PREFACE             
 
Man broke free of the shackles that kept him on earth, and reaching out, colonised and conquered the stars.  Overseeing the known universe is the Imperium.  A council of High Lords with an Emperor as supreme overlord controls planets either by direct rule, or through a network of Lord Knights.  These are individuals who control individual continents, whole planets or even small systems.  Each Knight has a detachment of Imperial troops apportioned to him, but many raise additional units, and equip them themselves.  Some hire from the many motley bands of mercenaries who sell their skills to the highest bidder.  The Lord Knights constantly jostle amongst themselves for power and advantage; continual bickering and skirmishing some-times breaking out into local wars.

       As with most Empires, over time the Imperium became dismissive of its citizens needs and corrupt at all levels.  Small rebellions occurred but were ruthlessly crushed with great cruelty.  All this did however was to inflame the problem tenfold.  Opposition has now solidified in the shape of ‘The Alliance’; a loose confederation of Lord Knights on the frontier worlds that has been the nucleus around which resistance has coalesced.  With revolts happening and threatened on so many planets, the Imperium is now stretched to breaking point as it struggles to combat the increasing aggression from the Alliance forces.      

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BRIEFING             
Top Secret, For Imperial Battleforce Commander General Evens Eyes Only. 

Background
The planet of Richmondsmall (classified as F154-X) is the only habitable planet in the strategically important Nyork sector.  Controlled by independent government for the last 100 years, until recent the Emperor was content to use the landing facilities at the refuelling point for our fleets.  Intel discovered that enemy forces had infiltrated the government and were about to declare for the Alliance.  The planet could then have been used as a launch pad for offensive action against our holdings in neighbouring systems.  The Emperor to remove this threat ordered the 24th Imperial Battle Fleet, under the command of General Hodges, to the planet to destroy all infrastructure by planetary bombardment.  
 
Part way through this process on 14/5/2560, with four of the five major cities destroyed (now considered nuclear hazard Class 5), our battle fleet was attacked by forces belonging to the criminal Lord Knight (LK) Shanker (see separate bio).  Our fleet was severely mauled with all major units being destroyed, before LK Shanker’s fleet (itself badly depleted) withdrew to an orbit on the other side of the planet.  Hodges unable to complete the bombardment was ordered to capture the planet.  The Emperor considered his forces adequate for the task.  Hodges took the remaining city of Knaresborough but troop and material loses have been catastrophic due to the presence of LK Shanker ground troops and an enraged hostile population, along with an unacceptable poor performance by Hodges and his troops.  Over half the city now lies in ruins.

Mission
Your mission is as follows:

1. Secure the city of Knaresborough.

2. Destroy the three remaining small towns of New Ripon, Valley Creek, and New Harrogate.

3. Liquidate the remaining civilian population.

4. Defeat and destroy any Alliance forces encountered.  Any prisoners are to be executed after interrogation.

5. Subsume the forces of General Hodges into yours.  All of his troops including officers are to be assigned Penal status.

6. General Hodges is to be court-marshalled, found guilty, and executed within 24 hours of your arrival.

Enemy Opposition
Opposition forces are comprised of the following three distinct groups. The degree of co-operation between them is not known.

1. Some units of Government militia remain in the field.  Approximate strength is estimated as 3 battalions.  Equipment poor.  Training is poor.  Motivation high.  Poorly led.  In summary, a unit that should be easily dealt with.

2. LK Shanker’s (Alliance) troops in the shape of 5th Space Marine Brigade, which is part of his renown 5th Armoured Legion (5AL), were engaged in the defence of Knaresborough, but with the collapse of the Militia forces withdrew in good order.  Approximate strength is estimated at two Battalions.  Equipment very good, with some heavy tank support.  Training good.  Motivation high.  Well led.  In summary a capable mixed arms unit.

3. LK Vultures (Alliance) forces appeared in- system after the fall of Knaresborough to reinforce LK Shanker’s forces .  Intel is sketchy, but elements of his elite 667th (Heavy) Assault Brigade are known to be involved.  The following is therefore likely:  Two Mech Battalions.  Lavishly equipped, with some heavy vehicle support and aero-space assets.  Training good.  Motivation high.  Well led.  In summary, a unit capable of punching well above its weight.
   

Assets Available
The 189th Marine Corp with supporting assets.  Due to an empire wide shortage of fusion material no tactical nucs are in your arsenal.

Personal Information
To ensure your families’ safety during these difficult times, the Emperor has made arrangements for them to be hosted as honoured guests within his palace.  The Emperor has every confidence in your abilities, for failure, attracts a heavy price… 

     It was hot in the prefab building, stifling in fact.  The air-con unit had a slow gas leak and was barely cooling the air.  Sweat dripped off Simpson as he struggled to fasten the myriad of straps that would secure him and for the hundredth time he hoped he would never have to get out of his Dreadnought Armour suit quickly.
      
      His Tech support finished, closed the torso armour catch, pressed the nurosensor onto Simpson’s forehead and plugged a handset into a small recess in his armpit.  He pressed a series of buttons, the mini-nuclear power pack (MNPP) stirred, and the suit hummed into life.  “Ready for diagnostic check,” said the Tech as he stepped back.  The onboard computer at that point looked for brainwaves at the nurosensor.  Finding them it then requested voice input to ensure that only the programmed and authorised user was trying to take control.
    
     “Please confirm operator,” came the smooth feminine computer voice in Simpson’s headset.  
    
     “Master Sgt Simpson Serial No 337878A-IC-667,” he replied.
     
     “Operator confirmed, welcome Sgt Simpson.  Dreadnought Suit Mk21A Serial No AJ56ZJE ready for use.”  There was slight pause  “Remember, what we do in life, echoes in eternity.”
      
      Not everyone configured their suit for voice playback, but he had set a trend in his unit by having the onboard computer modified to provide one.  It was all part of the process of personalising the equipment each soldier was issued with.  Simpson was big fan of this approach.  In his experience, men cared more for equipment if they felt it was theirs.  In addition to the playback, strictly against regulations, above his right breast was a small motif of a rearing cobra with a black crown on its’ head.
   
      In a routine he had done countless times Simpson went through the standard test sequence to ensure that all on-suit communication, life support and powered mechanics were operational.  With half an ear on what the Tech was saying whilst he went through the motions, he found himself worrying about the status of the rest of his platoon, and the damage they had sustained in the last fire-fight with the Imperium, commonly referred to as the ‘Imps’.  Although they had come out on top and suffered no casualties, all the battlesuits had been damaged to various degrees.  The maintenance company could only do repairs by part replacement.  A few more engagements like that and they’d be out of spares, after which life would start to get difficult unless they could find some sophisticated workshops, and he wasn’t at all hopeful on that count.
   
       The Tech intruded into his thoughts.  “Okay Sir, you’re cleared for weapon collection and test.”  The Tech lifted the helmet onto Simpson’s head, and clipped it into place.  Testing the visor moved freely up and down he left it up and moved back.
   
      The life support system had now cooled the interior of the suit to a pleasant 70 degrees.  Simpson feeling a lot more comfortable lifted his right leg and as he did so the suit through the nurosensor anticipated his intentions, and moved with him.  He could not help smiling. ‘Man and machine in harmony,’ was the quotation that always came to mind.  A slow harmony it had to be said, though.  It was impossible to jog never mind run in a Dreadnought suit.  That was the downside but, on the up side, the user was protected by state-of-art mesmo-plastic armour, auto-medic life support systems, and, for good measure, a built in force-shield that could shrug aside all but large calibre weapons and missiles.

    
   

       Exiting the building his eyes were drawn to the sky, for although he had visited countless planets Richmondsmall was the only one he had been to with twin suns.  It was never night, for as one sun set, the other rose.  Glancing left and right he was faced with a scene of organized chaos as all manner of troops and vehicles swirled around in front of him.  The 667th (Heavy) Assault Brigade, on descending to the planet surface three days ago, had established a standard forward firebase.  These were always set up in the same layout and typically covered two square miles of territory.  The standard layout helped ensure that everyone knew where all the various elements of the force were located.  A dropship-landing site was directly in the middle; the HQ would be situated to the north of that with other comms and a field hospital near to it on their immediate right.  A soldier walking round in a clockwise manner would then come across all four line companies the HQ Company and support units such as the Workshops, Main Armoury, Ammo Dump and Fuel Farm.  At one end, discreet on its own, was the Flight Support Company looking after the aerospace assets.  Next to them camped the organic Fire Support Company followed by Field Engineering.  The latter had been especially busy preparing the base site.  This involved levelling ground, clearing vegetation, digging a perimeter ditch, raising a 12ft high rampart and deploying all manner of ground sensors.
   
     Simpson paused as a 40 ton ‘Wittman’ Class anti-grav tank growled towards him.  Manufactured by SUC Heavy Industries Inc. it was one of a range of three vehicles that all shared the same armoured chassis.  A compact Niten nuclear mini-reactor linked through a ‘Vectra’ power converter provided the enormous electrical load required by the anti-grav system and shield systems.  Different turret configurations provided alternative fitments for either a Railgun, 100mm CPP (Chemically Propelled Projectile) gun, or, as in this instance, a 150mm L10 CPP close support howitzer.  On this vehicle large areas of bare metal glistened where the green camouflage paint and grey primer had been stripped off the armour plate on the right front of the vehicle; white stencilled lettering on the turret side 331 denoted it was the 1st tank in the 3rd platoon of the 3rd company.  White kill rings of various sizes on the barrel showed it had an experienced crew who had seen extensive action.      
   
      A figure waved to him from the turret before extracting himself out of the cupola.  After unplugging the comm link to the large helmet with practised ease, he slid down the glacis plate, then dropped into the front anti-grav sponson with a flourish.  On cue the entire vehicle sank to the ground and Master Sgt. Christopher Jenkinoff leapt off his mount.  
   
      “Simpson you old dog,” he greeted his school friend cheerfully. “What the hell is going on?”  He spat disgustedly.  “I hear rumours that one of our platoons will be attached to the bloody Yokels”.  He waved his arms expansively.  “As if we don’t have enough trouble with the Imps and the bloody wildlife on this damn rock !”
   
      Simpson opened his mouth and was about to respond, but Jenkinoff warming to his subject continued, “Look at the bloody bite I got this morning!”  He rolled up the sleeve on his right arm to expose a livid red sucker mark about 3 inches in diameter, just under a large tattoo of a heart with the words ‘Miss Detroit’ intertwined with it.  “We were out on patrol this morning,” he continued, “when not a mile from here this massive octopus like fucker about the size of a bloody house leaps of the forest line and grabs us !  Tries biting the front grav sponson off !”  His voice rose indignantly, “Put a bloody dent in it, bastard ! Anyway, one of the tentacles grabs hold of me and almost pulls me out of the turret.  I’d have been done for if Scott my gunner hadn’t loosed off a flechette.  Now that made a real mess of the twat I can tell you !  Green blood splattered everywhere!”
   
     He waved his arms at the scarred paintwork.  “Nasty stuff,” he continued.  “Must be acidic as hell as all the vegetation was smoking where it hit, and look at the mess it made of ‘Diane’ here!”  He patted the vehicle like a man would a trusty dog.  “The old girl’s gonna get some TLC and new paint right now.”  
   
     “Well we’re the platoon that’s been attached to the Yokels, for our sins,” sighed Simpson.  “God help us, is all I can say.  I’m not sure whom I’ve offended in HQ, but whatever I’ve done I wish I could take it back”.  
   
      Jenkinoff regarded his glum friend for a moment.  There was no way he was going to let him get into a pickle without being along as well.  “Wait a mo,” he said.  Climbing back up the sled he reconnected his headset and keyed through to HQ.  “Master Sgt. Jenkinoff requesting to link to Major Smith.”  There was a pause as he was put through.  
   
     “What is it now Sgt?” came the grumpy reply from the thirty-three year old crew-cut blonde female who was in charge of the 667th 3rd Armoured Company.
   
      “Permission to detach 3rd platoon to support Sgt. Simpson’s 2nd DN platoon which is nurse-maiding Yokels today, Ma'am ?”
   
      “Not a chance,” came back the retort.  “We are well out of that and I’m not having a third of my command get wasted supporting those fools.”
   
      Jenkinoff had expected that answer.  “Given what I saw last night I wonder if you would care to reconsider Ma’am?”  
   
      There was a long pause.  At the other end of the line Sandra Smith broke out in a hot sweat.  
   
      “What do you mean Chris?” she asked fearfully.  
   
      He had her by the short and curlies, he knew it, and she knew he knew it.  He just couldn’t help himself smiling as he waxed, “Young love truly is a wonderful thing Sarah, but bouncing up and down on 19 year old Private Neil’s cannon last night in the back of the maintenance sled, I suspect contravened just a couple of regulations…”
   
      “Permission granted to detach,” came back the strangled reply from Smith.
   
      Jenkinoff shouted down to Simpson, “It’s your lucky day, me and the lads are coming along for the sightseeing tour today; upload me the mission briefing and we’ll be with you when you move out.”
   
      Simpson’s tired features broke into a smile, at last, some good news.  Waving his thanks he hurried towards the Power Suit armoury, an official sounding name for no more than a green container with lots of weapons in boxes.  He joined with the rest of 2nd Platoon waiting in line for weapon pick-up.  A heated argument appeared to be happening at the head of the queue and after a couple of minutes Simpson sighed to himself and strode to the front.  

      “And I’ve told you that Captain Bishop ordered that Standards Weapons Fit Number 1 was to be issued to all troops, Corporal Street !”  screamed a small rotund Sgt Green.   His distinctive green fatigues immediately marked him as belonging to the government militia.  Due to political considerations it had been seen as worthwhile to offer appointments within the 667th to help keep civilian morale up, and the defector government on-board.  Captain Bishop was related to one of the Senators and had been assigned the command of Simpson’s platoon.  Young and arrogant he had brought with him Sgt Green who seemed destined to offend everyone!

       Corporal Street looked as if he were about to explode he was so angry. 

       Simpson sighed again; he’d felt it was going to be one of those days when he’d woken up that morning.  Hearing the words ‘Captain Bishop’ just reinforced that slightly sinking feeling.  “Sgt,” he said in firm tones.  “2nd Platoon is a fire support platoon.  SF1 is of no use to us.” 
   
       “That’s not my concern” smirked the Sgt as he sweated profusely in the heat.  “Captain Bishop is very experienced in these matters and believes that SF1 is better suited for this mission ! Also, have you forgotten it’s strictly against regulations to have any personal notifies on body armour, so you and the rest of your platoon can paint out that stupid snake picture.”
   
      “Screw you,” growled Simpson as he suffered a sense of humour failure.  “Either give us the fit we want, or stand aside little man.” 
   
       “You can’t issue weapons to yourself, it’s against all regulations,” protested Green.
   
       At that point, Simpson to the cheers of 2nd Platoon, grabbed the Sgt in his power glove and lifted him off the floor.  “Street,” he shouted, “take over from the Sgt here and issue us our kit.” 
   
       Street moved into the container and was soon dispensing their normal weapons.  2nd Platoon was designed as fire-support and as such was equipped with heavy weapons.  Man by man they were loaded up with double barrelled Support Bolters, Heavy Lasers and Missile Launchers.  The lasers were a non-standard fit for Dreadnought troops, but Simpson liked their firepower and the mix had worked well for him and the platoon in the past.  As a backup, in case of close action, each man was issued with a specially modified cut-down doubled barrelled automatic shotgun which fitted into a custom made leg holster.    
   
       Dropping the still protesting Sgt Green to the ground he turned and went to collect his own weapon.  Street was just opening up a container marked Special Trails Fit – EF1.  Picking up the four barrelled Gyro Gatling he handed it Simpson; the weight made the suit actuators grown in protest.  A third heavier than a normal Twin Support Bolter, it was not designed to be man portable.  A Tech friend of Simpson’s in HQ had salvaged one off a damaged enemy tank and had fabricated a handheld mount for him.  It expended ammunition at an incredible rate, and was prone to breakdown, but the firepower it could deliver was unsurpassed, and had proven decisive at tipping the odds in their favour in the engagements when it had been used.  
   
        Green had dusted himself off.  “You’re going to get busted to Private, for this Simpson!” he screamed as he stalked over towards the HQ trailer.  
   
        Ignoring him, Simpson strode after the rest of the Platoon which was now drawing ammo from within a small complex of earthworks where the ammo dump was situated.  His suit actuators groaned again as the cylindrical ammunition containing 500 rounds of gyrobolts was attached to the side of the DN suite.  Developed over fifty years ago, all military units in the galaxy now used them in preference to the traditional ‘slug’ round that was developed back in the 19th century.  The standard gyrobolt was a 3 inches long, 0.5 inches wide projectile that dispensed with the need for a cartridge by including within it a miniature rocket motor.  Fins stabilised the round in flight and gave it formidable accuracy.  A high explosive (HE) warhead was standard fit.  
   
       “I’ve got that special load you requested,” the Armourer informed him.  “I’ve inserted them as every third round.  What do you want me to do with the remaining 350 rounds Sgt ?”  
   
       “Just hang on to them for the moment,” Simpson replied.  Thinking for a moment he continued, “Stick them in a crate, place those lead sheets I got you round it, mark it up as  ‘EF1-Anti-Bunker,’ and put it in the reloads vehicle underneath a tarpaulin.”  Nodding in agreement the armourer bustled off. 

CONTINUED IN PART 2