Editing /tg/ Heresy Writefaggotry (section)

===End of the Line===
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“The Lord General's orders are as follows: Task Force Gleaming Sceptor shall proceed to Phase Line Chronus, engage and destroy all traitoro-” There was a sudden flash of static. He felt a breeze brush his shoulder, and as he turned his head he caught the faintest glimpse of a Maledictum medium tanks' turret flittering in the air. As secondary explosions ripped apart the now topless Maledictum, Vox Caster Luxus's own opened topped APC popped reflective smoke and accelerated. As the driver and stub gunner began to argue over whether it was a lucky artillery round or a sign of Traitor encirclement, Luxus returned to his transcription of the transmission. Blood still stained the Vox Casting equipment from his predecessor: Lux himself had been hastily trained to replace the previous caster and had never handled anything more complex than an autogun's receiving mechanism until two nights ago.  

“HQ, this is 3rd Battalion, D Company, please restate and confirm orders, over?” 

There was another explosion, this time forward, a low hill blocking line of sight. B company had already wheeled off to the right flank in the event the traitors had successfully maneuvered around the screening battalions. A Mastadonii lance had been probing their column the last three days, and HQ had been silent on their whereabouts. 
“HQ, this is 3-” Lux was again cut off, this time by a gruff voice almost as explosive as the Maledictum had been. 
“Clear this net!  Primary thrust will commence in T-minus 3 minutes, mark. The Emperor expects nothing short of decisive victory, and today we, the 27th  Gregorus Armored Infantry, will do part in His just cause.” With that the Vox was silent. Luxus reached forward and knocked on the drivers helmet. “Get us to the Colonel!” 

Luxus was barely audible over the great din of whirring treads as the great might of the 27th Gergorus Armored Infantry Regiment, Heavy, began to regroup with their parent companies and battalions. Luxus' transport zigged and zagged between the various columns, coming alongside and matching speed with a Baneblade, the barrel adorned with a white petaled carnivorous flower and flanked by a dozen other similar vehicles. Luxus stepped onto the side railing of his own carrier, grabbing onto the side of the formidable weapon bastion. He continued his climb to the turret. 

There, observing his squadron of Baneblades was Colonel Morgrest, his blue eyes and large, weatherworn face eyeing the quickly approaching hills in front of him.

“Colonel!” Morgrest looked. A short, young looking trooper in a misfitted maroon uniform offered forth a piece of parchment. Morgrest glanced at it and nodded to Luxus who began the short scamper back to his crawler. His own vehicle's Vox had been stripped long before it arrived here on Zhuko V, where his unit had not so much as finished disembarking when they had been ushered to awaiting tanks, neatly arrayed in rows with field manuals placed on every crew station seat. 

Many, such as him, were lucky to have been drivers and communicators aboard the roving Ranch Rigs that tended the Avian cattle of Gregorus. Most however were from the commercial cities, not overly suited for grunt work much less the teamwork and technical skills required for tankmenship. Their loses in the last few weeks had reflected that. He swithced his makeshift Vox repeater to the squadron net. 
“Assume wedge formation, my Mourning Gloria shall take point. Do not drop out under any circumstances: if you are not out of fuel or ammo, then you are not out of the fight! All crews, turn down.” And with that, the Colonel descended into the red lighted confines of his steed, sealing the hatch over him. 

“All vehicles, fast advance!” As one, the baneblades increased their speed. For as far as the eye could see to the left and to the right, the tan and maroon war machines of the 27th roared forward, a wall of armor. Over the line of hills, smoke and tracers could be seen pouring into the air. The Colonel glanced at a wall mounted chronometer. 

“Driver, decelerate by 1/8th.” The timing would have to be perfect. “All crews, prepare for contact.” 

Just as the Vox clicked off, the hills infront of them exploded into a wall of dirt and silt. Jetbike riding engineers had rigged the hill for demolition the night before, and now the only remaining obstacle between him and the enemies of his newly beloved Emperor was gone. His squadron charged into the breach, their mighty guns blaring...




“Driver, adjust heading 1.4 degrees. Gunner, target Stormblade, Fire! Left bastion, suppress war engine crew. Driver, mine field 40 meters. Right bastion, prioritze medium chassises. Second Gunner, mine... layer front , bearing 47. Bastion gunners, weapons free. Hulls 2 and 7, tighten formation!” And so it went. Order were given, reports were taken in, ground was gained. Slowly, the vox chatter grew quiter and quiter as the vehicles of his squadron slowly joined the other metal pyres that threatened to be confused for the Zhuko V's sun rising in the south. 

The Lord General emerged from his opulent Command Chariot to the distinct sounds of bickering adults, a sound he had not been able to grow used to even with his many years of conquests. 
“I tell you they have all gone traitor. I know these farmers all too well!” The rolly polly face of General Kerimeistn rose from the crowd of officers and intelligents techs that were crouched over the primary command board.  General Kerimeistn swiftly made his way to the Lord General and bowed before him. “Your Lordship, due tell them how I warned you time and time again that mere agricultural workers at the helms of such tremendous machines would only invite disaster and turncoatism.” The Lord General was not listening. He pushed aside Kerimeistn: the rest of his officers, dressed in the finest Exiran Blue with the occasional Maroons and yellows of other units attached to his division, rose to allow the Lord General a view of the active map. An Exiran officer stepped forward. “Sir,  Task Force Gleaming Scepter consisting of the 37th  Gregorus Armored Infantry, the 2123th Exiran Armored Brigade and the 782 Exiran Armored Brigade, per your orders, advanced from phase line Baptize to phase line Chronus. The 2123th and 782nd managed to reach and hold the position. Most of the 37th was annihilated, but it appears several formations have advanced beyond phase line Chronus.”

“To join the traitors,” snarled Kerimeistn. The Exiran officer narrowed his eyes at the General.
“Actually, Lord General, judging from the reports we are receiving, they have been destroying traitors. A great abundance of them. Infact...” he turned to look at the Vox operators, a large command set sitting at the foot of the map screen in the center of the field tent. 

The Vox operator looked up from his set. “They count 400 confirmed kills. Most likely more, but traitor indirect fires forced our scout tanks back.”

A stunned silence fell across those gathered.

The officer turned back to the board. “They appear to heading in a straight path. We put them 90 klicks past Phase Line Chronus. All attempts to reach them by Vox have failed.”
The silence continued until finally, the Lord General spoke.

“The next time you have to teach an infantry formation the proud tenants of mechanized warfare, General Kerimeistn, make sure you teach them how to read a map. I am glad to see though, that your lessons in cowardice have gone completely unheeded.”
General Kerimeistn fumed, his face turning red while sweat began to bead upon his forehead. The Lord General stepped away from the screen table and returned to his command vehicle. 
-
Another two hours past. Targets for a time had grown sparser. Now, there was a noticeable uptick. At first, contact was being made every 30 minutes. There was a burst of fire from the right bastoon gun. Its gunners had already been killed, but the Colonel only cared that that span had just now been reduced to five minutes.  They were nearing the enemy, but not fast enough. 
“Technician, how many more meters can we squeeze from her?”
A pained voice rose up from the depths of the warmachine “ The gauges reached empty four klicks ago my Colonel, we shall be immobile soon.” 

The Baneblade suddenly entered a clearing. All around them were hulks, chassis, the faint outlines of their rotting crews dispersed between, yet here was a patch of undtrodden, prestine low grass that had by some miracle remained virgin in this orgy of steel and shell. It was as good a place as any. By now their handiwork had caught up to them: a thick black cloud of acrid smoke from a hundred burning vehicles now hung all around them. The Baneblade was beginning to slow. The driver cursed, and despite all his pounding upon the Accel-pedal the Baneblade only crawled, then came to a halt. “Driver, running lights!”
The Colonel unlocked his hatch and opened it. The blood soaked torso of a traitor tanker slid off the cupula. It thudded against the hull of the Baneblade, coming to rest on the green earth with a sickening plop. All was quiet, save for the wind pushing the thick cloud ever farther north. Beyond the initial ring of flood light illuminated husks, all was black save for a few lingering fires. 



1st Gunner Norus slid over and tugged on the Colonel's boots.
“Morgrest, we've no more shells. Does that mean we're finally...out of it, sir?”
The Colonel felt it before he heard it. Even with the tons of armor and machinery below him, the vibrations reverberated. It was coming from all directions now, and faintly, just faintly he could hear the creeking of treads and the blaring of war horns. 
The Colonel reached and drew his sidearm. It was a ranch pistol, a high caliber, revolving weapon, its hilt a white pearl made of the egg carapace of his homeworld. Within it were seven rounds.
“Far from it Norus...far from it.”
The baneblades flood lights died.