Commander Boren Prax was a legend. Leader of the infamous Coyote Pack during the waning days of the civil war, Prax and his team were personally responsible for saving Oligarch Morinth’s life more than a few times when The Protectorate forces arrived on Horus Prime.
Prax was sent to the planet as a part of a Tribune faction dedicated to protecting high value assets in New Jericho, and he stayed on after the war when the planet was rebuilding because Oligarch Morinth made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Unlimited resources and a salary a poor boy from an unnamed moon of Klagorn could barely fathom.
He was tasked with plucking the best soldiers from the newly formed Prime Army and creating a specialized corps. Soldiers who asked no questions and did as they were told. A private team to do Oligarch Morinth’s bidding off the books. A hit squad. And as long as the checks cleared and Prax had full access to the Oligarchy’s armory and vehicle pool, that was just fine with him.
“Freego and his men got blindsided by an explosion,” Unjur Tarin reported as he pressed his finger to a comlink in his ear. “Massive casualties. Civilians, plus Jorg and Ansen. Ilsore took some shrapnel to his leg. Freego is unhurt.”
“Man’s made of steel,” Commander Prax said with a smile. “The PlanetFallers are scared. No doubt they’ll try to go underground until they hit the refinery.”
“What do they hope to gain now,” asked Tarin. “They’re scattered and their reinforcements are dead.”
“They’re going down swinging,” Prax replied. “And taking what they can with them.”
Commander Prax motioned up to the The Juggernaut still hovering in the sky, fending off Prime Army fighters as they harmlessly buzzed around the massive warship firing inefficient weapons into an invisible shield.
“Martyrs for the cause,” Prax continued. “Notify Prime leadership that three rats are in the sewers on a suicide mission to blow up the refinery. Tell them they aren’t needed for questioning.”
“Meaning,” Tarin asked.
“Death to the enemy,” Prax said as he turned to walk towards an awaiting tank and pointed up at the floating fortress in the sky. “Tell Preego to meet me at War Hammer HQ. Orn sent these two squads as a message. He doesn’t want our ore.”
“Everybody wants our ore,” Tarin replied with a shrug.
“Ore can be scored easier on planets like Iago or Hallus,” Prax said with a sniff. “This is personal.”