Steel & Oil: Warhammer 32K

Vangorich had to cut through a debris field of shattered merchant hulks just to draw near Terra.

He accepted necessary sacrifice as the cost of war, and it was precisely because of that acceptance that this pure, wanton waste of life now filled him with fury.

"Udo. Mesring. Tull..."

The three of them were already on his list for certain death.

Lin had promised him that Udo would be dealt with by them.

As for the other High Lords, the Grand Master thought poison, or an assassination disguised with a Callidus, would serve well enough.

In the end he still hadn't puzzled out what Lin was truly after, but the selfishness and stupidity of the other High Lords — and his own desperate wish to reconstitute the Senatorum Imperialis — had led him to accept Lin's terms for doing exactly that.

Even without understanding Lin's intentions, a Magos who had actually done something for the Imperium was worth far more than any of those High Lords.

Vangorich turned over in his mind how he would arrange things once he returned to Terra, but his ship was in no hurry to descend to Terra's surface.

Under his orders, they crept quietly toward the Attack Moon.

The observation instruments aboard his ship activated, letting Vangorich see the general state of the Attack Moon.

The Proletarian Crusade was still advancing without hesitation.

The fighting looked to be going well, but his thoughts kept returning to Lin's solemn assurance before he'd left.

"The High Lords organizing a Proletarian Crusade poses no threat to us. We will choose another, more suitable moment to strike the Attack Moon."

At the time, Vangorich had thought the Magos was simply hoarding his own strength for show. He'd believed the Ultimate Wall should have seized the opportunity to strike, joining the Proletarian Crusade to bring down the Attack Moon together.

Even though that would have tipped the balance toward the High Lords, he'd been willing to settle the reckoning with Terra afterward, through assassination.

"You're certain you want to assassinate them while their momentum is at its height? Trust me — every one of their plans rests on the assumption that the Proletarian Crusade will succeed in establishing a beachhead. It won't succeed. Their apparent success is nothing but a trap laid by those beasts. If we mistake it for opportunity, that will be a true catastrophe."

Vangorich had voiced his doubt: "Are those beasts really that clever?"

"Trust me, they far exceed your expectations. I don't want to stand by and watch those people die for nothing either, but we have no choice. If you want to save the Imperium, listen to me."

In the end Vangorich had chosen to believe Lin, and after the two of them reached an agreement he had returned to Terra. Now, he was about to find out whether Lin's words had been true.

The tide of the Proletarian Crusade poured into a wide valley on the Attack Moon. Fervent cultists brandished crude weapons, singing hymns as they advanced, utterly unaware that the terrain was slowly narrowing around them.

But the veterans of the Astra Militarum frowned. Their eyes swept the steep walls on either side, fingers tightening unconsciously on their triggers.

"Something's wrong..."

They feared the orks had set an ambush along the valley walls, turning them into fish trapped in a barrel.

Such misgivings couldn't restrain the fervor of the Proletarian Crusade. All the veterans could do was draw their units together as tightly as possible, preparing in advance for the ambush to come.

They made every effort within their power. But their imagination still had its limits.

The ground began to tremble.

At first it was only a faint shudder, like some slumbering giant beast turning over in its sleep.

Then, quickly, the entire valley began to roar. The mountains on either side writhed like living things. Rock split apart, dust rose into the air, and enormous fissures spread across the ground.

The Proletarian Crusade finally stopped moving. Their fervor froze on their faces, replaced by a fear that spread and deepened by the second.

"Emperor above..." someone murmured.

In the next instant, the two mountain peaks slammed together.

The sound of stone crushing flesh was bone-chilling. Tens of thousands of crusaders didn't even have time to scream before they were pulverized between the closing walls. Blood sprayed out from the cracks, staining the entire valley red.

Any faith without real power behind it is nothing but foam against raw force. The faces that had once been fearless twisted in terror. The faithful screamed, shoving one another as they tried to flee.

But the mountains kept moving, and more and more people were swept into that brutal crushing.

Then, only silence remained.

An efficient slaughter had ended. More than sixty percent of the Proletarian Crusade lay dead in that valley.

From Vangorich's vantage point, this had been nothing more than a trivial adjustment the Attack Moon had made to its own terrain.

The thought that six million people had died in that single terrain adjustment chilled even him.

Aside from Exterminatus, he had never witnessed a slaughter this efficient.

He thought back to Lin's earlier warning, and understanding suddenly dawned on him.

Of course. The entire Attack Moon had been shaped by ork hands alone — why shouldn't they be able to manipulate the terrain of their own creation at will?

He was shocked that the Imperium had allowed such a threat to grow to this scale, but on the surface below, Udo still knew nothing of the Proletarian Crusade's defeat.

He stood in the High Lords' council chamber, side by side with Tull, with a live broadcast of the Proletarian Crusade's advance playing behind them, proclaiming his achievements to the tens of thousands of nobles he'd summoned across all of Terra.

"My lords, this is the great victory the Senatorum Imperialis has achieved under my leadership! The Proletarian Crusade is crushing the alien lines in the Emperor's name! The Astartes' hesitation has already been proven unnecessary!"

He tried to turn the blame toward the Ultimate Wall, but the nobles below did not applaud or nod in agreement as they had before.

Udo frowned, his gaze sweeping over each noble in the room. He noticed that all their expressions had frozen, their eyes locked onto the projection.

He turned to look at Tull beside him and found her face had gone equally pale.

An ominous premonition crawled up Udo's spine. He spun around abruptly, and the image on the broadcast drained the blood from his face just as it had from hers.

The valley the Proletarian Crusade had been advancing through was gone, replaced by a new, blood-soaked peak.

The surviving crusaders scattered like ants beneath the bombardment, while a banner embroidered with a beast totem rose over the summit.

Everyone in the chamber could hear the roar of the beast.

"WAAAGH!"

Udo froze. His mind went blank, and for a moment he had no idea where he even was.

Fortunately, no one in the audience below cared any longer about his loss of composure. A hundred thousand of the Emperor's "loyal servants" filled the council chamber, yet it felt as empty as if no one were there at all.

A few sobs broke the silence. But scattered and faint as they were, they only made the quiet feel deeper.

The Proletarian Crusade's defeat had come so suddenly that everyone had forgotten even to argue or place blame.

Vangorich could well imagine what the Senatorum Imperialis chamber must look like right now.

Lin's words had been proven true. Vangorich hesitated no longer — he wanted only to return to Terra at once and begin arranging his next moves.

"Take us down," he ordered. But the captain of his ship called him back.

"Before that, Grand Master, I think you should see this."

The auspex readings were laid before Vangorich. A small merchant vessel was lifting unsteadily off the surface of the Attack Moon.

The ship had once carried Proletarian Crusade troops. Now it was fleeing the Attack Moon's surface.

The ork anti-air batteries that should have intercepted such transports didn't fire at all, letting the vessel go.

"What is this?"

"Could be crew fleeing on their own. Could also be that the ship has been seized by the greenskins. Grand Master, what are your orders?"

Vangorich realized that whatever was aboard that ship could help them understand the beasts better, and so he changed his order.

"We seize that ship. Prepare to board."

Their vessel closed on the merchant ship. Strangely, the other side made no response at all — no distress call, no attempt to flee.

The assassins moved the instant their ship docked with the merchant vessel, storming into its hold within moments. Within minutes they brought Vangorich a single human captive.

Vangorich identified the man from his identification markers as the merchant ship's captain. "You're fleeing the Attack Moon?"

The captain looked shaken to his core. Trembling, he answered, "No. I was ordered to escort them."

Vangorich nearly asked who "them" referred to, but as the man stepped out of the hold on his own, the answer became clear.

Three orks.

Though Vangorich kept denying it to himself just to hold onto his sanity, they were, without question, three orks.

The beasts carried no weapons — only the one in front held a staff. None of them wore the crude armor typical of orks. Instead, they wore leather robes embroidered with clan totems.

Those ceremonial trappings brought a terrifying possibility to Vangorich's mind.

"Tell me who they are," he demanded of the captain.

"They're diplomats."

"That's impossible!"

"I know it's impossible too."

So it was true. A colder dread settled into Vangorich's chest.

A ripple of unrest passed through the assassins under his command. Several of the more impulsive among them could barely restrain the urge to act.

They drew their blades, ready to cut down these beasts who had defiled civilization itself. But the three orks only regarded them with contempt, as if scorning their savagery for having nothing to answer with but violence.

"Stand down," Vangorich said quietly, reining in his men.

He forced down his own revulsion and ordered himself to treat this as an opportunity to understand humanity's adversary.

But the orks had made no further move since they appeared, and even Vangorich could read nothing from them.

"Why won't they communicate with us?"

"They said they won't engage in any unnecessary exchange until they meet with our leader, my lord."

Leader. Did they mean the High Lords?

Vangorich pressed his lips together, feeling humiliated by what he was about to do. But he understood he had no choice.

"Return to your ship. I'll take you to the Imperial Palace."

With Vangorich's vessel leading the way, the merchant ship carrying the ork diplomats was escorted down onto Terra's surface.

Terra, already in chaos, couldn't even react to their approach. Only when they neared the Imperial Palace did the Lucifer Blacks, who had taken up watch over the palace walls in place of the Imperial Fists, finally mobilize.

A company of Lucifer Blacks surrounded the landing site of both ships, warily raising their weapons — but Vangorich was the first to step down from his vessel.

The Black Guard's Captain recognized the Grand Master and ordered the soldiers around him to lower their weapons. He himself strode forward to meet Vangorich. "I am Malcador, Captain of the Lucifer Blacks. Grand Master, why are you here?"

"I bring grim news for Terra," he said quietly.

Malcador didn't understand what Vangorich meant and moved to ask him to clarify. But the orks had already emerged from the other ship, holding the merchant captain hostage.

"It's the beasts!"

The atmosphere turned tense in an instant. The Black Guard, who had just lowered their weapons, snapped their rifles back up, aimed at the three ork diplomats.

"Lower your weapons," Vangorich demanded of them. "They are not here to attack the palace."

The Captain thought he'd misheard. "They're beasts who know nothing but war."

"Not anymore, Captain. Everything has changed. Only if we lower our weapons first will we learn what they truly want."

The Black Guard hesitated, unwilling to lower their weapons. Vangorich's patience broke, and he roared:

"I said lower your weapons!"

The Black Guard finally obeyed the Grand Master's command.

With Vangorich at its head, the procession advanced toward the High Lords' council chamber within the Imperial Palace.

The captain and the beasts followed behind Vangorich, while the Lucifer Blacks, weapons now sheathed, trailed at the rear of the column.

These, the most elite mortals of the Imperium, now looked like nothing more than an escort for orks — every step they took beat out the rhythm of the Imperium's humiliation.

The procession was stopped near the entrance to the chamber, where Vangorich saw the former representative of the Inquisition, Veritus, standing by the door.

"I would have thought you'd be inside, listening to Udo boast."

"That's the job of Wienand, the current representative of the Inquisition." The Inquisitor looked past Vangorich's shoulder. "So — you captured three orks on your way back from the the Proletarian Crusade?"

Vangorich closed his eyes in pain. He didn't want to answer that question.

He felt that the moment he opened his mouth, whatever dignity humanity had left would be ground to dust.

Fortunately, the captain answered for him: "They're diplomats, my lord."

Veritus's eyes went wide as well.

By this point, no further explanation was needed.

The orks stepped forward, walking past the Inquisitorial representative — who likewise had no idea how to respond — and entered the council chamber on their own.

The chamber was still thick with sorrow over the Proletarian Crusade's defeat, but as more and more people noticed the orks standing at the entrance, the weeping began to stop.

First came silence. Then shock. And finally, fury.

Whispers spread among the nobles filling the chamber, everyone wondering why beasts had appeared inside this sacred hall.

Udo rose from his seat at the presiding platform, pointing at Vangorich, who had entered behind the orks.

"What have you brought into this sacred place?"

His shout rang out like thunder, yet his roar carried no threat whatsoever. To Vangorich's eyes, this Imperial Commander, battered by blow after blow, had become nothing but a hollow shell.

"They are diplomats. Ambassadors."

As he spoke, Vangorich climbed onto the platform, staring straight into the Imperial Commander's eyes. "And an enemy you could never defeat."

Udo forced a mocking smile onto his face. "How rare. Beasts with diplomats? We don't even have a translator here who speaks Ork."

"No translator is needed."

The voice hadn't come from any human in the room.

Everyone in the chamber froze as if struck by lightning, turning to look at the lead ork. It was speaking in fluent High Gothic.

"We told you to surrender. You surrender. It's that simple."

[Author's Note: PS1: This is the single biggest iconic scene of the entire Beast War. I've heavily reworked the war's actual course, but kept the segment where the greenskins humiliate the High Lords, so everyone knows what story you're actually reading]

[Author's Note: The detailed explanation of why the orks waited until now to launch their assault will be woven into the plot in later chapters.]

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