[@Sarpedon][@Ozymandias][@agentmanatee][@Bright_Ops][@Lord Coake]

Battlefield communications had always been a hit-and-miss element since the very beginning of warfare, and even during the Forty-Second millenium this problem continued. Some might even argue that it was [b]harder[/b] at the present time, for mankind had lost their way with technology, and even a simple communique between the 'boots on the ground' and the HQ staff required minutes of repeated and rehearsed ritual phrases, invocations to the Machine Spirit and so forth. All-in-all it could get rather annoying.

"Someone tell me something!" Barked Van Deer for the eleventh time in as many minutes, irritated and unable to vent his frustration on anyone but those gathered about him, "we have been without a single report for hours now, give me some news - good or bad, I care not."

Fortunately, or not, there [b]was[/b] news to be given...

"Lord Militant," spoke up a vox operator from across the room, his stoic features half-hidden in the hellish light of the mobile city's interior, "the Endorans and Elysians are no more, neither is the armour previously supporting them, it appears that they have given their lives to a man."

There was a short silence, as well as some grunts of approval from some of the more senior soldiers, before the Lord General Militant pressed the operator for information on the remainder of the First Wave regiments.

"It would appear that they have made it to the cathedral, Lord Militant," his voice rose an octave and the soldier - who had not really been paying much attention to his station anyway - suddenly sat bolt upright in his rotating seat, "the 'Skins are also doing exactly as expected, they seem to be converging with all forces on those unfortunates."

"Hah!" Barked the scarecrow of a warlord, "so, Thrakta is not as clever as we suspected him to be; he has taken the bait, gentlemen, and now we shall close the iron ring about him and his. With flame and steel we shall purge these filthy Xenos from this planet in the name of the Emperor."

Pointing a triumphant finger at the nameless operator, his face a split mask of victory, he ordered that the Second Wave fulfil their encircle and anihilate objective; those that had by now reached the cathedral, probably fortifying it if they had any sense, casually messaged to inform them that the entire Greenskin force was coming their way. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, either they fought until it was over...or they die.