Editing M43 (section)

===Purifying Fire, Unyielding Steel===
: The Thunderhawk’s skin glowed as the air bubble around it boiled and sloughed off. The thick atmosphere buffeted the transport. Behind it, a pair of escorting Stormhawks dropped back and away as the wash threatened to pull them out of the sky. The group of flyers were flung back and forth as drop pods flashed past. The high pressure cones of air in front of the drop pods created whorls and pockets of vacuum. As the vessels dropped lower and lower, the orks on the ground took notice of, not just them, but all the incoming Imperial forces. Frak bursts began to dot the sky. Burning streams of plasma traced arcs through the air, evaporating clouds and metal. 
	

: Vulkan was jostled about as the Thunderhawk jinked and yawed, avoiding the frak rounds. A pair of plasma globs blazed through the space the transport had previously occupied. Frak rounds started to cluster about the group of airships. It was apparent that a greenskin had some sort of dakka-hardon for downing these particular ships. “This is going to get rough, my Lord,” the pilot morbidly reported. Vulkan’s gaze narrowed, but he said nothing. Seconds later the pilot killed the power and the ship dropped like a rock. The ship powered back on to avoid reaching speeds that couldn’t be recovered from. “Ignis Wing, prepare for the arrival of our Lord,” the pilot called out to the escorting Stormhawks. The pair of escorts pulled ahead of their charge as they burned down towards the surface. Far below, ribbons of smoke stretched out from the gunships as they pounded the designated landing area with rockets and autogun fire.


: A cluster of drop pods pounded down into the small mining settlement of Orfin’s Respite. Orfin’s Respite hadn’t been too much before the orks came to Tembor. Roughly two-thirds of the border had a retaining wall that also served as a barely passable defensive position. Inside the ring were several buildings devoted to daily mining operations, a tall comm building, a couple of equipment vaults, and the rest was smattered with multi-tiered hab blocks. This was a fairly standard setup for smaller mining settlements. The bigger, more populated settlements just had a couple more tiers and more space, buildings, and emplacements for mining.


: Right now, there were several large pillars of smoke rising from Orfin’s Respite along with the still wavering heat trails of the drop pods. The few squads of Imperial Guard, the local PDF and those local defenders assumed the massive explosions were some new ork weapon and that a greenskin assault was nigh. While they were correct that a horde of orks was on its way, they were surprised to see the blue-red armor of the Crimson Fist chapter stride out of the smoky craters. The helmetless sergeant looked at the motley group assembled before his drop pod, “Men and women of the Imperium, we are here to purge this world of the green xeno scum. That you are alive is proof of the resilience of mankind. Now prepare to defend yourselves and your home once again.” The other Astartes marched towards predetermined positions and began reinforcing and digging in with the nearby defenders. It was solemn work, but had to be done. The Marines, for the most part, weren’t silent golems. They talked, instructed, gave advice, corrected, or just asked about the human’s daily life. “If you take the time to mark out ranges, your accuracy will be much better in battle.” “Do you have a family?” “If you kill the bigger greenskins, usually the little ones will panick.” “Have you tried using any of your mining equipment in an offensive manner?” “Why did you join the Imperial Guard?” Through long lectures, the men of the Crimson Fists had learned that no matter the strength of a defensive position, it meant nothing if those manning it were not at their best. Soon, shouts of the WAAAGH! were heard in the distance.


: Unlike the Crimson Fists, the Salamanders were not hunkering down. They were on the move. Smaller squads and groups were on their way to intercept break-off greenskin hordes or flank the main horde. Vulkan was at the front of the advance. The two forces finally met in combat on the fields outside the capital city of Lomardia. The fields were already filled with the dead and decaying bodies of humans, orks and machinery. The old fires of ammo dumps and vehicle fuel cells were still burning weakly when new flames began to crop up. The outer lines of the orks folded under the withering assault of the Imperial forces. 
Having gotten an idea of the general strength of the various sections of orks, Vulkan ordered around his various divisions to complement their strengths. The renewed vigor of the Cadian survivors was directed at a sector purportedly controlled by a simple warboss. The PDF and shoddy conscripts were aimed at the hills that temporarily housed the gretchin supplements. The nastier sectors of the ork horde would be taken on by the Salamanders and the other attached groups of Astartes. As the assault neared the city, ork resistance amped up. It was clear to all that the Overfiend was somewhere in Lomardia.


: Vulkan shrugged as a few errant shoota rounds spattered against his pauldrons. “Lucky hits, as usual,” the primarch grumbled to himself. They were nearing one of the main entrances to the city. Once inside, the possibility of taking stray rounds was reduced to practically nil, but the orks would be even more gleeful, putting their choppas to great use. “Men! One final push! The greenskins fall beneath the might of the Emperor!” Vulkan shouted. No sooner than his battle cry had ended, a warboss in Mega Armor plodded out with a guard of heavily armed nobs. The ork’s voice rumbled out through the battlefield, “Dese humies tink dey got da snot ta git ta da Ova’fiend! Da gits! An’ lookit ‘em, deys not true green.” The orks roared in agreement, some firing their shootas into the air, others waving their choppas about. Vulkan responded by starting the Salamander’s battlecry, “INTO THE FIRES!” His men responded, “UNTO THE ANVILS OF WAR!” The two sides surged together, swords and choppas clashing, bolters and shootas firing like wild.


: In hushed but harsh tones, Vulkan spoke into his vox, “Burn all to ash. Activate Recta Rubrum.” From the back of the pack of Astartes, a bulky servo-skull hovered up to Vulkan’s location. The weapons package snapped on and started expanding along his backside. The pair of twin-linked lascannons settled down on his shoulders as he leaned forward, clamping into the ground. A downward hum gathered around the primarch as the massive cannons powered up and prepared to fire. Vulkan roared out amongst the din, “BURN ALL TO ASH!” Twin lances of heat and light lit up the battlefield. The warboss instantly burned down to a green-gray slag. A meganob and other orks unlucky enough to be standing near the warboss caught fire. With their leader gone, the surrounding orks panicked and were easily routed. Imperial forces had breached the city.


: Snork was running as fast as his squat legs would take him. He wished he had some aug’menics to give him some help. Suddenly, his shoulder started to burn, like he dropped a piece of cooked grot on it. He looked out and saw the source was a shaking, dirty humie. It wasn’t even wearing the rocky bits that he saw the others wearing. As another ork ran past him, he realized he might not get to fight. Snork sped up as much as he could. More of the boyz appeared next to him. Now he was close enough to see the puny humie really well. Its eyes were wide with fear, as were the other few humies that he could now see as well. His toothy grin grew. Snork and the boyz began to mount the earth and rock embankment. Over the shouts and growls and WAAAGH!s, a new sound appeared, “PURGE THE XENOS” Snork looked up.


: A squad of red and blue Space Marines were rocketing down on pillars of fire and smoke. The huge baskets on their backs lit up with tight flames as they pulsed to decelerate to survivable speeds. Three of the them crushed the orks they were fortunate enough to land on, including Snork. The others landed, brandishing power weapons, and generated large impact bubbles that pushed and threw dirt, rocks, metal and orks out away from them. The squad stood upon that embankment, not moving or giving any ground. Orfin’s Respite would not be taken this day or any other. All the while the small humans of the PDF and local defenders looked up in awe at the bastions of the Emperor. The pasted form of Snork was a grim monument of the ork highwater mark.


: Back in Tembor’s capital of Lomardia, the battle was raging and growing in fervor and blood loss as the minutes ticked by. Whole levels of the city were inundated with war, dotted with firefights and mass shootouts. On the fourth level, a desperate scene was playing out. Rubble spat out from the back of the trukk. The dirty fountain landed on the trukk following it. The truk fell back, to see and to get to a better firing position. Now, one would think that a truk would be fairly useless in a hive city, but in a wide open courtyard they could function as intended. The orks roared in glee as they hammered the firing studs on their big shootas as hard as they could. The truks circled the edge of the courtyard, shelling the unfortunates in the middle of the circular court. It so happened that a group of Salamanders were the unfortunate ones, including their primarch.


: Vulkan was in a crouched stance, ready to spring into action the instant an opening present itself. Around him was his squad: three of his remaining guard, several veterans, and half a dozen men from 3rd Company. Above him four odd bulbous servo-skulls rotated, projecting void shields whilst drawing arcing power streams from a generator hastily set into the rockcrete. The oscillating void shields were providing cover from all but a paltry few strays and ricochets that made it through. But they were pinned down none the less. The constant fusillade of bullets was beginning to take its toll on the shields; two of the skull were starting to spark and overload. Vulkan keyed his vox, “This is Vulkan. My squad and I are pinned down in the main courtyard.... courtyard on the fourth level. If you could come give us a hand, that would be great.” One of the servo-skulls blew apart, it machine spirit finished, and one of the orks on the truk took immediate advantage. Vulkan’s back was to the truk. A 1st Company marine lept into the gap and began to fire at the truk. The bolter couldn’t compare to the much larger truk mounted shoota. The marine fell, full of smoking holes. Vulkan rose, his arms spreading out 180 degrees. The storm bolter spat round after round at the truk, leaving pockmarks and twisted holes but not doing much other than pissing off the orks. A second servo-skull exploded showering the Astartes with smoking metal bits. A pair of marines were taken off their feet by the rounds no longer spattering against the void shields. Things were about to get much worse. But, the sound in the courtyard began to doppler and distort from one side as a dull whine began to grow.


: A green-gray blob of energy slammed into one of the truks right behind the cab. As the graviton blast began to take effect, audible crack of metal plates deforming and crushing groans of the rockcrete tearing itself apart became the dominant sounds in the court. Moments later all that was left was a rapidly shrinking pile of metal, rubber and ork. Rounds self-ignited as the debris compressed under the immense gravity. The rubbery paste of greenskin oozed out between the gaps and was forced to flow down. The engine had long since compacted itself and the fuel, oil and grease had pooled and ignited throwing up thick, oily clouds. The graviton field finally exhausted itself and the courtyard returned to its previous ways, sans one truk. The orks on the other truk roared in protest, itching to get revenge for their fellow boyz. The chance presented itself as the smoke parted and whorled as a squad of Red Scorpion lept through. They quickly scrambled as the big shoota loosed rounds their way. The orks on the truk squealed as a Red Scorpion’s Terminator crashed through a hab scant meters ahead of them. The hulking marine braced and grabbed the front of their truk. All the orks were thrown forward as the truk came to a dead stop. The Terminator’s armor protested such abuse, but it relented as he lifted the front end and heaved it to the side. It crashed over and rolled, the ork on top bifurcating as it tumbled over him. The Terminator stuck a gauntlet into a viewing port and activated his flamer. The truk bloomed with geysers of holy fire. Vulkan keyed off the void-skulls, thanked their machine spirits, and walked over to the newly arrived Astartes to thank them as well.


: The city was rapidly falling to Imperial hands. The Red Scorpions ran amok, unbound by streets and paths. Their tactical marines lept and vaulted over alleys and gaps, traversing the multi-tiered streets with grace. Assault marines would rocket up to the next level, ambush a group of orks and then drop back down. The few Terminators that accompanied them smashed through orks, habs, and rockcrete walls with impunity. The few Ultramarines that had dropped down had brought along several Land Speeders and were currently racing through the corridors and streets making a mess of the orks lines. Soon it appeared that the green armored Salamanders equaled the amount of greenskins skulking about Lomardia. In reality, the Overfiend Tygahfang was massing his boyz on an upper level. It was no surprise that the two leaders of the green armies would find and fight each other.


: The huge mass of orks was a writhing, living sea of green. An angry, smelly, clanky sea of green. Plus, they had spent the better part of a day cooped up on an upper level. Which meant they were extremely pissed off; they could hear all the sounds of battle going on and yet they weren’t in the middle of it. The sounds of battle tapered off and soon the unholy din of the orks died down. All around the level, the outer rings of orks erupted into huge conflagrations of flames and holy promethium. Through the flames, green Terminators silently appeared and began to burn down orks left and right. They were creating lanes into the middle of the orks, slicing the mass up and assaulting them from all sides. The open lines behind the Terminators were quickly filled with marines, bolters firing and power weapons swinging. The assault marines once again used their jump packs to great use. From the spires above, they dropped in squads and would blast apart formations of orks leaving gaping holes in the green expanse, then jump out when the hole threatened to close. The area Vulkan had chosen to punch through is not a mere lane, it was a column. The primarch was a whirling, vortex of Power Hammer and storm bolter. Orks were falling in droves before the mighty Lord of the Salamanders. Determined and burdened with purpose, Vulkan came face to face with the Overfiend himself. As the two squared off, a ring formed around them, no one, ork or human wanted to get close to them.


: When the crowds finally parted, Vulkan got his first good look at Tygahfang. The ork was massive, standing at four meters, being able to look down at even the primarch. His left leg was all but gone, sacrificed to the whims of whatever mekboy he trusted enough to fix him up. His right, was supported with a smattering of trusses and hydraulics to compensate for his weight. The upper parts of the Overfiend were downright terrifying. His right hand was huge, not even a Power Klaw, just an over-developed hand with the same ramshackle supports and driving pistons attached as the leg. The left hand was an actual Power Klaw with an auxillary shoota embedded in the palm. His torso was encased in a huge rusted chest plate, with all the orky attachments an ork of his stature could buy. This included a pair of small mechanical arms that grasped at air constantly. His head was half ork, half mek. His jaw had been long been aided by a metal grill that allowed him to chomp through just about anything. The pack on his back was belching hot, wavering steam as the generators chugged, powered by the mere thought of them working. Gears, chains, and pumps could be heard hard at work all across the beast. And Vulkan was going toe to toe with it. “Yous look like ya mite gimme uh good fight! Less yer a grot, like I tink ya mite be!” The ork clomped forward, not even pausing to smash an unlucky nob in front of him with his massive right hand. Vulkan rushed in. 

	
: The primarch jaunted in firing his storm bolter. The bolts exploded harmlessly, mostly pockmarking the metal or blowing meaningless chunks of green skin away. The Power Klaw came rushing at him from the right. He tucked and rolled toward and under it, his armor sparking on the ground. As he rose, his hammer lashed out with the momentum he’d had and struck the mek leg. A resounding explosion of disrupting energy and orky metal sounded. The ork buckled but the leg refused to give. A hand slugged him in the back, parts of his pack denting under the impact. Vulkan staggered forward as the ork turned. “Maybe ya’s not uh grot!” Tygahfangs Klaw opened and the shoota in it started spitting bullets. The ground around Vulkan churned and geysered upward as they hit everywhere but him. They circled each other trading swipes, shots and dodging as much as could be expected from two champions. The Overfiend lept forward with a strong right jab, but the primarch weaved around it and went in as the ork stumbled forward. He wasn’t expecting the two arms to grapple him and pull him inward. Tygahfang let out a great bellowing laugh as he prepared to grab the human with his Power Klaw.


: Vulkan grimaced. The Klaw was closing in. He wretched his arm upward and emptied the storm bolter into the orks gut. A concentrated barrage of bolter shells easily penetrated the armor began wreaking havoc on the Overfiend’s innards. The ork roared, reeling backwards in pain and anger. The primarch dropped to the ground. Discarding his useless storm bolter, he hefted the Power Hammer in two hands. Vulkan rained blows down upon the ork, not dealing life threatening damage, but clearly having the upperhand. That changed. As he dropped back and then lunged forward, preparing to strike again, Tygahfang reached out with his massive right paw. He caught the head of the hammer in his hand. The disruptive fields arced outward between his fingers as the hammer tore apart his gauntlet at a molecular level. Molten slag and tissue dripped down as the hammer dug deeper. The ork didn’t care, he merely smirked and yanked Vulkan off balance. Stumbling forward, the primarch was caught mid-stride by the Power Klaw. The power fields sparked and crackled as they bit through his Nemean armor. The ork roared again as the shoota in the klaw discharged, wrecking Vulkan’s torso. He coughed and spit up blood; one hand holding stubbornly to his hammer, the other trying to lever the Klaw off. The ork let out another bellowing laugh. To punctuated it, the Overfiend leaned in and bit off the primarch’s left arm.


: Vulkan screamed in pain as his arm detached. Acidic blood sprayed everywhere mixing with ork blood. The Overfiend spit out the section of arm and tossed aside the hammer. It hit a nob and the still active disruptive fields exploded it. He shook the primarch like a rag doll. The Power Klaw threatened to cut clean through the slowly failing Nemean armor. He was barely conscious. He had lost a ton of blood from his arm and from his abdomen. Tygahfang let out a mighty WAAAGH! and brought his closed fist down on the head of the captive primarch. The nasty ‘scrunch’ of flesh and bone squeaked out with the groan and crack of the armor giving way. The Overfiend hoisted the lifeless body and roared, “Da big humie iz dead. Ah krumped ‘im good! Iz da greenest and meanest! WAAAAAAGH!” All the orks roared in response and shouted all the louder as their Overfiend tossed the body aside. The fighting turned desperate, the possibility of the orks winning now very clear.