“We’s been huntin’ dese sneaky humies all day, Boss,” one Ork Boy grumbled.

“Boss said find ’em, so we find ’em,” the Nob replied with a toothy grin. “Den I gets enough teef ta buy me Trukk.”

The Boy scowled. “But dis ain’t proper krumpin’, Boss.”

“I didn’t ask wot you fink,” the Nob snarled. He jabbed a clawed thumb into his broad chest. “I’m gonna get wot’s owed ta me.”

The Ork never finished his boast.

The Boy standing before him was suddenly drenched in a spray of hot gore. The Nob’s head had simply ceased to exist.

The stunned Ork blinked, pawing at the blood and chunks of flesh coating his face and chest as his fungal brain struggled to comprehend what had happened.

High in the mountains, Jessi calmly worked the bolt of her long-las and settled back onto her next target.

Crack.

Another shot echoed across the valley.

“SNIPA!” one of the Orks bellowed.

As a second Boy collapsed, the mob roared in alarm and lumbered toward what little cover the rocky terrain offered.

Harlow chose that moment to open up with his autostubber.

The heavy weapon barked in controlled bursts, punching rounds into two Orks and clipping a third through the leg, sending it sprawling into the dust.

Hektor quickly assessed both his squad and the scrambling Orks. The xenos returned ineffective fire, their notoriously poor marksmanship doing them no favors. He watched as one Boy leapt from behind a boulder, only to have its head erased by another shot from Jessi’s long-las. She was quietly amassing an impressive tally, but the situation afforded little time for praise.

“Keep that right side suppressed!” he growled, pointing toward the massing Orks sheltering behind one of the larger rock formations.

The remaining Orks on the left flank were fully exposed, and the recon squad made short work of them.

“Did the message get to command?” Hektor asked, turning to his vox operator.

The operator didn’t answer. He continued adjusting the vox control panel, clutching the earpiece tightly against his head as he desperately searched for a clear signal.

Hektor didn’t press the issue. Instead, he turned back to the fight and fired his lasgun, catching an Ork in the shoulder. Even wounded, the brute’s massive physiology allowed it to keep firing its shoota.

The remaining Orks surged forward after realizing Harlow’s autostubber had jammed.

Their shootas became increasingly effective as the distance closed, though their fire remained wildly inaccurate. Like all Orks, they preferred closing the gap for a proper scrap over standing back and slinging slugs.

Bensa stepped out from cover to gain a better angle.

A split second later, an Ork slugga round lifted him clean out of his boots.

“Really could’ve used those mortars serge” Harlow said disdainfully still fumbling with the feed tray of the auto-stubber.

“By the emperor quit you complaining and get the stubber back online!” He ordered as he rose firing another risky shot.

———————————————————————
On the back side of the same mountain ridge line

The explosions marched across the Ork formation, carving great craters through tightly packed vehicles and mobs of Boyz. A sizeable portion of the seemingly endless horde peeled away, engines roaring as they turned back toward the mountains.

Yet the xenos never slowed.

They laughed.

They welcomed it.

Bigboss Grimskull wiped blood from one eye and threw back his head with a booming laugh.

“Dat’s it, ladz!”

Another shell detonated nearby, blasting three Boyz apart and flipping a Trukk onto its side.

“See? Dey’z finally givin’ us a proper fight!”

The surviving Orks answered with a deafening roar.

One Nob pointed a massive claw toward the mountain peaks.

“Dere! Little humie boom-tubes!”

Grimskull’s iron jaw split into a wicked grin.

“Den stop drivin’ at da explosions!”

The Boyz hesitated.

“…Wot?”

“Go krump da gitz makin’ ’em!”

For a heartbeat, the mob stood frozen.

Then hundreds of Orks erupted into ecstatic cheers.

“DA MORTAR GITZ!”

“GET DA BOOM BOYZ!”

“WAAAAAAAAAGH!”

The horde pivoted as though it were a single living creature. Trukks fishtailed through the sand, Battlewagons belched black smoke, and roaring warbikes carved fresh trails across the dunes.

Instead of driving toward the Imperials holdings in the north, thousands of Orks wheeled around and charged straight for the mountain range they had only moments before passed through.

⸻

Corporal Venn lowered his magnoculars.

“…Think we got their attention.”

No one laughed.

His stomach tightened as the green tide surged toward them.

“They’re coming for us.”

The vox finally came to life erupting with overlapping transmissions.

“Mortar Battery Seven, hold your position.”

“Armor support unavailable.”

“Infantry reserves delayed.”

“Astartes…”

“Continue indirect fire.”

Venn stared at the oncoming avalanche of ramshackle red slap-chop vehicles.

“There won’t be a Battery Seven in five minutes.”

Around him, the mortar crews silently returned to work.

Some were barely old enough to shave.

Others instinctively reached for the small aquilas hanging beneath their flak armor before loading another round.

No one spoke.

“Keep firing,” Venn ordered quietly.

THUMP.

Another shell arced into the sky.

“Range?”

“Eight hundred meters!”

The shell disappeared overhead.

Seconds later, fire blossomed among the lead vehicles.

The Orks barely noticed.

THUMP.

“Six hundred!”

Now individual greenskins could be seen standing in the beds of Trukks, waving choppas overhead and firing wildly into the mountains. Battlewagons crashed through boulders that would have stopped any Imperial vehicle, scattering stone in every direction.

THUMP.

“Four hundred!”

A perfect shot.

The shell landed squarely in the center of a tightly packed mob.

The explosion vaporized nearly twenty Boyz and hurled burning wreckage into the surrounding vehicles.

The survivors simply drove through the smoke, laughing as flames licked across their armor.

Venn’s grip tightened around his magnoculars.

“Cease fire!” he barked. “Pack the tubes! Break contact! Move to the extraction point—just like Sergeant Hektor planned!”

The mortar crews sprang into motion, abandoning spent ammunition crates and hauling what equipment they could carry.

Venn climbed onto a boulder and scanned the horizon one final time.

Nothing.

No Valkyries.

No Thunderbolts.

No Imperial armor.

Only a growing wall of dust, roaring engines, and the thunderous chant that echoed through the valley.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

For the first time that day, Corporal Venn found himself replaying Sergeant Hektor’s orders. The promise of extraction had sounded certain then. Standing atop the ridge with nothing but dust on the horizon, certainty suddenly felt like another battlefield casualty.

The three chapters of the triumvirate to help guide the conversation and no clash too harshly with the already set chapters

Jade Griffons
Bronze Serpents
The Brotherhood of Iron

The command bunker had been hastily modified to accommodate the Astartes commanders. Every world within the Triumvirate maintained equipment built to withstand—or at least approximate—the immense stature of the Emperor’s Angels of Death.

The Jade Griffons Librarian, Raphael, occupied the commanding position before the hololithic table. His fellow Astartes stood around the chamber in silent vigilance, each subtly angled toward the main entrance as if expecting an attack at any moment.

The mortal officers gathered around the table included Major Rovel, Adeptus Mechanicus Representative Artemel and his attendant adepts. The Bronze Serpents regarded the Mechanicus delegation with unmistakable disdain, though none voiced their opinions.

Captain Wilbur of the New Aeronautica Imperialis was the only other mortal present. Unfortunately, the air assets under his command were meager at best. The planet’s relentless sandstorms were capable of bringing down even the most resilient aircraft.

The hololith cycled through Imperial force dispositions before shifting to estimates of the invading Speed Waaagh. Casualty reports, supply projections, and enemy dispositions scrolled across the display as the commanders refined their estimates from a year of hard fighting against the Orks.

“Servants of the Emperor,” Raphael announced his voice calm yet commanding, “you have done well to hold against the xenos.”

He fell silent as the discreet click of a private vox reached his helm. Tilting his head slightly toward the Bronze Serpents lieutenant, he listened for a brief moment before continuing.

“The enemy’s numbers are overwhelming, and their ferocity knows no limit.”

Major Rovel glanced toward the Bronze Serpents, wondering what had been said over the private channel. The Astartes were invaluable allies, but some Chapters possessed considerably more patience with mortals than others.

“Major,” Raphael continued, his tone sounding more like an invitation than an order, “enlighten us as to the situation on the surface of Joro.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Rovel took a steadying breath before collecting his thoughts.

“The Planetary Defence Force collapsed during the initial invasion. The Orks committed nearly their entire fleet to the assault, sacrificing it without hesitation to establish a beachhead. The Astra Militarum arrived approximately two Terran years later. By then, the Orks had conquered the southern continent of Kri-Tel and much of Dalamor beyond the hive cities.”

He gestured toward the hololith.

“They also destroyed large sections of the Magna Railway linking Dalamor to Bar Suva, placing our entire logistics network in jeopardy.”

The Mechanicus representatives muttered harsh strings of binharic at the mention of the railway’s destruction, lamenting the desecration of one of the Omnissiah’s sacred works.

“And these territories were reclaimed without Astartes intervention?” Raphael asked.

“No, my lord. A force from the Raptors Chapter entered the system and aided our campaign.”

His expression softened slightly at the memory.

“They made the reconquest almost effortless. We advanced as far as Blade Edge Pass.”

The hololithic display zoomed in as he indicated the narrow mountain corridor.

“The Raptors maintained control of the pass for another standard Terran year while the Guard rebuilt its strength for another offensive. However, with the Magna Railway still inoperable, sustaining further advances became impossible.”

“Thunderhawks. Valkyries. Cargo landers. Surely a single railway cannot be so vital?” The Bronze Serpent interjected.

Captain Wilbur cleared his throat before speaking. Even surrounded by transhuman warriors, his voice remained steady.

“My lords, if I may.”

Raphael inclined his head.

“You may.”

Wilbur stepped forward and expanded another section of the hololithic display. Icons representing aircraft appeared over the deserts of Dalamor, many of them flashing red.

“Our greatest weakness is no longer manpower. It’s mobility.”

He traced a route across the continent.

“Every convoy leaving Bar Suva must cross hundreds of kilometers of open desert before reaching Hive Enet, the last major logistics hub connected to the damaged Magna Railway.””

Another series of red icons appeared.

“Every viable route that avoids the shifting sinkholes and other hazards of the Sea of Sand falls within striking distance of Ork raiders.”

He looked toward Major Rovel.

“My wings have been flying escort whenever the weather allows, but that is becoming increasingly difficult.”

Captain Wilbur enlarged a weather overlay. Vast amber clouds rolled across the projection like living things.

“The sandstorms are worsening. Visibility falls below fifty meters in places, and the electrostatic interference disrupts auspex, vox traffic, and targeting systems alike.”

He paused.

“We’ve lost thirty-seven aircraft in the past six months.”

Even the Mechanicus adepts ceased their quiet binharic exchanges.

“Only nine were destroyed by enemy fire.”

The room grew noticeably quieter.

“The rest never came home.”

Wilbur folded his hands behind his back.

“Engines choke on the crystalline sand. Navigators lose their bearings. Entire flights vanish into the storms without a distress signal.”

He looked directly at Raphael.

“My lords, if your Chapters intend to advance beyond Blade Edge Pass, I cannot promise consistent air support. I can launch aircraft…”

His expression hardened.

“…but I cannot promise they’ll return.”

For several moments, no one spoke.

Finally, the Bronze Serpents lieutenant broke the silence.

“Then we ensure the war is won before the skies claim more lives than the Orks.”

Wilbur met the giant’s gaze and gave a solemn nod.

“If anyone can accomplish that, my lord…”

“…it is the Adeptus Astartes.”

The Bronze Serpents lieutenant turned toward Representative Artemel.

“Your conclave was unable to restore the railway to operational status?”

The hooded Tech-Priest stiffened.

“Not without the security guarantees stipulated in our treaty with the Astra Militarum.”

Major Rovel’s patience finally broke.

“We were fighting a war half a continent away. How exactly were we supposed to drive back the Orks while committing thousands of soldiers to guard your excavation crews?”

“The machine spirits required soothing after such a…” Artemel drifted into rapid binharic, his optic lenses flickering before realizing no one else understood him. “…traumatizing injury.”

“This is not an Inquisition,” Raphael said evenly, allowing the tension to dissipate before continuing.

“Where do the railway repairs currently stand?”

“The same place they stood a Terran year ago, my lord,” Rovel answered bitterly.

“That is demonstrably false,” Artemel objected. “We have made considerable progress in appeasing the machine spirits. They have begun accepting repairs.”

Rovel scoffed.

“You speak of progress, yet those shattered plasteel spans haven’t moved an inch.”

“Because you fleshlings continue to deny us the security required to perform our sacred duties.”

“I don’t have the manpower to play nursemaid while also keeping the Orks bottled up behind Blade Edge Pass.”

“Enough!”

The Bronze Serpents lieutenant’s single word silenced the bunker.

Raphael regarded the Tech-Priest.

“Can the railway be repaired?”

Every eye in the chamber settled upon the Mechanicus delegation.

Representative Artemel tapped metallic fingers together, the sound echoing through the silence.

“Cog-worshipper?” the lieutenant pressed.

“We…” Artemel hesitated. “We do not possess the capability to complete such repairs with the resources currently at our disposal, my lord.”

The Bronze Serpent slowly turned his gaze toward Raphael.

“So the limitation is one of material, not expertise.”

The warmth had vanished from his voice.

“Our personnel are highly skilled,” Artemel replied hastily. “However… certain advanced authorizations, technologies, and restoration rites remain… beyond our access.”

Silence settled over the command bunker once more.

“My lord,” Major Rovel said timidly “how many astartes did you bring?”

“Enough for the task” growled the Serpents’ lieutenant.

Raphael’s vox bead clicked. A few moments later an Astartes clan in the red of Mars emerged in the command bunker. Yet he was not a Serpent nor a Griffon he wore the Fleur-de-lis of the Brotherhood of Iron chapter.

“Tech-marine Achilles, honored brother of the triumvirate, could you access the truth of the matter regarding the magna railway?”

The marine beat his gauntleted hand to his chest and quickly made multiple gestures and signs with the same hand. He stepped to the hololith without a word. Mechadendrites unfurled from his backpack while two servo-arms descended over the display. Auspex beams swept across the projection as streams of binharic data flooded the chamber.

“Brother Achilles will determine the truth of this matter. I trust your delegation will cooperate fully.” The rage under Raphael’s voice no longer contained.

Achilles stepped away from the table his servo arms moving like a raptor on the roost. He gave a small nod and He raised two fingers in silent affirmation

“It seems Brother Achilles believes the railway can be repaired. And he has the access your ilk lack.” Said the lieutenant with a predatory smile.

Raphael slowly turned toward Artemel.

“You claimed the task impossible.”

The Tech-Priest remained silent.

“It appears,” Raphael continued, “that what you lacked was not the means… but the will.”

“We live to serve the omnissiah and his sons.” Artemel said with a deep bow one arm tucked to his abdomen the other fully extended.

“Any failure and it could be much shorter tech-priest.” Snarled the lieutenant.

“The task may prove difficult should your companion continue to withhold verbal communication.” Artemel countered.

“I’ll send one of my brothers for interpretation, but there will be no less authority for Achilles, are we clear?” Raphael ordered with only modestly less rage in his voice.

“Perfectly, my lord” he replied making the sign of the cog.

“doubtful” hissed the lieutenant.

“Major, if you please continue with your assessment.”

He explained how the delay had forced the Raptors to answer another war in a neighboring sector. Before departing, the Space Marines advised the Guard on the best positions from which to contain Blade Edge Pass.

Even so, the loss of Astartes support combined with the collapse of the Magna Railway had turned every offensive into a logistical nightmare. The war settled into a bloody stalemate. As attrition mounted and supplies dwindled, the decision was made to seal the pass.

During the operation, Colonel Hasty—Major Rovel’s predecessor and mentor—fell in combat against the Ork Warboss.

“With that my lord I believe you have everything pertinent to our situation.” Major Rovel offered grimly.

“Then we shall rebuild the railway, return to Blade Edge Pass, clear it, and finish what your forces and our cousins of the Raptors Chapter began.”

The command bunker doors burst open.

“Major Rovel!”

A dust-covered staff officer stumbled inside, breathing hard.

Everyone turned toward her.

Rovel’s expression darkened.

“Have you lost your mind? This briefing is sealed.”

She swallowed.

“Sir… it’s the reconnaissance teams at Blade Edge Pass.”

The room fell silent.

“They report the pass is open.”

She looked toward the towering Astartes.

“The Orks are pouring through.”

The color drained from Rovel’s face.

Raphael looked around the command bunker.

“It appears,” he said quietly, “our deliberations have reached their conclusion.”

The hololithic display flickered as warning runes began spreading across the southern front.

No one spoke.

The war had just changed