Author Notes:
Welp, it's 12:38 am when I write this note so... Happy Birthday to the Reich Marshal Yuki and myself? It's a bit late, I know, but hey, that's what I guess for trying to make sure what I write will be interesting, and boy they surely are.
Last chance to enjoy the monthly discount and help my mom and I have a cute birthday, anyone?
Jokes aside, please continue to enjoy this recaf-fueled trip in its entirety. Peace, and have a good day to all of you fine readers and supporters!
There are advanced chapters on Pa-treon for both of my fics, with a couple of special bonuses if you read the fine print :D
https://www.patreo-n.com/Heartbreak117
https://ko-fi.com/heartbreak117/goal?g=0
Income goal 729/800 USD (The increase to 800 is for me to procure medicine for allergy and to replace my broken down PC equipment)
For my fics:
https://www.scribblehub.com/series/55793/reich-marshal-of-the-belkan-reich/
https://www.webnovel.com/book/reich-marshal-of-the-belkan-reich_23809095505377305
https://photos.app.goo.gl/waZgkRa3UQhqKQBi9
https://www.scribblehub.com/series/1375924/in-the-grimdark-sector-with-a-system/
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There are three principles of Close-Quarters Battle: Surprise, Speed, and Violence of Action, and the Salamanders aced all of the principles. Surprise covers the initial approach to an active threat area. An approach should be stealthy, although straight-up bulldozing the front door like what the two Salamander Astartes did also works. Since the Space Marines have already alerted us, a deliberate and methodical approach will only give us more time to analyze and counter their infiltration. Down to only two and finally, in their elements, the Salamanders will instead double down on the Speed and Violence of Action aspects. In other words, they will blitz the crap out of the hallways and stairs of the tower 3rd Platoon is in. Is this a smart move though?
Probably not. But then again, there won't be any correct answer in the rigged scenario that 3rd Platoon and I have painstakingly set up. If the Salamanders go slow and deliberate, it will truly give us more and more time to set up the venue and they will surely regret it. If they go fast though, they will be running face-first into many hidden traps. This can be an issue as well as they will have to bank on their agility and the protection offered by their power armor to get them through any devious surprise we have hidden. Let's face it, you would rather avoid danger whenever you can, rather than blindly trusting your equipment and asking it to stand fast all the time. A lucky hit from shrapnel can take down an Astartes just as easily as a bolt round. The veteran Salamanders we are facing right now know that by heart, but they don't have any other choice but to advance bravely.
Standing on the tipping top, I close my eyes and remove my ear protection, leaving only my comms bead in case Johnson calls in. Standing next to the table decked out with multiple detonators, I focus and listen to the soundscape. I already know where Johnson and the rest are after a concise vox communication. Now, figuring out the current location of the Salamanders is my next task. The dead audioscape of this war-torn, simulated arena works to my advantage, as sound can travel far and quite clearly. So, in theory, I should be able to hear the hulking step of a power armor super soldier, right? Apparently not, which is as expected. Veteran Astartes are masters of all trades, normally, so it shouldn't be out of place for them to sprint silently in a cramped hallway. What I am waiting for is the moment when a trap is sprung or when Johnson's unit can call out anything suspicious.
After a minute of nerve-wracking silence, something creaks, like a door with rusted hinges being pushed. It's coming from the lower floor, the fifth floor to be more specific, but I don't exactly know where to be exact.
In the silence that soon follows, Johnson's whispered question come like nails scraping on a chalkboard. "Ein?"
"Fifth floor." I give a concise answer. "Wait..."
If it's the fifth floor, then it's a floor with a large restaurant for the wealthy. Glass pieces, ceramic plates, fragile but luxurious decorations... That floor has it all, and the best part is, that we broke them all down and sprinkled the shattered shards all over the upper floors, acting as an early-warning system in the form of audio traps. However, each floor only has one such trap to avoid confusion, with other audio traps, the rusted door from earlier, for instance, being used throughout the tower.
KA-CRACK
And what do you know, the only place the Salamanders could have walked through to get to the upper floor is the large restaurant area. The sound of broken wine bottles being stepped on is too obvious for me not to notice. I can be wronged, but at this point, beggars can't be choosers. So, picking up the detonator wirelessly connected to the tower's restaurant area. I give it a couple of clicks.
CLACKCLACK
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When 3rd Platoon booby-trapped the restaurant, the whole area was already a mess of fallen tables and destroyed furniture. The area was a perfect fit to hide a whole lot of explosives, improvised and others, all connected in a daisy chain. So, when the detonation signal is received, the main explosive charge, which is a small Melta bomb, explodes first. However, faster than one can blink, the entire restaurant floor also goes up in flame as multiple IEDs go off in quick succession. Fire, bolts, wood chips, glass shards,... Everything is launched, sparked, and bounced all over the simulated restaurant. When the commotion dies down, no one can look at the place and say this is where the nobles and influencers dine. Still, was the trap effective?
"Such a well-hidden knife." One of the two Salamanders comments as he leads the path forward. "We would have fallen here if it weren't for your swift thinking and instinct, brother."
"It's the Emperor who blessed me with good luck. Nothing more, brother."
"Your humility is astounding, Ti'kar. None of us would have thought twice over hinges or throwing rubble at glass shards to check for booby traps. Still, how do they even know that we're at this exact location?"
"We are not the only ones with a good set of ears, brother. The restaurant exploded when the glass was shattered by the piece of rubble. The sound from inside the tower can echo quite far and high, it would seem."
"So we have one more thing to look out for. As if we don't have enough on our plate already."
"You're complaining about the unfairness of this matchup, brother?"
"No, I am enjoying the challenge, Ti'kar! This is a very pleasant surprise!"
BOOM
The Astartes would have continued with their banter if not for the leading Salamander stepping on a tripwire, thus triggering a directionally focused charge. The charge was hidden in an air vent situated at leg level, thus when it was detonated, the charge condensed a blast aimed directly at the armored foot of the Salamander. Nonetheless, explosive shockwaves and some makeshift fragmentations aren't enough to knock the Salamander over, much less disabling his leg. But it does get him to say.
"Addendum, a very pleasant surprise, but similarly an annoying one!"
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BOOM
BOOM
BOOMBOOMBOOM
Crouching in a corner with a lit cigarette, Johnson can't help but whistle at the amount of ordinance going off in quick succession.
"Holy Terra, Ein is cooking hard with her clackers..."
"She just blew up the entire D block." Scorpin's girlfriend comments.
BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM
Weiss sighs wryly.
"Judging from how strong the vibrations were, that was the E block. Will the tower hold though? This is nearly all of the explosives we managed to get our hands on."
BOOMBOOM
Johnson shrugs. "You're asking that now? It's much easier to blow this place sky high than actually trying to knock two Astartes off their feet."
BOOM
"This may be just me," Scorpin's girlfriend comments. "But it legit hurts to see how swiftly we are using up our traps. We spent so much time on those and I swear I can still smell the shit in the air."
BOOMBOOMBOOM
"Then you must have a bloody good nose, lass." Johnson chuckles as he puffs circles of smoke. "I lost mine long ago."
BOOMBOOM
"Wait, are you serious?" Weiss asks with a raised eyebrow, honestly curious about whether or not her Sergeant has a working sense of smell or not.
BOOM
Scorpin's girlfriend just scoffs with a roll of her eyes. "Nah, the bastard is just pulling your leg, Weiss. Though I won't be surprised if the only thing he can smell nowadays as a chain smoker is a cigarette, or Emperor forbids, a cigar."
BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM
"I'll have you know I can smell the first sign of trouble from a reasonable distance away." Johnson adds righteously.
BOOM
"Oh yeah? Then enlighten me with your wisdom, oh Sergeant Johnson." Scorpin's girlfriend adds while holding her lasrifle securely into her body.
BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM
BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM
The entire tower shakes and rumbles as dust falls from the ceiling. Cracks run all over up and down the walls as some of the tower's supporting pylons crumble and break with chunks coming loose.
"What the-! That was literally a floor or two beneath us!" Weiss shouts while bracing her lasrifle in the direction of the stairway to the lower floors.
"Ein!" Johnson nearly swallowed his cigarette when the building almost collapsed into itself. "I know that you just tried to blow Her Angels up but for Emperor's sake woman can you stop clapping your buttcheeks together!?" Though Johnson complains, it doesn't stop him from taking cover before instructing. "Get your asses behind something solid, ladies! As stupid as it sounds, we need to let the Salamanders come closer!"
While the two ladies in his ragtag team reposition themselves in ambush locations that cover the only stair to Ein's floor, the Corporal says through vox.
"For the record, Sergeant, it's fun playing demo works sometimes. No wonder Scorpin is smitten with anything explosive, and quite possibly, busty."
"Thanks for the compliment, Ein~!" Interjects Scorpin's girlfriend.
"I aim to please." Comes the cheery reply of the Corporal. "As for your comment about my buttcheeks, Sergeant Johnson, I sincerely hope you have a get-out-of-jail ticket in case the Order of Our Martyred Lady, or worse, my Mom, comes knocking."
Johnson takes a moment to hastily look up. "Hey, now! No need to get your family involved in a reactive joke, Corporal!"
"You better take your opinion off the arena, Sarge, because it ain't me you have to convince. That said, a heroic last huzzah may swing the odds in your favor. Over and out." Ein then promptly tunes out of the vox channel, leaving behind three short beeps.
Johnson smirks before looking at the two guardswomen around him, and they give him nods of acknowledgment when they hear the now audible thumping of armored footfalls. The Salamanders have come to their floor at last, and they come quite positively bothered and want to have a chat with whoever laid all the traps. Before the Astartes can get their bearing, however, Johnson pulls out another detonator that is linked with the specialties on this floor. With the barest hint of a confident smile, Johnson unveils their potentially useless but probably the most annoying gift ever.
CLACK
Instead of another floor-wide high explosive fragmentation explosion, what follows is utter anarchy as audio decoys are blasted all around. Much to the surprise of the Salamanders as almost immediately, their impressive auditory ability is nullified due to noise pollution. Then comes the detonation of multiple cans of paint hanging on the ceiling and laying all over the floor. The colorful but adhesive liquids soon bathe the prided firedrake coats and the green power armor of the veteran Astartes in all sorts of rainbows. More importantly, some of the paint gets into the visor of their helmets, and, with their armored fingers, it will be a pain trying to get all of them out. It's not impossible, but for the moment, their normal vision is hampered and they will have to rely on their helmet sensors which can bypass the paint. But no, things do not stop there. For when the Salamanders are still bemoaning their hateful new paint job that would make Fulgrim vomit and die twice over, new traps are sprung. Decoys in the shape of humanoids with smiley faces are propped up by springs unchained. Wrapped in tinfoil and with some of them kept warm by mini stoves, the vaguely humanoid decoys are more than enough to fool the Astartes' sensors. So much so the Salamanders instinctively react and open fire on these shoddy decoys wasting precious bolter rounds in their limited magazines. They wouldn't have done this if their visors weren't still hampered by a coat of oil paint. Nonetheless, they are still very capable of swiftly advancing across this floor. That is until one of them starts reloading his bolt pistol. The sound of a magazine being dropped on the floor is so noticeable that, by the time the Astartes realize that he has fallen into a familiar pattern, the hunting signal is already given.
From their position, Johnson and Scorpin's girlfriend peaks out and unleashes a dense hail of supercharged laser beams at the two Salamanders. Still busy with reloading and preoccupied with the decoys, the Astartes are caught off guard and take all of the lasers frontally. But as expected, none of the laser beams managed to score any meaningful damage. While one of the Astartes ducks behind a pillar to reload his bolter, the other, with his munition half empty, charges forward with guns blazing. Johnson is swift on his feet, so he manages to duck back just in time, but Scorpin's girlfriend takes a bolt around and collapses instantly as her body shakes and spasms uncomfortably. With his rifle emptied, Johnson pulls out his laspistol for everyone knows that switching to your secondary weapon is faster than reloading, right?
The correct answer is that none of it matters when there's a bolt pistol leveled directly at your torso. Looking up at the Salamander, Johnson can only do one thing he's good at in moments like this.
"Huh, how much testosterone did you inject for your gun to get that big?"
As if caught off gun by the Sergeant's legitimately curious question, the Salamander can't help but say in open vox. "I'm sorry, what?"
"It means I'm behind you, Milord." Comes Weiss' voice from behind the gun-toting Astartes.
The Salamander immediately turns his head around, only to see the Rookie of 3rd Platoon holding him at gunpoint. It wouldn't have been much cause of concern for the Astartes at this distance, even when the Cadian managed to somehow sneak upon him, but then Weiss goes on to say.
"And the best part is Milord, I am not the one with the trigger." Weiss surprisingly drops her lasrifle and raises her arms in surrender.
Plastered on her vest is not the common Cadian 8th combat vest with the necessary power packs and the like, but two Melta bombs that are lovingly decorated with the words:
FRONT TOWARD FRIEND.
Knowing what's about to happen next, the Salamander can only utter a complaint. "First the paint and now this? Do you even know how hard it is to wash these coats?"
And then a white light bathe them all, Salamander and Cadian Guards alike. Moments later, as stunned bodies collapse onto the floor, an announcement is made.
One versus One. May the best fighter emerge victorious.