Editing 97th Conglomerate's Tyrannic War (section)

==== 1013 Hours – Local Time ====

Tyranids continued to skitter around as they were flushed from their hiding places, their capacity to fight dissolving with their ranks. The PDF, being the bulk of the numbers defending the city, were responsible for cleaning up the mess. Many of them piled bodies into small hills while a few created a bonfire of it with their flamers. This was The Line. A 300-meter-wide belt of emplacements, Aegis defense barriers, trenches, bunkers, and ruins that circled the Hive. The area was littered with munitions, weapons, vehicles, debris, and all other kinds of material. Ammo crates were piled around gun positions as cover, comfort, and convenience. Camo netting was pinned between ruins as overhead cover, providing a false sense of security to the officers of 1st Company as they debriefed first contact and organized the ongoing landing operation. Natasha was present like all the other sergeants of her platoon. Sergeant Simhed of Sigma Squad – Chimera ''Contents May Vary'' – was killed in combat the day before, as was all but two men from his squad. Of the 60 veteran guardsmen that make up Vanguard Platoon’s infantry, 17 were killed in total; most were only identifiable because of armour markings or ID tags. Upon hearing these numbers, the PDF Commander piped in with condescension.

“Those numbers are nothing!” He voiced. “I’ve heard of casualties numbering in the thousands from a single company!” The planetary governor nodded in agreement. 

The gathering stood around a wooden table covered in maps and papers and folders and other toot in the middle of what once might’ve been someone’s parlour; the building it had been was little more than piles of bricks and rubble. servo-scribes stood on multiple spider-like legs, instruments and pens blurred in motion, recording everything said and done by the group. Old chairs, probably from what was once this house, were roughly arranged with the area of the room for people to kick their feet up and generally enjoy what was relatively relaxing compared to camping the gun-line. 
Cronus and his officers simply stared at the two locals silently, waiting for them to realize they should shut up. However, planetary governors are notoriously pretentious. Natasha decided she’d cut the tension by asking a question of her own while they were on the topic. 

“What’d we lose on the drop?” She asked, remembering the roughness of atmospheric reentry. She remembered the lander spinning into freefall. 

“As you may have noticed by now—” Cronus began. “—Our Ballista Platoon has not showed up yet. That’s because that lander was the one that made catastrophic contact with the ground.”

“Cronus, you know you can say ‘crashed and disintegrated,’ right?” Lieutenant Gage – Vanguard Platoon’s CO – informed the Colonel. “We all felt it on the drop. It damn near smashed the whole formation to pieces.”

“Well, Leftenant, that wasn’t the only thing we lost.” Cronus continued. He shuffled around some papers on the table until he pulled a roster from under one pile, running his finger down the list of items till he found what he was looking for. “While not as bad as the lander carrying the artillery from Ballista Platoon, the lander carrying Anvil Platoon made a very hard drop. The only tanks that were recoverable were 3 Leman Russ Battle Tanks, a Hellhound, and – if I’m not mistaken – a single Baneblade.”

“Which Russes?” asked Sgt. Callaghan. He was pretty chummy with most of the tank crews and mechanics, so he was familiar with most of the tanks themselves.

“Leftenant Tetrov and the Leman Russ ''Scourge & Purge'', Sgt. Damien of ''Bangers & Mash'', and Sgt. Alvarez of ''Rip & Tear'',” listed Tech-Priest Dobrov, who had been completely silent, save for his involuntary machinations, up until now. One would never have known his Vostroyan upbringing if they weren’t told or already knew. The half-man/half-machine’s voice was mechanical and sounded as if it was made from inside a tin box. “The Hellhound that survived was ''Fire Sale''. The recovered Baneblade was ''Hath No Fury''.” 

“Thank you, Enginseer Dobrov.” Cronus tried to stop before the Tech-Priest started on his statistical listings. 

The Colonel shuffled through more papers until he found a map that one of the PDF officers had drawn up of the city’s layout. The map showed the city that bordered around Terragrad Hive. While the objective was to hold the Hive itself, to fight Tyranids in the claustrophobic confines of a hab-block bordered on the suicidal. In the outer city and its ruins, the Guard had one advantage over the Tyranids: open ground. On the map were scribbled lines and red markers and such that denoted things the Colonel couldn’t clearly make out. 

“Someone explain this to me.” Cronus demanded, looking around at the PDF personnel who had most likely drafted the map. A single trooper stepped forward and started pointing to items on the map. 

“Okay, this jagged red line is the Aegis wall. This is where we will ''ideally'' keep the bugs at bay.” He pointed to the large outer ring around the city. “These red X-marked-lines indicated lines of explosives rigged to clackers in the sector-bunkers. The double-black parallel lines are trenches, the funky-looking boxes are the bunkers, and the triangles are weapon emplacements. Any other equipment like ammo dumps and crates are placed by the troopers to their convenience.”

“Thank you, trooper.” Cronus gratified. “And the black X-marked-line?”

“That’s the point of no return.” The trooper answered flatly. “If the bugs get past that line, we have to fall back, pursue, and establish a new line… hopefully.” 

“Okay then.” The Colonel was satisfied with the explanation. 

He could now clearly see the rest of the city’s layout. Rail lines crisscrossed across the city, running to many vital strategic positions. The Line was divided into 1000-meter-wide sectors, each one to be manned by a company of the 97th’s forces. The landing operation was carrying on as best it could, but the Tyranid fleet in orbit was making things difficult to say the least. Despite suffering devastating in the initial orbital engagement, a token force of the bioships managed to take refuge behind Moranis VI’s largest moon. The xenos now took to carrying out Hit & Run tactics to create pressure for ''Gravity’s Union'' and its fleet in orbit. Luckily, 1st Company sustained the highest casualties so far, which meant the other companies were still at almost full strength. However, Tyranids are known for their proficiency at using their losses to their advantage. Reconvert the biomatter into whatever is needed to win; that’s how the Imperium loses worlds.

“So far,” Comms Officer Elias began to brief, “The other companies have secured all but three of the defense sectors. Command has informed me that 3rd, 12th, and 17th have been delayed on their drops.”

“What’s holding them up?” The planetary governor cut in, growing impatient; not just with the delays, but with the entire situation in general. 

“Oh, nothing.” The Comms Officer condescended sarcastically, annoyed with the governor’s impatience and contempt. “Just a minor Tyranid invasion and possible Exterminatus. You know, nothing ''really'' important.” He caught a pissed-off glare from Cronus and the Lady Commissar. It took him until he saw the horrified look on all of the locals’ faces to realize he’d said something that was in no way intended to be common knowledge. It took a long moment of agonizing silence before he could form the words. “I’m so sorry… I'm so, so sorry…” 

“How long?” The PDF Commander asked, trying to remain stoic, but was emotionally cracking. “Can you tell me that? How long do we have to evacuate? Can we even evacuate?” Aurelia was the most in-the-know person there. 

“Elias, I should gun you down where you stand!” She barked at the guardsman, drawing her bolt pistol but not yet raising it to sight the trooper’s head; she had enough years of practice that summary execution was more of muscle memory now, not even requiring a moment to aim the shot. 

“How long?!” The PDF Commander begged. He was breaking at the seams; his eyes were red and puffy, tearing up at the inevitable destruction of his homeworld. 

“Four weeks!” Aurelia snapped at the Commander, still preoccupied with being pissed off at the loud-mouthed Guardsman. “Commander, I suggest you start evacuating the civilians who can’t fight. We must arm the rest if you want time.” 

“Time for what?!” the Governor cut in. “We are dead anyway!” 

“Don’t you care about your citizens?!” lashed Cronus. 

“What’ve they done for me? Nothing!” the Governor accused/admitted. The PDF personnel in attendance exchanged looks of disgust and shock. There was a long silence. Aurelia simply broke the tension with a soft voice.

“Are you suggesting that you be a priority evacuee?” She questioned, speaking softly yet professionally to the Governor. She sounded like an Inquisitor; an undertone to her tone, an ulterior motive to her question.

“Well, as I am the most important member of this planet’s Adepta, I believe I—” A mass-reactive bolt cut off the cowardly voice midsentence. 

No one had even seen the single fluid motion of the Lady Commissar as her pistol swung upward and loosed a bolt at exactly the right point along the arc. She stood completely still now, bolt pistol leveled and barrel smoking. The PDF troopers and personnel were now all in utter shock. The ones who were nearest the insubordinate official were now splattered with what has left of his clearly cowardly mind. 

“That, you simpletons, is what a Heretic looks like.” She finally broke the shocked silence. “Commander, you are now  the acting governor of this world.” She began, turning to the stunned man. His attention had to snap to her.

“Yes, ma’am.” He replied dutifully. 

“You are to begin coordinating the evacuation. We need to get as many civilians out as possible. It is they who shall carry the memory of this world.” She nodded to the Commander with empathy, making sure he was able to handle the weight of his new role. She turned and nodded to Cronus. “You need to start organizing the PDF troopers into platoons. Give them what spare carapace armour we have. Consider them conscripted into the 97th. Emperor knows we’ll need to replenish the ranks.” 

And so they coordinated what was to be this planet’s last four weeks of existence… and yet the majority of this world was still unbeknownst to its destruction. Natasha couldn’t look Samson in the eyes when she got back from the meeting. She couldn’t meet any of their eyes.