two sniper teams quickly dismantled their sniper rifles and left their hides.  They had only an hour to get to the rendezvous point, crossing rough desert terrain and avoiding Ork patrols.  Still they had managed on the way in and the Orks would have something else to worry about in a minute.

Part Nine: Run

Alpha and Bravo sections raced down the grim Ork corridors towards the exit and the waiting Panthers. The Orks were moving up behind them, trying to catch them before they could reach the relative safety of the Heavy Bolters mounted on the all terrain vehicles. Mulligan, carrying Tyrel over his shoulder decided that it might be prudent to see if he could communicate with the waiting trucks.

"Mulligan to Panther."

"Panther here. We were starting to get worried." Mulligan could just make out the sounds of small arms fire over the radio.

"Who for? You or us."

"Us. We've lost Panther two and the Orks are get closer with each wave."

Mulligan cursed his luck. With one of the Panthers out of action the remaining three would be near to overload. The only good thing was that they would only need one transport now. Three Panthers could fit onto one Samson.

Hedges, temporary commander of the Panther section, had had the presence of mind to get the crews to remove all the unnecessary equipment from the trucks. He had also got the front mounted weapons ready to be removed.

When they got out of the town the Orks would be behind them, making the Heavy Bolters on the front useless. Tearing his attention away from the doorway he noted that the Orks were getting ready for one more charge.

Hopefully it would be the last the beleaguered crews would have to fend off.

Mulligan saw the doorway ahead, lit up by flames from the still burning wrecked Panther. He approached cautiously so as to avoid being shot by his own troops or being spotted by the Orks outside. Setting the weakened Major down and readying his Bolter he stepped up to the bullet strewn frame.  He stuck his head round and took in the scene. The three Panthers were parked ten metres away, positioned so as to provide a 180 degree fire arc, overlapping in places. Occasionally an Ork would fire off a burst of fire that would be answered by a few rounds from the Heavy Bolter. The rear gunner of the middle Panther spotted him and brought the Heavy Bolter to bear. Mulligan grimaced. Had he come so far only to be shot by his own troops? But the gunner recognised him and aimed the gun in the air.

Mulligan looked over his shoulder to his men and raised his thumb.

Hedges gunned the engine, ready to move in an instant. With the assault team's arrival imminent he wanted to be able to leave as soon as possible. As the tan clad men raced towards the waiting trucks a grim silence fell across the town.

WWWWAAAAAAGGGHHHH!!!

Mulligan dropped Tyrel to the ground and peered round the corner of the truck as the Orks came from behind their cover, firing their primitive weapons and waving a variety of viscous looking close combat weapons.  He had to act quickly.

"All sections, for the Emperor. Fire for effect!"

As one the men opened fire. Bolter rounds and frag missiles ploughed into the approaching green hoard, creating large gaps. The Jimp-E gunners opened up with the heavy machine guns creating even more random destruction.  Yet still the Orks rolled onwards.

"This is Mulligan. Bravo section mount up. Alpha section cover 'em."

Triveel pulled Tyrel onto one of the Panthers and strapped him onto a folding stretcher. As the men climbed onto the trucks they tried to keep firing, aiding alpha section. Once Mulligan could see all of Bravo section was on he called Alpha section.

"Alpha section mount up."

The first Orks were coming within grenade range and frag grenades sailed into the midst of the greenskins. Mulligan took the time to fire off the last of his frag rounds on his auxiliary grenade launcher, noting with content the damage it caused.

"All on. Roll."

The Panthers screamed off, firing more smoke grenades to cover their retreat and firing the forward firing weapons to clear anything that got in the way.

The Orks had positioned a few dilapidated trucks and another Dreadnought in the place of the old gate but the Dread fell easy to the shaped charge of the Millan missile and the trucks were brushed aside by the high speed, but sturdy, buggies.

They had managed to escape.

Mulligan looked over his shoulder at the Ork town behind him. He knew that all he had was a brief respite before the Orks could organise a chase but hopefully he would be able to put some distance between him and the Orks to allow him to get away.

As the Panthers slowed to pick up the four snipers (and ditch the front firing heavy bolters as the suspension started to groan) Mulligan took the time to use the Millan's sight to check on the Orks progress. As the sun started to rise and throw the first rays of a new day across the parched sands of this desert world; as the air began to lose its chill and hint at the oppressive heat that would follow; as the last of the deserts animals went to hide from the light, Mulligan saw the black oily cloud on the horizon.

The same cloud he had seen two years before, defending the bridge.

Part Ten: Egress

The three Panthers bounced across the rough desert track that led to the landing point. Each truck was loaded to the limits even after all the non-essential equipment had been thrown off. Each truck had its crew of three plus six-eight men clinging on and it was only designed for four plus the crew. Mulligan was glad they had brought extra fuel, they were certainly burning enough of it off.

'And they arn’t the only ones.' Thought Mulligan, his eyes resting on the black cloud behind them. The Orks couldn't be too far behind now, maybe only twenty miles, and closing fast. Mulligan reached for the radio and set it too a new frequency.

It was time to even the odds.

The haphazard Ork vehicles were having just as rough a ride as the Panthers were. Not only because of the load they carried but also due to the almost non-existent shock absorption of the suspension. The Orks didn't mind this, after all if you didn't like it you could always walk. Unlike the relatively quiet multi-fuel engines of the Panthers, the Ork engines made a fearsome racket and produced a cloud of thick, impenetrable, black smoke as they burned the crude oil fuel. It is perhaps testament to the sheer power of belief the Orks possessed that the trucks moved at all. But move they did and slowly but surely they ate up the gap between them and the Panthers.

Mulligan's eyes were slowly adjusting to the rising light levels and soon he would have to don the UV-goggles to stop him being blinded by the fearsome desert light. When he was not checking on Tyler he was watching the ever-growing cloud behind him. The other men had also taken to doing this and he noted that all of them were clutching their Bolters in preparation.

The Orks started firing almost as soon as they could see the three Imperial vehicles. The short range of the Ork weapons meant that the rounds fell short but it served to warn the Pathfinders that the Orks meant business.

Benson readied the Millan missile launcher and noted that the 'Emperor's Eyes' was off line again. With no range finder or thermal sight he would just have to play it by gut instinct and faith.

The first elements of the Ork pursuit to hit were the Ork bikes. Fast moving and reasonably armed the bikes suffered from being only lightly armoured, easy prey to Heavy Bolter and Jimp-E fire. As the Orks closed up on the fast moving vehicles the Pathfinders made use of their weapons' longer range to lash out before the Orks could reach them. The result was a comical display of flipping bikes and flying bodies finished off by a pyromaniac display as the fuel tanks ruptured and ignited. The Orks tried to use their weight on numbers to draw alongside and board the Panthers but just couldn't survive long enough to do it. The remainder of the bikers decided to slow down and wait for the rest of the Orks to catch up.

Mulligan looked at the map and smiled as he saw that they were only a few miles from the landing zone. But the smile did not last long as he saw that the Ork Trucks were catching up on him. He was thrown to the floor, banging his head on the roll bar as Ork rockets exploded around the Panther, sending it spinning. It was only through massive effort and skill on Hedges part that he managed to keep the Panther on the road. Mulligan, holding his head, decided it was time to use his trump card. He grabbed the radio set and called in.

"Panther to Eagle."

"Eagle receiving, go."

"Enemy in pursuit. We could do with some help."

"Roger that. We have you on visual. Emperor be with you."

It started as a distant rumble, building up to a crescendo. The Orks looked around, wondering what could be loud enough to drown out their considerable noise. They soon found out. Two grey shapes shot across the sky above them making not a noise. This was because they were going at twice the speed of sound and the sound had yet to hit the Orks as the Napalm canisters erupted in the formation.

The two PDF Thunderbolts, which the Pathfinders had brought with them, passed overhead just as orange and red flames erupted amongst the Ork vehicles. The Orks were covered by the stick flaming mix and their screams of pain and rage carried across the desert air before being drowned out by the roar of the engines and the ear splitting sonic boom.

"Eagle to Panther. That good enough?"

"It'll do. Get that transport down." Mulligan felt a tug on his jacket and looked to see Tyrel holding on.

"Sergeant. Are you sure that's wise. If we stop to load up…"

"We ain't stopping."

The Samson transport aircraft came in over head the three Panthers.  It's engines on idle, flaps down it barely stayed in the air as it descended to the ground. Mulligan had chosen this stretch of road because it was straight but even so they would be pushing it. The rear ramp was down and the Panthers quickly fell into line. The first Panther waited until the Loadmaster gave the signal before gunning the engine and shooting into the cavernous interior. The next Panther drove up, again lining its wheels up and matching speed before shooting in slamming it brakes on before it slammed into the first buggy. Hedge's Panther was the last one and he brought the wheel across a fraction so it was just right…

…and narrowly missed an exploding shell.

"Who's firing at us?" Mulligan shouted. All attention had been focused ahead on the aircraft and no one had seen the approaching BattleWagon.

"If that hits us or the plane…" But Benson wasn't listening. He was aiming the Millan up on the approaching metal monstrosity, quickly calculating range and offset in lieu of the 'Emperor's Eyes' and praying that The Most Glorious Protector Of Mankind was watching him with a gracious eye. He pulled the trigger and let the missile fly.

The missile blasted out of the canister, its small stubby wings quickly folding out and stabilising the missile's flight. There were no commands going down the wire so all the missile could do was travel in a straight line but it was all that was needed. It was slightly off, Benson had been aiming at the dead centre of the target, but it hit the front axle, snapping it in half. The vehicle flipped over with the force of the impact and crashed into the compacted sand.

Hedges didn't wait to see the results of the impact. He slammed his foot on the pedal and willed the vehicle into the cargo hold. He was a fraction late on the brakes and smashed into the second Panther's tailgate. The pilot pushed the throttles to maximum and pressed the 'ramp close' rune. The four engines burst into life slowly pushing the aircraft to rotation speed. Ahead the pilot could see the road rapidly running out as it went through a 90-degree change in direction and he pulled back on the controls, praying like mad that there would be enough lift. The Emperor must have smiled on him because the wind picked up and the air moving over the wing lifted the plane up.

The 'Ork' transport ship moved off into the dark embrace of the night without being picked up once. It quickly reached the jump point and then disappeared into the warp. The mission was over. Only the flight home remained.