Invasion

[Colonel Sanders]

The wind from the straight hammered on the beaches, bunkers, pill boxes, and the entrenched artillery positions. A bright day, and a predicted excellently clear night.

“Oberst!”

“Yes?”

It was the orderly again. “Oberst Sanders, Field Marshall von Koenig has arrived for inspection. He would like to see you.”

“Please tell the Field Marshall that I will be there in a mo-“

“Nein, Oberst!” Both officers whirled around to face the imposing structure that had just entered the room. Von Koenig. His hair was so white it looked dyed, yet it was not. His black uniform was decorated with many badges of service, for the Field Marshall had been in the service of the Emperor for many a year.

“Now, I interrupted you. What were you going to say, Herr Oberst?”

“I was going to wait and present myself in an orderly manner, but rest assured I would arrive. My apologies for any misinterpretations,”

The Marshall smiled, and gestured at the orderly. “You may leave us now.”

“Ja, sir!”

“Now, Sanders. It matters not of your appearance, nor your tardiness for showing up to your commandant. What of your progress?”

“I work my men as hard as possible, but Field Marshall von Holcroft demands very much. I am under the impression a more passive, flexible defense would work better that a static one, such as we have.”

“Now, it is not necessary to comment on what the high commander thinks. I warn you though, he has decided to assume personal command of the panzer divisions, and has decided to pull them back.” The commander shifted in his chair.

“As I heard. Oberst Garin is an exceptional commander, but he can only do so much when his forces are held back.”

“Ja, Garin-“

The sirens went off.

[Shovah]

Okkk. Pretty good but there are no Panzers in 40k!

[Colonel Sanders]

Panzer means tank in German. And there are tanks in 40k, thus there are Panzers in 40k.

Heres more for them that wants it.

Von Koenig moved first, wobbling the table in his rush to get moving. In his hand a bolt pistol materialized, and in the other, a blue power sword.

Sanders sat up and grabbed his sword from the rack. On another rack, he pulled out a storm bolter and loaded in a fresh cartridge.

“Field Marshall von Koenig, I am displeased that our meeting must now come to an end, but I must see my troops. Till then, oufidizin.” The two men saluted each other, and left the entrenchment.

Outside, dusk had fallen, but the night was clear as predicted, and stars shown. It took the colonel a moment to register what was going on, and then he heard the roaring of transport engines. Around him, lights searched the sky and gunners ran to their flak emplacements.

Tat tat tat. Tat tat tat. It was almost refreshing to hear the pounding of the hydra flak emplacements shooting at the aircraft. Sanders looked around, and waited.

* * *

From up high, Master Seargent Wikers looked at his squad. They were battle hardened, well trained, drop troops, the best the Rebellion had to throw at the Imperium. Next to him, a warning light flashed from red to green.

“THIS IS IT!” he yelled above the roar of the engines! “LET’S GO! MOVE IT, MOVE IT!” One by one his troopers filed out of their planes and activated their grav chutes. One was a bit hesitant in his decision to go plunging to the ground, till he noticed another aircraft near his explode, and he decided it would be rather safer on the ground than on the aircraft.

Wikers was the last out. He did not hesitate, and jumped quickly.

* * *

“Over there!” One of the gunners shouted. Sanders looked in his direction and ran to the crew. Gliding on a draft, ten enemy troopers were gently floating towards the ground. The gunners watched for a moment, then re-activated their weapon and filled the air near the enemy with explosive bullets. Not one made it to the ground alive.

“That’s it!” Sanders encouraged the crew. “Just stay here and make sure none get here safely. It’ll be alright, trust in the Emperor!”

He did not know for certain, however.

* * *

Wikers wasn’t ready for the landing. Night drops were always a lot more pleasant, for a trooper couldn’t see the ground rushing up at night didn’t tense up his legs. Quickly, he un-holstered his las pistol and shook out of his grav chute. He could hear his squad mates doing the same, and knew they were ready for what lay ahead.

[General Stankov]

Hmm... I like it!
More More!

Admin

PS; Oh, 1 thing!: A high ranking Filed Marshal would NOT shake habds with a lesser rank! You may have me on 40k fluff, but I have YOU on military doctrine!

Hahaha!
Admin Again

PPS; Hmm... Sounds mysteriously like my story... glad I potentially inspired someone! More!

Admin Again Again

[Colonel Sanders]

what do you mean, shake hands? Here's the story.

Seargent Wikers took out a long, thin, bayonet made in his mountain home. It had tasted many flavors of Imperial blood, even that of a Space Marine. Wikers grinned in anticipation of the pain he would inflict on the AA gun currently slaugtering his comrades. Wikers was not a blood thirsty man, but when enraged, he was a powerful opponent.

Wikers shouted to his brothers in arms, and charged over the top.

* * *

Oberst Garin sat in the turret cupola of his Command Vanquisher while un-filtered reports of enemy activity cycled through the vox. There was a hollow tang of flesh on metal, and Garin looked down the side of his tank to see the sallow of face of the company Commissar, Valence, rapping his fist on the tank's sponson.

"Gutenhag, Commissar Valence. Is there something you wish?" Garin's eyebrows were raised in an almost mock surrender to his superior.

Valence replied in High Gothic, a langauge that made Garin squint to the ugly words. There was neither the intelligence, nor the creativity, of dseutch in High Gothic, and it pained Garin that a language that bound together millions of worlds must be so... barbaric.

"Yes, Colonel Garin. I have heard over a dozen reports of enemy drop troops moving in a pattern that would suggest they will attempt to capture the bridge spanning the River Ossolt. If that were allowed to happen, you know full well how reinforcements would be cut off from Colonel Sander's division on the beach head. So, Colonel Garin, I ask you why are not your men moving towards the River Ossolt?"

"Listen, Honoured Commissar Valence." replied Oberst Garin as he held his hand up to his ear. "The rumbling you hear around you are my Panzer's engines. Every man in this company is prepared to move towards the Ossolt. But unfortunately, it is not within my powers to tell them to actually move. Only Field Marshall von Holcroft may give me permission to engage. I have no choice but to obey orders."

"The 'Field Marshall' as you insist on calling him, is at this moment sleeping, over 40 cliks from here. He is an idiot. The power of the Great Eclessiarchy, which I represent, would wish for you to attack our enemy. Move your tanks, or I shall trim this one with your brains." Commisar Valence said his last few words without enthusiasm, as if threatening were some pointless endeavour to get someone to do something they had already decided to do, which, in this case, was exactly correct.

[Colonel Sanders]

The tanks of Panzergruppe 23 roared over the ridge in a standard text-book manuever. Every five minutes, the point tank would switch places with the one in the back of the column, thus ensuring that no tank could ever be counted as having a "suicidal" crew.

Oberst Garin slipped down into the control turret and grasped the joy stick that controled the turret. Directly above it were two video screens, one for the turret gunner and one for himself that controled the pintle-mounted stormbolter. The add-on did little good, since usually the tank was facing other tanks, and the armor on them was not generally something explosive reactive shells could pierce.

In a salamander scout some yards behind Garin, a young vox operator pulled out a map and stylus to begin tracking the battlegroup's coordinates. He turned on the vox and selected his channel.

"This is ABAO7. Requesting artillery lock-on from BFSD3G, over."

"Affirmative, ABAO7. This is BFSD3G, please present coordinates for lock on. Over."

"Roger that, BFSD3G. I am loading coordinates now. Lead panzer at 34.67.M, 52.12.CUM-repeat, 34.67.M, 52.12.CUM-. over."

Miles away, three giant barrels of Imperial Basilisks turned towards the east. The crews were oblivious to the chaos of AA guns and airplanes around them, for each battery was protected by multiple trenches and inches of plas-steel. In a control booth, another vox operator continued to wait for more reports from Armored Battalion Attack #7.

...please respond if you're still reading!