Under this Sign (40K-Maladar)

[Imperial Overlord]

The Shazu have a very impressive navy (part of their legendary 1 billion men under arms), including armoured steamships. Most of it is involved in supplying and supporting their invasion of the western continent. POWs from conquered western nations, the infantry janissaries with the long breach loaders, have been shipped back east for garrison duty in a land where they won't have any reason to expect local support and freeing up more troops to fight across the sea. From the Shazu point of view, Maladar's timing sucks.

[Dominus]

True enough, and I'm not complaining -- the battles and skirmishes in this fanfic have been more than satisfactory so far. It was merely some random aspect of pseudo-WWI history that popped into my head and got lodged there somehow, amidst the tanks,trenches, cavalry and artillery, and etcetera.

But I'll be looking forward to the next update -- it's honestly somewhat refreshing to see a true 'low-tech' war being fought in the 40k universe for once, without orbital support, Astartes, and so on.

[Chris OFarrell]

You know, I'm thinking this will end with Maladar standing victorious over the entire world, unified under Imperial rule as Glix finally tracks him down and arrives on his ship...and with a raised eyebrow comment 'So this is where you've been lying around sleeping?'

And be backhanded halfway across the room for it.

[Ford Prefect]

That would be ... rather amusing, actually.

[Imperial Overlord]

It had been by the slimmest of margins that General Sudan Vornheld-Smythe had escaped the cavalry of the Northern Domain. Half of his bodyguard had stayed behind in a rearguard action that had allowed him to flee south to the central provinces. With more than a little trepidation he had reported his defeat to Warlord Masser Samu-Khan of Terosha Province.

Samu-Khan had received the news of the double disaster calmly, continuing to sip his tea as if he had just been told the hunting was expected to be quite good in the coming week. He had then pressed Vornheld-Smythe for all the details he could give and then dispatched him south to the Garden of Earth. Samu-Khan's voice had been pleasant, but his manner denied any appeal in the matter. Guards in white uniforms with golden plated breastplates escorted Vornheld-Smythe away.

The rail line lead from the heart of the south all the way up through the Isthmus of Swords and into the central provinces. The lines reached the southern borders of Terosha, although it steadily crept both north as well as branching off east and west. A million men were said to work expanding the railroad, although only the bureaucrats in the Garden of Earth would know the truth to that.

He was given his own luxuriously appointed rail car that was attached to a train heading south. The hard eyed guards in white and gold stayed with him. He ate fresh fruit and greens along with skillfully prepared meat. He partook of fine wine and slept in silk sheets. Truly, he had the finest prison in the land.

The train crossed through rolling plains of wheat and passed orchards full of fruit trees. It rolled by great cities and sprawling industrial complexes fed by unending lines of serfs and slaves. It crossed the Isthmus of Swords and he saw the great port cities and the steam powered steel clad battleships that were the backbone of Shazu's Royal Navy. The train passed under the guns of fortress-citadels and through land scarred by open pit mining. Finally, after eight days, the train reached its destination.

The Garden of Earth was a beautiful and pristine valley. On the southern edge, next to a lake of crystal clear water, were the Halls of the Secretaries and the Royal Palace. Here was the nerve center and brain of the Kingdom of Shazu.

The train stopped at the shining city of glass and ivory. He was carried through the streets in a steam carriage and given quarters in a corner of the palace. There Vornheld-Smythe bathed himself and ate a fine meal in silence. After the meal a pair of beautiful concubines tended to him and he slept soundly in a four poster bed. In the morning they were gone and there was a note indicating that he had an audience in the afternoon.

Sudan Vornheld-Smythe attired himself in a formal scarlet uniform under the gold robes of his station and was taken to the endless line of petitioners and functionaries. He waited patiently as the day dragged on. Finally, his turn came.

The great golden doors embossed with rearing dragons were opened to admit his presence. He walked on a crimson carpet passed crowds of gorgeously robed nobles, functionaries, and courtiers. Every step he made was watched by men with long lance like rifles stationed along overlooking balconies.

Finally he passed the last rank of servants. They were the generals, governors, and tributary rulers who served the overking. Before him there was nothing but a wavy reflection of the audience chamber. Vornheld-Smythe fell to his knees and bowed his face into the floor. "Rise and gaze upon your liege," a loud voiced man shouted. Vornheld-Smythe obeyed.

The reflection dissolved to reveal a man in purple silks sitting on a golden throne. A dozen men and women attended him, including the crier standing at the overking's right. The crier bowed his ear towards the overking and then straightened. "His Mightiness, Overking Teryaku, wishes to know why you have failed him and yet live?"

"I am wretched vermin, unworthy of His Majesty's notice. This unworthy one lives only because in his feeble mind he felt it was his duty to inform His Majesty's loyal and brilliant servants of a danger they might face."

The crier bowed again and the rose. "What danger do the northern barbarians possibly hold to His Majesty that cannot be remedied by executing incompetent generals?"

"It is with great regret that this slime informs His Majesty that the northerners have new weapons and fighting machines at their disposal, including great and powerful fliers that have driven his servants out of the air." A gasp went through the court. "This unworthy maggot begs not for his life, which is His Majesty's, but that a mighty force be dispatched to undo these barbarians before they can do any more damage to His Majesty's territories or capture Hellspite."

Teryaku made a single gesture with his right index finger. A guard with a slightly curved single edge blade stepped forward. The blade was about a meter long and the hilt was long so it could be easily gripped with both hands. The blade descended and a jet of blood sprayed on the carpet. Vornheld-Smythe's head rolled on the floor.

Overking Teryaku turned in the other direction. His grand vizier inclined his head. "Your Majesty's will."

"Send a messenger to Samu-Khan. Tell him to assemble an army from the central provinces and crush these barbarians utterly."

[Ford Prefect]

Ol' Teriyaki doesn't mess around. The look on his face when Maladar crushes his armies will be, as they say, classic.

[Vehrec]

Some details of the land of the Shazu are now made clear. That Ithmus of Swords sounds like an excelent chokepoint. Even if one must first take all the lands in between. Alas, it would also be vulnerable to bombardment from the sea. And before he does anything else, Maladar will have to break Samu-Khan. He's probably almost at the doorstep of the Hellspite by now though. . . Maybe he won't have to use his army at all.

[Chris OFarrell]

Of course he'll have to use his army. The Techpriests will probably need at least 6 months to re-sanctify the machine spirits to the Emperors service, thrice bless each of the stages of the nuke manufacture...

[Sidewinder]

"Send a messenger to Samu-Khan. Tell him to assemble an army from the central provinces and crush these barbarians utterly."

How big is this army, anyways? A million-man army, which I believe is the minimum the Shazu will need to make Maladar worry? If not, and if Samu-Khan isn't a competent general, then it'll be too easy.

[Imperial Overlord]

"Send a messenger to Samu-Khan. Tell him to assemble an army from the central provinces and crush these barbarians utterly."

How big is this army, anyways? A million-man army, which I believe is the minimum the Shazu will need to make Maladar worry? If not, and if Samu-Khan isn't a competent general, then it'll be too easy.

Stop bringing your filthy minimalism into my story. A mere million men from all the central provinces? He'll have at least twenty million at the minimum.

[Dominus]

I believe IO already explicitly answered the question as to the size of the Shazu army in answering my earlier point about dreadnoughts, or the lack thereof. A billion men under arms certainly leaves little room for doubt that a few tens of millions could easily be spared for the campaign in the north, if not some other equally fantastic number.

As for the chapter itself, Maladar's certainly got his work cut out for him, ne? But superior technology and his own tactical genius will win the day, I, er... hope? I'll be standing on the sidelines and rooting for him, in any case.

[Ford Prefect]

Maladar will get the job done. It's what he does. He's like Tyrus in that respect, but without the Witch Hunter's incredible bloody minded determination (EDIT: I actually mean 'stubborness' here). Or general insanity.

[Hawkwings]

Wait, Maladar isn't the pinnacle of determination and insanity?

wat?

[Ford Prefect]

Wait, Maladar isn't the pinnacle of determination and insanity?

wat?

Compared to Tyrus? Compared to Mister 'I will blockade this system and call in as many Space Marines as I possibly can to get Lichenstein' Tyrus? Compared to 'I'm a verifiable nutcase who got hit too hard on the head with a thunder hammer' Tyrus?

Maladar is determined. Maladar may be a little bit unhinged. However, Maladar seems like the guy who actually thinks and listens. Tyrus is a machine programmed with 'RAR' and 'PURGE' and 'BE SILENT'.

[Imperial Overlord]

Maladar crested the hill at the lead of the small party and looked down across the valley at the fortifications ringing the Kataru Dam. Lines of walls, trenches, and wire filled the valley and legions of men worked to construct more. The dam itself was a massive fortress with reinforced walls and cannon lined battlements.

"The Hellforges are within," said Dressler. Maladar had made him the commander of his tank force. "The dam supplies power for infernal process with which they make hell bombs."

"Adeptus?" Maladar asked Tech Priest Draglos.

"Enormous power consumption is consistent with the rites involving the creation suitable reagents for fission weapons," the Tech Priest said slowly. "I must repeat inquisitor, this is a field where I have only theoretic and academic experience."

"That is understood," said Maladar. "The hellsmiths have the skills and the familiarity with the equipment necessary to create atomics. They must be captured, not killed."

"How will we do that?" asked Dressler.

"They are unlikely to fight to the death," said Maladar. "They are a hereditary priest-engineer caste that were conquered by the Shazu over a century ago and allowed to persist as long as they served the overking. They will serve the autarch as well."

"If we can crack those defences," said Dressler.

"Do you doubt me?" asked Maladar.

"No lord."

"But you don't see how to do it."

"Yes lord."

"Get together your best under officers and try very hard. The Shazu will have send another army, stronger than any they have sent before to crush us. We only so much time."

"Yes, my lord."

"You are dismissed tribune." Dressler saluted and left the hillside. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Zoltan broke it.

"The army is settling in as you ordered Maladar. Reinforcements are being blended in with old units to bring them up to strength and to accelerate the teaching of your tactics to the new troops."

"Tanks and vox units?"

"A few of each. Some battlewagons as well."

"Distribute the vox units as best as possible. Send the tanks and battlewagons to Dressler."

"Yes lord. Anything else?"

"No." To send men against those defences would be a bloodbath, a blood bath he couldn't afford, but he needed to take the hellforges quickly. There had to be a solution. There had to be.

[Feil]

With any luck, this solution will involve lightning claws, psychic deathiness, and maybe an HALO insertion

[Imperial Overlord]

With any luck, this solution will involve lightning claws, psychic deathiness, and maybe an HALO insertion

One of those will certainly be involved.

[Ford Prefect]

Ah, a good old fashion violent secret operation. I like.

[Sidewinder]

With any luck, this solution will involve lightning claws, psychic deathiness, and maybe an HALO insertion :)

I don't know if Maladar has the skill, but my idea is to get close enough to the dam for a psyker to manipulate the minds of the garrison commander(s). Through the garrison commander(s), order the entire garrison to do something stupid, e.g., march out of the dam and into an open field, where Maladar's tanks will slaughter them. Then send Maladar's army into the dam.

[Vehrec]

With any luck, this solution will involve lightning claws, psychic deathiness, and maybe an HALO insertion

One of those will certainly be involved.

My money is on the Jump. After all, getting the tech-caste's cooperation isn't hard. It's getting to them that's going to be the trouble.

[LadyTevar]

I've been spoilerized I know what's in the next chapter

[Imperial Overlord]

Zsanett looked up from her husband's letter. She had imagined helping him at court but what he asked she did not think possible to deliver. She had naively hoped to be accepted here, a childish fantasy that had been dashed on the hard rocks of the Autocracy's social order. Still, she had to try.

Who could help her? The men and women she knew of with useful amounts of influence were many, but most of them had snubbed her. She was a barbarian vassal married to a foreign warlord, not one of the highest and best blood. Might as well say she was the niece of a pig as of a Mazenjar chieftain.

Stop it. Think. Who did she know who might help her? No one, no one for her sake. But what about for their own? Her eyes widened. Her people were but a drop in the bucket that was Maladar's army. With them were a legion of high born officers soldiers. Someone, more than just someone, would have an interest in helping her husband succeed. She just needed to find out who.

That she could do. She had rented a modest townhouse in the capital and hired several servants to aid her in running it and to assist her with fitting in at court. The latter turned out to be impossible, but they could help her look the part.

She rose and rang the bell. A minute later one of her maids appeared. "Lay out my cream dress and the dark over jacket and have the carriage prepared for departure. I will be visiting the palace."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She ghosted through the halls, being ignored by virtually everyone. This was the center of the autocracy, where the aristocrats, senior bureaucrats, generals, courtiers, and priests gathered along with their own armies of wives, mistresses, toadies, and hanger-oners. They dressed in silk and satin, gold and platinum, diamonds and rubies, feathers and uniforms; all with the intent of conveying their status. They were legion and she fit in near the bottom.

There were unwritten rules of behavior and codes of conduct and those she half understood. Two servants inclined their heads fractionally as she entered the ballroom. In front of her a thousand or so of the Autocracy's elite ate and drank and talked while listen to be the performance of musicians and occasionally paying attention to an athletic and energetic troupe of dancers.

She approached a man of about thirty wearing a full dress uniform and the insignia of a colonel. "Excuse me," she said. "Could you be kind enough to direct me to the Lady-Countess Van Der Lakk?"

He smiled. The Lady-Countess was much more important than her husband, although a general was not a man to cross lightly. "Of course good lady," the officer replied. "She is sitting over there, attended by her ladies."

"The one wearing platinum and diamonds?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, gracious sir." Zsanett crossed the room, skirting around the circle of gossiping men and women to reach the older woman. The Lady-Countess Coredia Van Der Lakk was a very well preserved fifty, heir to a rich and powerful city-state with wide flung agricultural territories and a powerful war industry.

Her husband was a noble in his own right and an accomplished general, accomplished enough to be placed on Maladar's staff. Zsanett bowed as she approached. "Your grace, may I have a word with you in private?"

Cold blue eyes looked at her as if she was a bug. At last the Lady-Countess replied. "Yes." She rose from her seat. Her look conveyed the utmost importance of this conversation being worth her time.

She lead Zsanett to the side of the hall. "Spit it out," she said crossly.

"Your husband is serving in the siege of the Hellforges," said Zsanett. "The fortress is resisting all attempts to besiege it and reinforcements will eventually arrive, Shazu reinforcements. Your husband and mine will be caught between the hammer and the anvil unless the siege is broken by then."

"Go on."

"The tool to do this exists, but his Omipotence the Autarch will be reluctant to entrust this weapon to Maladar. He needs to get as much encouragement as possible."

"What are you speaking of?"

"He must send the Eyes of Fire to Maladar."

[Hawkwings]

He's back! And soon to be in possession of a juicy piece of archaeotech, perhaps?

[Vehrec]

SWEET.

[Feil]

Good to see this is back.