Combine Advisory (With Foreword)

[Commander Xillian]

Hi. I'm Xill, the writer of this stuff-fic. Please, feel free to read my story, but it's (un)likely that I'll update it any time soon. Enjoy!


The line was in disarray. Orks swarmed about the battlements, Grot crawled inside guns, jamming them from the inside, Guardsmen were butchered without mercy, and the Commissars themselves had no alternatives but to run. It was a total rout. The Astartes were not coming, this fortress was lost. In the far distance, Drop pods could be dropping much needed supplies, defensive buildings, and other such materials. They might not have won here, but they would not fall at their next engagement. It had cost the Imperium several hundred Million men just to keep from loosing the war entirely, but they would turn the tide now, more than ever.

All of these thoughts, came from a perturbed Commander. He was going down with the ship, so to speak. The Commissars, key personnel, and as many guardsmen as they could, had fled the fortress by Valkyrie. It was just him and the few that wouldn't make it. He considered himself a man of faith, but even in the face of such a sea, even he was not holding quite as fast to the rock of belief that held him firm.

Viggs had had enough of this. He an his squad of Guardsmen, armed with Almost every heavy weapon imaginable, he himself using a Flamer to keep their small bunker clear, a heavy Stubber roaring as Kastle laughed, hardly making any noise over the machine guns racket. Las gun shot's Cracked over his shoulder, as the Green tide was only just being kept from their little fortress in it's own.

"Get some!" Yelled Kastle, as he seemed to forget that he had a trigger for a reason. Viggs himself had to dodge behind cover a few times, mostly to reload, or if the occasional Shoota came blasting in at him. They wouldn’t hold out much longer. As if on Que, two of his squad mates, both Greenhorns took a burst of flame to the chest. Flopping backwards, dead, Viggs had to trade the Flamer canisters over faster, looking out nervously. The blasted Orks had already taken tree inches. They were right on top of them. Spinning out of Cover, he pulled that trigger like it was a religious duty. And it was, in a way.

Viggs didn’t have time to react. With a cry of “WAAAGH!” a large ork jumped over the burst of fire, hefting a huge choppa. Dropping the Flamer and rolling to the side, Viggs watched in dismay as the axe smashed the flamer to bits. Pulling out his combat knife, he said a prayer to the Emperor to guide his blade, and was about to charge the Ork with his pathetic pig-sticker, when the Ork was torn apart by a Shotgun blast, almost point blank. Looking over, he saw a squad of Guardsmen running past, one of them stopping to wave them out. Grabbing a nearby Autogun, an a few clips for it, he left the Las Carbine on his back and ran out to join the retreating squad.

“Where’s you Sergeant!” Yelled Viggs, popping off a shot at a few Orks as they booked it towards where ever it was the squad was headed.

“He bought it back a klick! We’re headed to meet up with the last remnants! They’re making a last stand at one of the Barrackses!” Screamed the other, who’s Hemet had a Snipers insignia, but was oddly holding the shotgun that, apparently, saved Viggs life. He wasn’t much for Last Stands and the such, but what else could he do?

Popping off a shot at an Ork who flattened a nearby guardsman who was just blind firing from the hip, Viggsd turned back to the Sniper. Grinning, he cocked his head slightly and said with palpable sarcasm, “I’m all for a Last Stand. Haven’t had one in a few hours.”
_______________

[Commander Xillian]

He could hardly hear over the racket the whole battle was making. It was only by the Emperor's Grace that Viggs managed to gun down a small Xeno that was about to jump Kastle, who in turn pumped an Ork full of lead before it could do that thing that it does best.

Wordlessly thanking Kastle, Viggs booked it for the last place the Guardsman seemed to be holding. He ducked low as a Leman Russ rumbled over the top of the trench, the top-most gunner spraying death at the Orks in a vain attempt to hold them back. Trios of entrenched weapons teams were guarding the entrance to last bunker under their control. After passing an Airlock-like weapons mount, he finally took a moment to catch his breath. Of the squad he was with just moments before, only Kastle, and that nuttier Kreigan were left.

A funny story, those three. Originally, the Kreig 702nd were stationed on the planet. Viggs and Kastle were the reinforcements that were sent to resupply them, being the 101st Enthian Entrencher's of course. Then, some dip-stuff up top said, "Hey, we got two Theaters here, both of them Entrenchment Specialists! Why don't we let them handle it?" And, that was the end of any support they got. So, the 803rd Mixed Fortification Regiment was formed. They weren't even at quarter strength when they were formed, and somehow, they were still around. Makes a man wonder? Maybe they really were favorites of the "Righteous Dead Dude"?

Shaking his head, Viggs thought to himself, "Yeah. Sure." He pulled out a canteen, and passing it to the Kreigan, he sat back. It was at this moment that the guy running the whole thing, a Commissar by the looks of it, decided it was time to stride in. He would have been shot on sight for slacking, had not the Sniper- Viggs had to keep an eye out to get his name some time- Slapped him upside the head and woke him up from his day dreaming.

"Listen up, you spineless dogs!" cried the Commissar, who seemed to have that "I should have stayed in bed" look on his face, but his eyes told a different story, so much so Viggs was sure if he looked into them, he'd end up frozen in place like solid ice. Undeterred by the weary Guards internal duologue, the Commissar continued.

"You all have failed to hold back the foul Xeno's. You ran for shelter when you should have stayed your ground. But, this is not the time for me to whip you. Why waste my energy, when I could be spending it on Orks?" The Commissar paused, before adding "In truth, I can't tell which one would be worse, getting stuck in a room full or those foul Xeno's, or staying in here another second.

"That is why, we are going to take back this line. Your failure will not- I repeat, will NOT- cause us this engagement. You are to form up into squads of ten to twelve, and the RadioOp will brief you." Motioning with his Free hand-His Las Pistol in it's holster- the Radio operator came to the front, and began rattling off details that only the few remaining Sergeants minded to listen too. Viggs had better things to do.

Leaning over, he whispered to the Sniper "Names Viggs. Thanks for saving me back there." Grinning, the sniper just shook his head.

"When?" he asked, grinning "Was it when I put pellets in that Ork, or woke you before the Commissar could finish the job?" Smiling, Viggs just shrugged. "Names Benji."

As if by luck, he asked Benji "How many are left in your squad?" This earned him a grimace, as Benji took a moment to reply.

When he did, it was with a slightly heavy tone. "Last one mate. My spotter took a grenade to the head- before the damn thing went off even- took the Sergeant and the RadioOp with it." Nodding apathetically, Viggs cleared his throught.

"May the Emperor guide them." he said, unable to offer any sort of condolences other than that. Then, it hit him. "Wait, a Spotter? Just how far away from the line were you?" Benji just smiled, before motioning to the man talking. They were rapping things up. Sighing, Viggs prepared to stand up again. "No rest for the wicked, eh?" said Kastle, grinning ear to ear as he affectionately patted his heavy stubber, the Kreigan standing statuesque as usual. Honestly, did he ever move when not fighting? Viggs had never seen the man sleep, not even when he was on watch.

[Commander Xillian]

Viggs tried not to smirk as he strode up to their new Sergeant, a blond haired fat-nosed highlander by his accent.

“Feelin' cushy on that Hard-Boot of your's?” said Viggs, getting a look of 'Oh god not these people'

Back on Enthia, Highlanders and Lowlanders didn't get along too well, a shining example being the fact that Viggs had just called the Sergeant the equivalent of a Greenhorn. The Sergeant just looked at Viggs for a second, then at Kastle followed shortly by the Kreigan. Kastle's bulky frame didn't intimidate the Sergeant, mostly though because of the fact that Kastle wasn't doing something all Lowlanders did when angry.

Which was to say, he wasn't foaming at the mouth swearing and about to bite the other mans jugular out. No, instead, Kastle was busy doing.. Something.. with his gun. To any onlooker, it seemed he was on second base headed for third, but to anyone who knew him, they could tell that was exactly what he was doing.

Being momentarily stunned for a moment by both Viggs insult and Kastle's love affair with his weapon, the Highlander left himself open to a second pot-shot.

“Govno you're an Idjut” Viggs started, using both Lowlander and slurring his words to try and add insult to injury. Continuing, he sassed “Seems they don't make ya Highlanders with even half a brain anymore.”

Finally recovering, albeit at his expense, the Sergeant quickly whipped out his Las Pistol. “I dare ya to say it again, ya rat blockhead” He had a look of murder on his face, so much so that Kastle actually looked away from his heavily modified gun to sneak a peak at the argument, but promptly went back to his smooching. Before Viggs could crack another insult at the “Hated Enemy” he was separated by none other than Benji.

“Hey now, hey, wow, hey, hold it man.” he said, roughly shoving his way in between both of them. “We can't be killing each other like this over just a few insults? It's not right, not for perfectly swell, Emperor Fearin' Guardsmen like us.” Keeping a strait face, he then added “No. Anyone here got two rocket launchers, so we can have a right-proper duel here?”

Quickly forgetting their argument, the Highlander and the Lowlander worked together in a rare scene, of shutting Benji up before he encouraged the other infantrymen to hand the two Rocket Launchers. Crises Adverted, Viggs dragged Benji away from the squad.

“What in the name of The Emperor do you think you are doing?” asked Viggs uncharacteristically articulately.

“Well, I'm just tryin' to keep my squad from shootin' each other to bits.” replied Benji casually. It took Viggs a second to realize the key words there, but when he did, he just looked at Benji with a look like he had downed a few gallons of soured milk.

“Oh Emperra, don't tell me you did something to get shifted into my squad?” he asked, hoping that Benji didn't do something stupid like make a deal with a Commissar.

Smirking, Benji said what Viggs didn't want to hear. “Nah, Commie' owed me a favor, and seein' as I saved your right-arse twice, I'm peachy-safe until you save me twice. Till then, custom dictates I can't die.”

It was actually solid logic. Well, save for the part where Viggs and Kastle almost always get the worst of any situation. The part of the line that broke first? Viggs squad's. First members to die? Everyone but Viggs and Kastle. Oh, and that silent Kreigan. Ah well.

Shaking his head, he motioned back to the squad, not turning to see if Benji followed. They were going to be pushing back soon, so it was best to get introduced and stuff, maybe have something to eat, he didn't know. Still, at least he wasn't leaving right now.

“Alright Squad, on me! Let's move!” he heard a nearby Sergeant yell, before squad after squad, and eventually the whole bunker filed out to get to the grunt work.

“Well, that shoots my plan to hell.” Viggs muttered, before getting an absolutely and absurdly calm and collected look from Kastle. Damn that man scared him some times.

Overwatch Alpha was about as angry as his Emotional suppression chips would allow, which was to say not too much. He had to deal with not only a great deal of low-ranking Advisors, who while being his superiors when it came to cast, were most definitely taking his orders, thought that perhaps maybe he should listen to them. It was hard not to, when the self-important maggots could shoot their thoughts into his own head like it would make him pay any more attention. And it worked, partially. He was about to blow a fuse when one of the more powerful Advisors managed to stealthily prod his way into the chief commanders mind.

I believe that, what Overwatch Alpha is trying to suggest, the floating worm began, is that we might not be best attempting to retake universe AG09 Alpha. Perhaps, we could find a new operation in other AG universes.

Before any of the other Advisors could bring up the resources in AG09 Beta, Overwatch Alpha felt a slight shake as something in his emotional control broke down. Tactically, this was the best time to end this. Didn't mean he had to do it softly.

“Agreed. This meting is adjourned. We will begin looking for other suitable parallels to AG09 Alpha. Unless Overwatch establishes a link with Overworld, no reinforcements shall be sent. Send the Riftscouts to search for any Xen-Space tears and rifts. That would suggest a suitably advanced population to subjugate and control. Dismissed.”

Turning and leaving the dark, dimly lit room, Overwatch Alpha hardly got twenty steps when he felt a familiar tug in his mind. Spinning with practiced precision, he noticed that not a single Advisor had left, all of them looking at him.

“Warning. Failure to comply will deign you malignant. Execute procedures or targets shall be sterilized. Dismissed.” The threat seemed to get through to them that if he wanted, Overwatch Alpha could put down some real hurt. He hadn't come to the hight of his Cloning batch and gained political power to rival an advisor if he didn't have the mind and might to gun them all down. Spinning One hundred eighty degree's on the mark, he marched at precisely One point oh two feet per stride quickly taking him away from the Advisors and their self-inflated Ego's. Hate and Anger. Those were the only things he was born with, only things he cared for, and as he brushed his perfectly polished uniform, the red tint of his visor not making much of a difference on his stark-white uniform, he pulled to the side to re-read the Combine Overwatch Elite motto.

It read, simply: “Contain, Expunge, Control”. Indeed, he thought to himself as he began walking perfectly once more. If he was allowed love, it was for one thing. Overwatch Elite, and the Combine. But love was useless, why would he have been born without it if he needed it? No, he had loyalty. Unquestioning, unwavering, undoubting, and perfectly precise. Loyalty.

[Commander Xillian]

The sound of Dispatch quickly stopped Overwatch Alpha in his tracks.

“Overwatch Alpha. Report to Examine. Sector Zero-One-Zero. District One-Nine-Zero. High Priority. Repeat. Overwatch Alpha...” Overwatch Alpha stopped listening when the message began to repeat, and merely keyed his Vocoder.

“Overwatch Alpha confirms. Commencing Examination.” In response, a way point flashed on his Cyclopean HUD, and lengthening his stride to a jogging charge, Alpha let his heavy padded armor bounce about, the grenades on his belt jingling as solid titanium alloy diamond-studded plates bounced against one another, their padding making a “shuk shuk” noise with every hurried movement. The armored plates, exceedingly heavy to a normal human, weighed nothing to the enhanced, no superior, Overwatch Elite.

It took Overwatch Alpha a few minuets of of running to reach the Teleport forum. He took in his surroundings, a massive canyon of iron and steel, almost random flashes of multi-colored light signaling the Xen relays which had been created on AG09 Alpha. Aside from the source of Homo Sapiens and Overwatch, this was the only thing AG09 Alpha had given back to the Combine.

A small, shimmering platform slammed to a halt in front of Overwatch Alpha. A wiry grate that ringed the platform slid down with a slight 'Klink' and he stepped on board, The grate rose, and the platform slid off unceremoniously. A slight resounding thudding noise was made ever few feet, as the platform moved along a pre-arranged track. Overwatch Alpha stood stiff as a board, the slight change in momentum every few seconds not even swaying him. It wasn't long before the platform took a dead-stop and slid sideways into a crevice. The grate retracted, and in it's place an energy barrier fell down. Three rings, with a number of spike-like juts began to spin around him, just inside the force-shield. As the whine they gave off began to increase in pitch, there was a crackling of air, and with a bright flash accompanied by a sizzling 'Fwoom', he found himself standing in a whole new location. At first glance, the spinning rings looked identical, the force-shield as well, but when the rings eventually slowed to a dead stop and the Force shield fell, he found that he was no longer in a crevice of steel, but instead in some sort of control room.

It was the same as all rooms on Overworld, a dark-gray to gray metallic room lit by a bluish glow. A number of consoles ran across the walls, some of the consoles standing in the center of the room, held in place by a pillar-like wall which supplied them with power. All around the room, a number of Stalkers operated the controls, one or two Overwatch Soldiers looking over them and ensuring they were working. Upon seeing the massive form of Overwatch Alpha, the two Soldiers snapped to attention. He didn't reply, and simply exited the in-bound teleport. There was a massive viewing panel dead ahead, and striding up to it, Alpha looked out on the massive, sprawling cloning facilities that supplied Overwatch with it's much needed man power.

Given that the original home of Homo Sapiens had been lost, thanks mostly to Anti-Citizen One and the tenacious spirit that the misguided natives held dear to, a great number of samples had been taken from the population, and massive cloning facilities not unlike the Synth growth-vats had been established. While Overwatch had failed it's most dire task of retaking AG09 Alpha, they still showed promise and, on other fronts, excelled far beyond what expectations had placed. So, in a way, their failure was a blessing. It had shed light on where Overwatch had come short and with the influx of Off-world assignments, reviled just where Overwatch excelled.

Overwatch Alpha's revelry was cut short, as the In-bound Teleport repeated the sound of his arival. Looking over his shoulder, he recognized Stormtrooper Alpha, one of the largest of the Stormtrooper caste, as well as the leader of a political party among the Combine, mainly the militant arm. The two were about as close as any militant in the Combine Empire could be, with ST Alpha being the one who had pressed to give Overwatch a bit of space in finding it's feet. Overwatch Alpha wouldn't have been created, if it were not for ST Alpha.

ST Alpha, being a Stormtrooper, was large, with only a passing resemblance to a human in massive armor. His right hand was fused to his weapon, a powerful cannon with an AR1 slung underneath. His left arm was two large, grasping claws, with a third, smaller 'thumb'. Massive shoulders covered in an olive tan carapace made him appear somewhat comical, with his head set between them. His Olive tan shell was segmented like a legionnaires regalia, forming an almost perfect armor of overlapping chitin.

“You received a summon as well.” said ST Alpha, in a raspy series of clicks, his alien jaw hidden from view by a re-breather apparatus, scrubbing the air as it left his lungs. It was more of a statement, then a question. Overwatch Alpha found it odd that ST Alpha would have been called as well, as this was the Overwatch breeding and training spire, and not the Stormtroopers.

That, would be my doing. A feeling of dread washed over Overwatch Alpha as he spun one-eighty degree's, and watched as a high ranking Advisor lethargically floated down. Slapping his hands to his side, he and the other Overwatch came to perfect attention. His HUD's motion detector caught some movement from ST Alpha as well, so it seemed someone above even him had given them a visit.

“Adviser, Overwatch Alpha reporting.” Alpha said, not moving an inch. He heard ST Alpha repeat the same thing as well, but didn't pay it much mind.

Come here, both of you. The Advisor ordered, slowly spinning as the glass panel slid upwards to accommodate the slug-like beast. The came as ordered, Alpha somewhat confused as to why he was being called. The Advisor looked out over the sea of cloning tanks, before lifting the two super soldiers up without even looking at them. Alpha looked around himself, suddenly very uneasy. He had seen what the Advisors were capable of with their Telekinesis, and even more so had experienced all but some of the worst. He severely hoped that he had not displeased his superiors.

The group floated down lazily towards the cloning tanks, a few stalkers pulling themselves along the gantries on their hands, occasionally pulling themselves up and checking the tanks. He and ST Alpha both hit the metallic floor with a slight thud, and expectantly looked upwards toward the Advisor.

The genetic information for Overwatch Soldiers has been contaminated. The Advisor said without any sort of remorse. A number of possibilities ran through Alpha's mind, such as internal sabotage, simple malfunctions to one of the Stalkers being fool-hardy enough to try and tamper with the genetic information. The Advisor continued.

This has become a dire threat, and considering that we have spent the resources to construct this spire for Overwatch, we shall be making sure to keep further contaminant from depleting the gene-pool faster. However: New DNA is required. If we cannot find a parallel to AG09 Alpha, then I will have no choice but to Disband Overwatch.

The Advisor seemed to show as close to remorse as all Combine species were capable of. Overwatch was one of the largest risks the Combine had taken in a while, and being an almost infinite empire, that was saying quite a lot. Overwatch Alpha's mind was made up. If the Advisor was one of his friends in this political game, and it trusted ST Alpha, then he was his friend as well. Sometimes, you needed someone to trust, especially when it came to the possibility of internal sabotage. Looking to ST Alpha, he gave a nod, the kind you would give your squad mate before heading off into one hell of a storm.

For all intents and purposes, it indeed was. But it was not the one the two soldiers wished it would be.


Viggs cursed under his breath, as he and his squad rushed back into the trench. Whipping out his Las Carbine, Viggs shot blindly, trying to fire over the lip of the tall trench, as some guardsmen went over the top and began to fire in volleys at the charging Orks. Kastle was moving at a slow walk, his Heavy stubber roaring like some sort of enraged animal, as the Guardsmen began to press back against the Ork waves. It was pretty strait forward, like a game of gory and perverse Tug-of-War, only instead of who was the strongest, it was who could kill the other side faster.

The Guardsmen were winning, through sheer numbers it seemed, their rank and file march grating against the reckless charge of the brutes. Nothing seemed to get past them, as they steadily pushed forward. Unfortunatly, Viggs couldn't mentally slap himself fast enough. If life were a horror movie, he should have been dead ninty times over.

With a blood curdling cry, one of the Guards at the forefront of their lines was lifted high into the air, a massive claw holding him tight. The man was sheered in half by the raw power that the primitive crusher contained. Viggs' eyes went wide, his jaw going slack, as he witnessed none other than the Orks leader pounding down the line, smearing guards onto the Trenches wall like a gruesome form of art, it's beady red eyes focused on Viggs alone.

“Frak me.” was all Viggs said, before raising his Las Carbine and firing.

The roar of Elizabeth was very comforting in the wan-ton carnage of the Trench, as Kastle stomped solidly forward. The heavy weapon bucked in his hands like a small child, not waning to be put down for it's nap. He could hardly keep himself from stroking the thing, distractedly remembering that he was supposed to be attacking the barbaric Orks. His head snapped to the right, as he saw the mother of all Orks begin stomping it's way towards Viggs. Letting up on the trigger, Kastle wheeled Ellie around, and after a second on focussing the weapon on the Mega Armored boss, let loose the dogs of hell.

“Say hello!” Kastle gritted through clenched teeth, “To my favorite girl!”

As the solid slugs flew through the air, every fifth round blazing at the beast, he watched as the armor buckled. The mammoth Ork seemed to take notice, as it wheeled around, raising up a gun that would rival Ellie in her modification. Kastle only noticed the few bits on it that he though would look as pretty as a bow in a young girl on Ellie, and set his mind to taking them for himself.

Letting himself go, he seemed to forget that he had a trigger as he and the Ork danced about, both trying to dodge the others shots, Kastle being largely more successful, but the skin of the Ork made the odds a bit more even. He noted with some satisfaction, that the Ork took Kastle massive gun as a challenge to his “Dakka”, which could be seen in the fact that the behemoth creature was chanting it with absolutely no self control. He winced as a round from the beasts gun skinned his shoulder. Kastle could only grit his teeth and blink away a tear of pain as he kept diving and moving, shells landing on ether side of the two combatants.

He was taken by surprise when he saw the new sniper that saved Viggs earlier, Kastle hadn't caught his name, fire shot after shot from his Shotgun into the Ork's head. The Ork waved his Klaw after the Sniper, trying to catch him, but he dove out of the way. Taking advantage of the Ork's distraction, Kastle looked for a weak spot on it's back. And he found it.

In it's Arse. Scholars would debate for years, about whether or not the Ork's cry of Death, pain, and general unhappiness as it's rectum was assaulted could be heard on the other side of the planet. The general consensus is that it, indeed, was.