Author's Notes:
*This story is going to contain a fair bit of experimentation for veterans of Kane's story. The story will not be told solely through his first-person narrative, and there will be lots of flashbacks. To make it clear, each chapter title will note which timeline is being presented (i.e. Hinterlight - Cold Welcome).
*This will also be one of the first stories I have written that is going to focus on the non-action side of things, so I apologize in advance if it takes me a long time to knock these chapters out and they are stilted. Anyone who wants to beta-read, please PM me or leave a review. I would greatly appreciate some advice in writing this.
*Finally, future AN's will be posted at the bottom of chapters instead of the top. I will try to respond to any/all reviews through that. I hope you enjoy the story.
Cadia, Southern Hemisphere
I checked my powerpack one final time. It took an extreme force of will to not let my anxiety show. The young men surrounding me in the Chimera's troop compartment were looking amongst each other with the distinct aura of men terrified. I could not bring himself to blame them. They were Whiteshields, and this was their first true battle. Yes they were Cadians. Yes they had grown up with war as a reality. Yes, they had passed their training with flying colors. But they were mortal men and they were now flying into the face of a terrible foe that wanted nothing more than to destroy them, both physically and spiritually. If they were not terrified than they were already dead.
The battle was already raging. I felt the raucous vibrations of the artillery explosions bleed through the thrum of the Chimera engines and the grinding of the treads. The Traitor Legion had already begun its pre-assault barrage. No one knew how long it would last, perhaps a day or perhaps a few minutes. One could never tell. Personally I hoped it would end soon, even though the attack would follow soon after. Better to have a target to shoot at then spend our time waiting for death to take us from above. I sat back against the hull and closed my eyes. It was a good thing the Whites could not see my face. My lips were moving in one of the many prayers from the Uplifting Primer, but my mind was elsewhere.
The Cadian frontlines. It had been years since the spawn of Chaos had landed a sizable enough force to establish a beachhead and mount a ground offensive. Two months ago a fleet of six cruiser-sized transport ships and several strike cruisers blasted through the naval blockade and crash landed on the barren southern plains. The rest of their fleet had been turned to scrap in orbit, but those seven ships had landed an estimated four hundred thousand soldiers. Within a month they had overrun three Kasrs and annihilated a full-strength Interior Guard army. If the Sector Command hadn't already been scrambling to organize a swift counter-offensive then the destruction of the Guard army would have caused quite a panic. Instead it hastened the assembly of the three reprisal armies and led to the premature graduation of 1000 Whiteshield companies. We were one of those thousand, and we were the first one sent into combat.
This training company had been halfway through its live-fire cycle when the mustering occurred, so their combat prep was rushed and the company shipped out without so much as a single round of basic marksmanship testing. The heavy weapons crews had been randomly assigned and given the most basic of introductions to their platforms while on the way to the staging fields. These Whiteshields were not fully trained, nor were they ready for the chaos of the battlefield. It didn't help their morale that we had only been issued two days worth of rations. The message had been clear:
We weren't expected to live past two days.
Cadian battlefields were unforgiving meat grinders. The Cadians would rather die than surrender a single meter of ground, and the Enemy was fearless and single-minded in its hatred of our kind. These were battles where you fought until your weapon was empty and broken, your knife was stuck in someone's ribs, your shovel had snapped in half and your body was shattered in a hundred places. Units were not decimated on Cadian battlefields, they were wiped out to a man. It was warfare at its bloodiest and most pure.
Neither the lieutenant nor I had a clue as to why they had sent us in. There were plenty of better trained and equipped units that could have been ordered up and stood a real chance of surviving. Hell, there were more expendable units available too. It didn't make sense. Then again, as a lowly company sergeant I had no business understanding the grand plan. All I had to understand was the paper-sheaf with our orders on it. Go out and kill yourself to slow down the Enemy. That was what the Emperor wanted.
Our destination was a salient in the Imperial lines. Some diehards from the 94th Cadian Shock troops and a contingent of the 248th Cadian Siege Company Interior Guard refused to surrender ground even as their comrades retreated under orders towards Line Red. Their break from the order of battle must have caused a stir, but if the Lord General understood anything it was the passion with which Cadians held the line. So, instead of abandoning them for deserting their command, he adapted the plan to use them as a speed bump in the Enemy's advance. But they weren't going to last long enough for the job, so the 675/w9 was about to see the beginning and end of its glorious incarnation. Two days was a bit optimistic. Once the ground attack started they wouldn't last more than a couple hours. Intelligence had done a good job keeping everyone in the dark, but before we moved out I stole a minute with a unit of Mordians and confirmed the rumors.
There were Traitor Astartes legions out there. It was to be expected, there were always Chaos-fouled Space Marines coming out of the Eye of Terror. A single squad of the fiends would tear through our company without so much as pausing to piss on our corpses. There were worse ways to die. As long as we died fulfilling our duty…
It was our job to reinforce their line long enough for the counter-offensive to finish organizing. I knew very little about the grand campaign we were fighting; the one thing the Intelligence goons had confirmed for us was that it would be overwhelming and pack more righteous fury than the Terran sun. There were contingents from at least four Loyalist Astartes chapters present in the army. Four. Probably full companies, and that was a hell-scary amount of firepower. Why hadn't they sent one of them out to hold the line? They could have done it much better than us, and even stonewalled the Enemy's advance. From my perspective, I'd have rather stopped them cold then given them a little bump in the road.
The scale of this war was so vast that I knew I could never understand the intricacies of the Lord General's plans, even if I lived through and then read the histories written of it afterwards. In the grand scheme of things, our stand would never be remembered. It was a little thing, the lives of a hundred Cadian Whiteshields. We'd be wiped out and replaced in the time it took the Lord General to take our pin off the map and throw it away. But that was the reality of life in service to the Emperor. Our lives only mattered in the service rendered, and the Enemy was ever ravenous. If it took a thousand souls a day to keep the Emperor's Throne tended, then it took a trillion a day more to maintain Imperial territories. What was one hundred compared to that? It was a humbling thought, and one that I had more or less repeated to myself a thousand-thousand times since my first oath.
There is no greater homage a man can pay, I reminded myself, than to die for the Emperor's Honor.
I ran a hand along the length of my hotshot lasgun. The weapon was thoroughly blessed and prayed for. The fine-sheen of sacred cleaning oils still glimmered on the tip of the barrel. It was a waste, and one that would have been looked on disapprovingly by the Mechanicus, but every Guardsman had his quirk. Mine was to especially bless the barrel. It was a tradition I had learned from Colonel Gainer, the cadre instructor who had trained us how to shoot the eye off a rat at two hundred meters when I was little more than a boy. My thumb rubbed clockwise across the oil and spread the remainder across the now-dry vents. That little tingle of assurance ran through my arm and I broke the frown that marred my face. It would not fail me in the battle ahead. I might not understand the grand campaign, but as long as I had faith in my lasgun I was good to go. If anything would get me through this fool's run, it would be my wits, my gun, and the Emperor's blessing.
Huh, Emperor's blessing. I sincerely doubted I was important enough to earn that privilege. That kind of shatko was reserved for Saints, Astartes, and Heroes. I wasn't any of those. Hell, I wasn't even a proper Kasrkin anymore. I was a damned cadre sergeant for a bunch of teenage soldiers. Soldiers like me weren't important to anyone but the men we were standing beside.
"Battle lines are in sight" the driver announced over the vox. Everyone turned to look at the speaker. One man was so pale I thought he might pass out in his seat. "One minute to drop off. Emperor bless, grunts."
The Chimera lurched suddenly to one side. A muffled explosion sounded behind me and the shockwave lifted us out of our seats and onto our feet. Most men were alert enough to grab a handrail, but a couple tripped and fell face-first into the opposite wall. Someone threw up. The sound of vomit splashing on the hard rubber grip set many of the others retching. I held back from ordering them to stop it. It would do no good. Instead I pounded the top of the compartment to gather their attention. They gathered their weapons and held them in white-knuckled grips.
"Remember what we taught you" I barked. I knew the lieutenant was giving this same speech in his Chimera. "Stick to your battle bud, take careful shots, keep your head down! This is no worse than your training. The Enemy is expecting us to roll over and die for them. How about we punch them straight in the teeth instead?" I took a breath and looked each of them in the eye. They could not see mine through the closed visor, but I turned my head so they would know. It brought them a small measure of courage. A couple flashed weak smiles and hooted with what little enthusiasm they could drum up. It was enough for me.
"When you get out of the Chimera, get into the trenches! Do not stop for anything. If the man beside you falls, keep running. If you get hit, crawl. If you drop your weapon, don't turn around to grab it. You will make it into that trench or so help me I will shoot you myself. Do you understand?"
A few nervous chuckles rippled through the squad. The Chimera bucked again, but this time I could smell the ozone come boiling into the compartment. Heat washed over us and buffeted the men nearest the driver's hatch. We skidded forward a few more meters before stuttering to a halt. I nearly lost my footing as the Chimera jerked into a downward angle. Stumbling forward over the Whiteshields' feet to get to the hatch up front, I banged once on it and felt the handle. It was jammed and hot.
"Driver, get us moving!"
There was no response. A quick feel of the hatch itself told me we no longer had a driver. Dwelling on the turn of events would have done us no good. In a heartbeat I had adjusted and turned to face the Whiteshields. Pointing to the far door, I barked for them to move.
"Get those open. We've got to leg it. Move! Move! Move!"
The men leapt to the order, moving with the alacrity that only adrenaline could provide. One threw the door down and the others ran out and scattered in textbook formation. I was right behind them, shouting the order to continue on before I even hit dirt. This was combat drill, not deployment drill. The kind of shells that were falling would wipe us all out if they hit even close. The spread wouldn't matter. Gesturing to each side, I ordered them to spread in a line and start hoofing it. The Whiteshields stood about for a second to catch their bearings. The more alert ones started off without so much as a "Yes Sarge!" Growling under my breath, I shouldered through the remainders and took in the situation in a glance.
The driver's compartment was crumpled in, shattered by an unexploded artillery round. We were a good seventy meters from the line. Two other Chimeras were down, one smoking and belching flame as the ammunition inside cooked off. The heavy weapons platoon. The other was crawling forward on its own momentum. The doors opened and a dozen men stumbled out. They were dazed and falling about like drunks on shore leave. A few had the wits to begin limping towards the trenches. Then a trio of explosions tore through them and sent bloody chunks of meat flying through the air. I could smell the cooking flesh from a distance. Not a single man remained standing from the entire Chimera.
"To the lines" I shouted, pointing ahead.
The squad started moving immediately. Some sprinted, others ran at a zigzag. There was no wrong answer except to stay put. Artillery rounds continued to fall. The other Chimeras were already reaching the lines where they were greeted with cheers. The third one to reach was thrown high in the air by a ground-shaking explosion, flipping end over end, and landed on the far side of trenches. Battered soldiers crawled out and were dragged into the trenches by the 94th Guardsmen. Another lost control and careened straight into the trench network, taking out a stubber emplacement and crushing the crew even as they scrambled to safety.
My whole body was on fire with energy. The ground was rough and jagged from craters. Blood and water had turned the field into mud and guck that sucked at our boots and slowed us down with every step. Trooper Kirt had already lost a boot to the mud and was staggering forward with one of his buddies slung over his back. The two of the men disappeared in a flash of fire and blood. I charged straight through the steaming red cloud left in their wake, trusting the ancient adage that artillery never strikes the same spot twice.
The platoon's vox operator had been on my Chimera and was one of the frontrunners. He was making good progress until a nearby mortar shell threw out a hail of shrapnel his way. I watched him spin a sudden jerky circle, arms twirling like a dancer in an opera. His throat, chest, and thighs were flayed to the bone. Blood sprayed across my visor and I dodged a flying chip of flak armor. His eyes were wide and pleading as he tumbled onto his back. I dropped to a knee beside him. The others started to look back, but I motioned for them to go on.
The man moaned weakly, grasping at my arms. I shoved his hands away and sliced through the straps holding his vox. It came off easily, already loosened by the explosion. The sound he made might have been one of horror and betrayal, but I did not stop to listen.
"Your soul to the Emperor's side" I intoned. He was still reaching after me as I hurried off after the others, dragging the vox behind me. If he was lucky another explosion would kill him before he bled to death in the mud and mire of the field. Slow deaths were the worst kind.
The barrage was growing more intense. The heavy guns were lightening up; the lighter guns were growing heavier. I began to see ordinary mortar rounds landing in little spurts amidst the volcanic siege shells. Three more from my Chimera died before reaching the lines. The Whiteshields slid into the trench with care, somehow finding the sense of mind to watch their step. I did no such thing. A cluster of men stood by watching me come in. I hurled the vox to them and dove in feet first. Someone caught me as I flew in, hurling me around in an arc and using my momentum to toss me against the edge of the trench. The result was I slammed hard into the dirt, but I was still on my feet and snapping to a salute even as my vision swam.
"You're the fracking reinforcements?" The gruff voice came from my right. I blinked a few times to clear my vision and located the source. It was a Cadian officer with scuffed armor and a hasty bandage wrapped around his left calf. The bandages were stained deeply with blood. A lieutenant insignia showed on his chest pips. I saluted absently. The man's face was grim but determined. His helmet was cocked slightly off-center, giving him a roguish command appeal.
"What made it across, sir." I dropped my salute and looked around. It was hard to count all of the Whiteshields; they were already being shoved into firing positions. I did not see the Lieutenant anywhere. "Looks like our heavy weapons platoon ate it. Our LT here?"
"Haven't seen another officer come in" the man growled. He pointed without further preamble. "You're a Kasrkin, so you know the deal. How good are these Whiteshields?"
"Good enough" I replied. "These troops are green, but they'll hold. You the officer in charge?"
"Highest ranking survivor. Arnold" the man answered. We all glanced over in the direction of an explosion. It had landed very close, close enough to spray us with dirt. Now that there were no more Chimeras to take shots at, the majority of the shelling was landing in and around the trenches. "Frack it, I'm assigning you to my staff." He chuckled dryly. "Follow me. We need to go coordinate with the JC. Oh, and thanks for salvaging the vox. We could definitely use another one. Ours is scattered in about a hundred pieces somewhere over there, along with the operator."
Our heads remained low as we sprinted along the trench network. There were two kilometers of line to held. It was a small amount on an ordinary battlefield, but here it might as well have been half the world. I got a good look at how few men were left as we crossed the lines. Men were grouped in twos and threes five regular intervals, but the space between each group was alarming. There couldn't have been more than a couple hundred left. If only we had some heavy weapons, this could be a defensible position.
It was painfully clear that the 94th was nowhere close to full strength. Flak-armored ordinance staff armed with scavenged lasguns made up a good portion of the defensive line. Many of the defenders were walking wounded, and a few of the more critically injured ones had been laid in positions where they could still shoot even if they were immobilized. There was no triage center, no reserve team. Every man was on the line. I looked around for heavy weapons buried into hardpoints. None. The question was, were they destroyed or out of ammunition? Considering the fighting these men had been through, either option seemed plausible.
"Are those the 248th?" I gestured towards a pair of men jostling an empty oil can into their cover.
"The 248th was stationed on Line Blue" Lieutenant Arnold said. "Most of their vehicles were destroyed in the initial assaults. One Griffon made it to this point, but it was destroyed in the last assault. They've held the line with the rest of us since."
"And they volunteered to stay?"
"We volunteered them" the man said, his voice full of steel. "Though in truth most were willing. They retreated on orders alone, and left a lot of comrades behind. They've more than proven themselves as frontline soldiers."
"Honorable" I muttered. It struck me as bitterly ironic that these artillery crews had more combat experience than the company I had brought in to reinforce them. Another explosion sent smoke billowing into the trench ahead. I saw one of the Whiteshields crawl out of the smoke, his flamer jiggling on his back. The man staggered to his feet as we approached, a terrified, but excited grin on his face. A second Whiteshield hurried up to his back and set about strapping the flamer down tighter. They threw themselves against the trench and pressed the promethium tank under cover. I patted the flamer-carrier on the back as we moved past. Keep the fuel safe, good kids. They weren't hopeless.
"What are we expecting?"
"So far, we've seen mobs and mobs of infantry. They're the usual fodder: ragged cultists and traitorous Guardsmen that sold their souls to Chaos. For the most part they're armed like us, but they don't have any of the training or survival instincts. We've been mowing them down in droves, but there's always more. With luck, that's all we'll see. What are the reports from Command?"
"You don't want to know." I shook my head. "Suffice to say that when the Lord General unleashes the armies behind us, these louts will be swept back to the hellfire they came from."
"When will that be?"
I didn't answer. He had the wisdom to not repeat the question. There were rank-and-file soldiers around and the news wouldn't do them any good. His face soured noticeably.
"Then we will hold the line to give them as much time as we can."
"Will they hold to the last?"
"They will" the lieutenant assured me. "Even if they weren't determined, she is."
"Who?" I turned to watch as a black-clad figure strode through the lines towards us. It took me a moment to realize what I was looking at. In a sea of dark green armor, the black and crimson uniform stood out like an Ork among Eldar. I stared in confusion, because the figure was holding a lasgun and had a bandolier of grenades slung over one shoulder. Then I saw the figure wipe her brow with a familiar wheel cover. A Commissar. Somehow, their fracking Commissar had survived this far.
"Junior Commissar Arreita Blake" Lieutenant Arnold said in way of introduction. "She was attached to the 94th a few months ago under Commissar Oden."
I saluted as the woman approached. She was young, which made sense if this was her Juniorship. I guessed her age somewhere around nineteen, possibly even younger. Under the grime and weariness in her face she still bore signs of the last remnants of baby fat on her face. She had a femininely strong face with violet eyes, coal-black hair, and skin so pale she was almost albino. For a short moment I allowed myself to try and remember where I had seen that before. Something about her face struck me as familiar. Commissars went to the Schola like stormtroopers, but I had at least ten years on her. Maybe I had met a brother or something at some point. Orphans could still have siblings. She did not give me the opportunity to ponder the odd familiarity.
"Madam Commissar" I said in greeting. She returned the salute crisply. Her eyes raked over my armor for the unit marking before turning to Lieutenant Arnold. The brief movement pulled back her cape enough to reveal the bolt pistol strapped to her hip and the power sword slung over her back. That was an unusual position for the weapon, but workable. Interesting.
"The right flank is dangerously low on bodies and ammunition. They will not hold in another assault as they are. The reinforcements have arrived?"
"Pitifully few" the lieutenant answered. "A single company, lost their heavy weapons and officer on the ride across. This is…"
"Troop Sergeant Kane, Madam Commissar. Brought you some more bodies."
She cast a critical eye over my gear again. "When we requested reinforcements I did not realize they were sending us Kasrkin. Finally some good news."
"Sorry to disappoint, Madam Commissar." I gestured down the lines. "I'm on cadre duty: your reinforcements are Whiteshields fresh out of training. They're set up along the line that way. Took heavy casualties getting to you and we're minimally equipped. But these men will stand their ground and they're ready to die for the Emperor. You can be sure of that."
A disappointed grimace slugged its way across her lips, but she nodded and looked back to the Lieutenant. The artillery was beginning to slacken. The enemy would be coming soon. I tripped on a jutting bit of dir-
That was a leg. Blinking in surprise, I studied the trenches again and realized that the trenches were lined with the dead. Scores of slain soldiers, stripped of armor, weapons, ammunition, and anything useful, sat shoulder to shoulder along the rear wall of the trench. Most were recognizable, but some were so badly burnt or hacked or blown apart that I could hardly tell they were human. The line continued unbroken in both directions. These were the men that had already fallen.
"Then we shall hold the right flank, for there the fighting will be the fiercest. I hope your detachment to training the recruits has not dulled your prowess, Sergeant Kane."
"Just made me eager to put the fear of the Emperor in some heretics" I promised. The answer satisfied her.
"To the lines, gentlemen. I hope you said your prayers today."
She swept down the trench with fire in her step. Every man she passed turned to salute her, and I noticed something that made me give the young Commissar another look. They were not saluting out of fear, like the soldiers of so many units that I had fought alongside. These men respected her, were encouraged to see her walk past. A few exchanged words with her, and she appeared to know most of them by their first name. One tossed her a powerpack fresh off the little fire they had created in a little hollow of their trench-line. She caught it and shoved it into a pocket with a nod and a blessing that left the man grinning from ear to ear.
The scene struck me as utterly ridiculous. The 94th was chock full of grizzled veterans but they were looking up to a fresh-faced kid-Commissar, and a woman for that matter. She must have proven her worth many times over on the battlefield to earn that kind of respect. I studied the power sword slung over her shoulder. It was neither shiny nor pristine, even though it appeared fairly new and well cared for. The links were cleaned, but the stains of blood and gore still decorated the blade.
"Looks like you got yourselves a solid Commissar" I muttered to Lieutenant Arnold. He grinned and nodded.
"She was a bit of a rough fit at the start, but since this damned invasion she's earned her place. Commissar Oden bit it at Line Blue and she's stepped in admirably. Yesterday she threw herself into a crowd of cultists that were mobbing the last heavy bolter team. Killed six of them with her power sword before we could get a team over to reinforce the position. She's not afraid to dirty her hands, and she's got a good head on her shoulders. Understands when to prod the men and when to let them have their way. Hell, I'd take her over a squad of Kasrkin. No offense intended" he added hastily.
I shrugged to let him know I didn't care. Years on the frontline of so many warzones had taught me that the right person in the right place could have extreme effect. "Sounds liked you rolled a natural 20."
"More or less." The lieutenant pushed me to the wall as a shell screamed close by. It exploded just a few feet away from the trench. Shrapnel rained down around us, but it did no real damage. I slapped his shoulder and we hurried off after the Commissar, who had stood through the rain without flinching. She huffed impatiently as we caught up and we continued on.
The final barrage shell exploded to our rear. I turned and watched the dirt come raining down on the 94th. There were no cries of victory or reassurance from our lines. Even the Whiteshields knew what was coming now. Weapons were primed and men threw themselves into their firing positions with frantic prayers crossing their lips. The calm would only last a few minutes, and when it was over there was a butcher's bill that needed filling. We were the pen that would fill it out.
"Prepare yourselves" Commissar Blake cried. Her voice boomed down the trench, augmented by a hand-speaker she produced from her belt. "The Enemy is coming. He thinks we are weak and tired and ready to surrender. He thinks our faith is shaken by a paltry barrage of guns. Let us prove him wrong today! When the Enemy comes he will find our guns hot to greet him! He will find our hearts filled with the steel of the Emperor's fury! Let every man here take account today, and find himself not wanting. The Emperor is watching, Cadians! He will lead us to glorious victory today, and when the last body falls, the Enemy will know who we are! Who are we?"
"THE EMPEROR'S FURY! AVE IMPERATOR!"
The cry rose from every throat along the lines. Cheers rang out in its wake, and men whooped and hollered as they made their final adjustments. I felt a little touch of thrill myself. Her command voice was a very stirring one and she knew the right words for our situation. She could have had a grand career in the Guard, if circumstances had been different. Her death here would be a tragedy for Cadia. So much potential lost.
Finding a firing step on the line, I stood up to it and peered out at the carrion-ridden battlefield. Corpses littered the ground as far as the eye could see. I saw many clad in Guard armor, those that had been slain as they retreated, but by far the majority wore little more than rags or makeshift armor. Those were the Enemy, and their numbers were uncountable. It was as if a godly hand had scooped up an entire city's graveyard and scattered ten generations of corpses across the shattered land. There had to be well over a few thousand slain. Several wrecked vehicles were scattered through the carnage as well. Some Chimeras here and there, a few Griffon siege vehicles, and lots of trucks. Dozens of ugly armored vehicles lay about in various states of destruction. The sheer numbers bore testament to the resolve of the 94th and those that stood beside them.
"That gun" Lieutenant Arnold said, coming up beside me. He tipped his head towards my hotshot lasgun. "Can be a game changer here. Save your ammunition, Sergeant. Prioritize your targets and leave the regular scum to us."
"Define priority targets." I saw the first hints of a dust cloud in the distance. Setting my eye to the scope, I began to check distances and landmarks. There were a lot to choose, so I settled with those things most directly in front of us. "I thought you said these were mostly mobs."
"They are" the lieutenant agreed. "But they are not completely without leadership. Be on the lookout for mutants and anyone who looks like a leader. That's how we've gotten them to retreat in the past. Once their leaders go down the rest panic and retreat."
"Seriously?"
"I know, it's strange." Lieutenant Arnold shook his head. "Nothing they do makes sense. My guess would be that the ones we are facing aren't wholly bought into the taint yet."
The Commissar cut in suddenly, voice dripping with acid. "And that is not something you should be guessing about, gentlemen. Leave the perverse to their fate. The only thing worth knowing is that they will die when you shoot them."
"Sounds good." I primed the magazine and flicked the safety off. Dialing it down to low power, I began memorizing the layout of the ground ahead. The ground was choppy and riddled with craters both large and small. Despite the lack of discernible organization I saw something that made me hesitate. There was a pattern to the wreckage of the Imperial vehicles. They were more or less in a line, angling straight towards our position. I cursed and double-checked the ground around us. It was faint, but the layers were visible under the mud and earth that made the trench walls.
"Lieutenant, we're sitting on a road, aren't we?"
"We are."
"Then this is the horn, isn't it?" I reached down with my trigger hand and checked my sidearm. The laspistol was also primed, but I left the safety on. If it got that desperate I could draw, arm and fire it in the time it took a man to blink.
"Huh?"
"The landscape naturally funnels people in this direction. It's the path of least resistance. That's why there are so many dead behind us." I pointed to the double-line of corpses at the rear of the trench. Glanced back over the lip, I saw they had piled the dead Enemy soldiers in heaps to strengthen our cover. Brutal, but effective.
"Yeah." He flashed a grim smile. "Aren't you glad I put you on my staff?"
"What staff" I said with a chuckle. I liked this lieutenant. He wasn't afraid, I realized. His heart was devoted to this battle, and nothing would shake that. "It's just you and me."
"And me" Commissar Blake said. She took her place on my other side with the battered lasgun and a second magazine strapped to the first. That was a nifty little trick that only veterans knew. Once again, I found myself impressed with the young Junior Commissar. I studied the lasgun for a moment, curious. It was a lascarbine, not the Kantrael MG, or even the M36. Odd, given the choices available. It certainly did not look like her personal weapon.
She was aware that I was watching her. Her eyes gazed back for a moment, lips pursed in a frown. When I noted her watching I looked back at the incoming dust cloud.
"Something on your mind, Sergeant?"
"Nothing, Madam Commissar. Just noticing that you're pretty heavily armed. Most Commissars I've met would swear by their bolters and chainswords."
"The bolter and sword are my weapons of choice, but the numbers we are facing requires something more" she replied. "These soldiers gave their lives for the Emperor, but their weapons remain. It is fitting to honor their sacrifice by continuing to slay the Enemy in their name."
Naïve, but appropriate, I thought. She could do without the hyper-religious aspect and just say that the lascarbine had more ammunition and better range.
"What was his name?"
"Trooper Reinhart." Her eyes flashed in challenge. She lifted the weapon and showed a dog tag wrapped around the trigger guard. "Autocannon Loader. He held his position until the autocannon was dry and they were overrun. Shot over a dozen times before he finally went down, and hurled himself at the Enemy with a grenade in each hand. His sacrifice turned the tide."
Well, shit. I nodded in respect. "He would be honored to know that his weapon is still finding use."
A little huff shook her narrow frame and she looked down the sights of her lasgun. Shifting slightly, she adjusted her posture for a better fit. "I'd suggest you focus on the enemy, Sergeant. A man distracted is a man useless."
Choosing to not reply, I went back to watching the incoming cloud. I could see shapes moving now, a lot of shapes. There were no vehicles at far as I could tell. This would be a pure infantry battle. That gave us slightly better odds of survival. Infantry were much easier to kill.
"Hold your fire" the Lieutenant ordered. Someone behind relayed the command. I turned curiously and saw a Guardsman had picked up the vox I had brought in. Ah, hadn't noticed that. How long had he been standing there? "Wait until I give the order."
Returning to the Enemy, I continued searching the cloud through my scope. A shape caught my eye.
"Is that what I think it is?"
A handful of larger shapes were beginning to make themselves known among the horde. I squinted down my scope. It did not have much magnification, but it was enough to make the targets visible in the mad throng. My blood froze in my veins when I saw the powerful, superhuman forms striding across the plain. They stood twice as tall as normal men, and their armor was covered in spikes, trophies, and vicious runes that I knew would hurt to look at up close. Their weapons were enormous and their swords glowed with power fields. Traitor Marines.
"Emperor's mercy flow from the heavens" I murmured. The Lieutenant shot me a sidelong look. "The Emperor preserves his children with the fires of His holy wrath. Many are the heretic that seek to torture our souls. The Emperor is a bulwark the brings salvation…"
I ran through the litany as I flicked the lasgun back up to full power. The Lieutenant saw the subtle motion and recognition dawned in his eyes. He swallowed hard and leaned back into his weapon. Though he could barely hear my words, he joined in. I heard the Commissar doing the same. Our three voices cut an eerie choir in our small portion of the battlefield. The Commissar's rich alto, the Lieutenant's tenor, and my vox-adjusted bass gave the litany a dirge-like quality. It was supposed to be a petition for safekeeping. None of us held that illusion.
The Enemy infantry was getting closer. Random shots began to punch into the trenches, but they were poorly aimed and not a threat. I could see the color on the Traitor Marines, though in truth I knew too little about them to understand the markings. Black and gold. It did not matter what color they were. They were all the same in death.
"On your shot" the Lieutenant said. I nodded and picked the most important looking of the fallen angels. He was unhelmeted, his face a mass of scars and weeping sores. Something glowed in one hand, perhaps a plasma pistol. Interesting. I debated between his head and the pistol. Either one could have spectacular results. Both were almost impossible shots.
"Firing" I finally said when I reached my decision. My finger flicked the selector down to low power and closed on the trigger. I made a smooth pull and launched the first round of the battle. A dazzling scarlet beam whipped across the battlefield and struck the Traitor Marine full in the chest. It hardly slowed him down. Through my scope I saw his eyes narrow and he looked directly at me. His mouth opened in a bellow that was too far away to hear. I grinned. The overconfident oaf thought it was a misfire, a jumped shot. Traitor Marines were as hard to kill as battle tanks, but they weren't nearly as smart as the Imperial ones. He pointed with his huge sword and charged straight towards me. The lowly cultists around him were scattered like ninepins by his momentum. He killed a few with sweeping strokes of his sword to clear the way. No one noticed or complained.
"You missed" the Lieutenant hissed. He shot me an exasperated look.
"Nope. I just pissed him off."
"How is that-"
I reset the lasgun to full power and fired a single shot. The beam that left my rifle was darker, larger, and much more deadly. The Marine could have dodged it, but he was not expecting a lethal shot. He was expecting the light shot that would, at worst, leave a new scar that he could brag about. His mistake. The scarlet light punched through his face like a battering ram, erasing his features like a painter burning his artwork. His body trundled forward a dozen feet before the realization that it had no head made its way to the nerves and muscles. It dropped slowly to its knees, posture just as stiff as a Mordian on parade. It didn't even fall until I fired a third shot that tipped it over backwards. Its plasma pistol exploded in a roiling ball of blue flame, engulfing the front-running heretics. Most died instantly, but a few survived long enough to scream and run about like animated torches.
"You gotta learn how to bait them" I told the lieutenant. "But that trick will only work once. Light them up!"
The lieutenant spat the order to the vox operator. "All soldiers, open fire!"
There were few things more exciting to watch than the opening volley of lasguns. The lightshow was absolutely beautiful, so brilliant and dazzling in its destructive might. Cultists fell by the dozens as the fire tore into them. A single heavy bolter joined the cacophony, its comforting whump-whump-whump bursts cracking like heaven-sent thunder. I did not wait and watch. Switching to the next nearest Traitor Marine, I started firing.
This one was helmeted, armed with a bolter, and utterly undisturbed by the fall of its comrade. It returned fire on the run, bolter shells landing to dammed close that I was tempted to duck behind cover. My first shot missed by a wide margin as he nimbly leapt to the side, not breaking his stride or his aim. Hot blood splashed on the dirt beside me. Something fell against the wall by my side and I heard the hissing crackle of a vox. Our operator was down. How the hell had he been hit? Shifting my fire, I began putting round after round downrange towards the Marine. He dodged most of them, caught the rest on less vulnerable parts of his body like the forearms and shoulders. It was at that moment I wished I had a squad of my fellow Kasrkin at my side. We would have taken him down easily in this charge. A single hotshot could not do much damage.
"Come on, you fracking dancer." I cursed as yet another shot missed. It carried on and split a cultist in half at the neck. A wasted shot. I would not be able to hit him, not when he was focused on me. I needed to find a way to distract him.
Or pick a new target. I switched my aim over to the next Traitor Marine I could find. He had a bolter in one hand, a wickedly large chainaxe in the other. He was moving too quickly for me to draw a clear shot on his head, so I settled with the next best thing. Three shots in rapid succession struck his side as I unleashed a five-second burst. The Traitor Marine stumbled as he ran but did not lose his balance. His helmet turned in my direction and I found myself the sole object of wrath for two angry Traitor Marines.
Somehow, I thought grimly, this did not make my situation better.
I continued firing as this one came on. He did not bother dodging or blocking. High-powered shot after high-powered shot struck him in the chest, legs, and arms. None of them told. My lasgun clicked dry when the magazine was exhausted. I ejected it and slapped a fresh magazine in, not bothering to pocket the spent one. If I survived, I could find it later. I put four more rounds into the bolter-and-axe wielding Traitor Marine before he reached our line. He was a full fifty meters ahead of the cultist horde and gaining with each bounding step.
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"
I leapt back from the trench and continued firing. His armor was blackened and cracked. Blood seeped from the wounds that had punctured. None of it slowed him down. He could be wounded a hundred times before showing it. The bolter in his hand erupted as he aimed to the side, killing a trio of Guardsmen that were preparing grenade belts. His chainaxe was grinding and ready to quench its thirst in blood.
He was still in the air when softer bolt weapon erupted. Commissar Blake's bolt pistol punched into the already weakened armor of his chest and shells burst inside his guts. That did the trick. The Traitor Marine landed awkwardly on his knees, weapons flailing. I dodged under his chain-axe and shoved the barrel of my lasgun between the joint of his helmet and his chest armor. Pumping the trigger madly, I fired until his head fell off and the stench of cooking flesh made me want to vomit. His bolter was still firing, nerveless finger clenched on the trigger. Two shots into the body of the gun silenced it for good.
"Well done" the lieutenant called out. His lasgun was firing as fast as he could find targets. "But we're not out of the fire yet. How about you get back to killing the other one."
I took a step back again as my previous target leapt the trench. His bolter must have run out of ammunition, because he had a large combat knife in one hand and a chainsword in the other. The impact of his humongous body sent a shockwave through the dirt, loosening the ground under my feet. He was huge, even for an Astartes. Foul energy poured out of the man in waves, turning the air icy and clawing at my courage. Just looking at the Traitor Marine made my eyes burn.
My frown slackened behind my visor. The hotshot felt unbearably heavy in my hands. It took all of my effort to lift it and take aim. I shot him twice in the helmet before he shoulder-charged me into the back of the trench. My guts felt like they burst inside me. His helmet with the glowing red eye-slits burned in my face. Terror flooded me and I choked on a scream. Terrible pounding filled my head and I was sure that my ears had started bleeding.
"YOUR DEATH SHALL FEED THE GODS OF CHAOS!"
A power sword hummed to life behind him. He jerked suddenly, helmet twisting away as Commissar Blake slashed across his unprotected back. The shriek of the blade slicing through his armor screamed sweetly in my ears. The Traitor Marine whirled around, both weapons swinging. The Commissar barely dodged aside, returning to a dueling stance with the power sword held between them. She might have had the more powerful weapon, but he was much faster and stronger. Her face twisted in a fearless scowl nonetheless. She spat at the ground between them.
"You wretched existence ends here. I will slay you in the Emperor's name."
The Traitor Marine's laughter boomed through the trench. His sheer voice sent us staggering back and filled our minds with one thought: Run Away. Flee and save yourself. I had never felt this before. It was a power that was utterly unrivalled. He could crush us all in an instant if he wanted to.
"YOU DARE STAND AGAINST A CHAMPION OF KHORNE?"
I snatched up my lasgun and took a bead on the back of his head. His combat knife flicked out suddenly, burying itself into my bicep. I cried out in pain and spun away. The force of his knife throw slammed me into the trench wall. He made a half-skip to the side and raised his chainsword to cut me in half. There was no way I could block it in time.
"For Cadia!"
The Lieutenant charged in with his own chainsword. He screamed a war cry that was lost in the raging battle, but the fury in his eyes was clear. His blade scraped across the Traitor Marine's back-plate. The Cadian did not have the strength to muscle the chainsword into a real wound. His weapon scratched paint, but it distracted the foul Champion. Dodging back, he attempted to duplicate the Commissar's maneuver. He wasn't fast enough; the Champion's return stroke took his head clean off his shoulders. His body collapsed on top of the fallen vox operator, blood spurting out in an obscene stream. People shouldn't have bled that much. That was the Ruinous Powers at work.
The only comfort was that the defensive strike left the Champion off-balance. Seizing the opportunity, the Junior Commissar lunged at his exposed side, weapon slashing across his midsection in the hope of reaching that thin unarmored strip near his belt. Again, she had to pull her blow short to avoid being cut in half. The Champion slapped her blade away with his hand, taunting her as he did so. His point was clear, and he emphasized it by stomping forward and bellowing at her.
Her lips pressed together in barely controlled fury. Their blades cut the air in a deadly game of cat-and-mouse, with Commissar Blake as the mouse. She aimed for his chainsword first, trying to disable it and give herself the upper hand. The Champion was onto her game, but he appeared content with making her dance away from his own strokes. They were both masterful swordsmen. I snarled as I watched her facing off against the Traitor Marine. She wouldn't stand a chance on her own. Once he tired of this game he would kill her in an instant. I had to do something.
My hotshot lay at my feet. I ripped the combat knife free and hurled it aside. Lifting the lasgun with my off-hand, I braced it against my shoulder and fired a shot straight into the vents on its back. I must have hit a power cell or something, because flames shot out of its back and crept along its armor. The fire whisked around him like it had its own mind, engulfing him but not damaging him. The fire only made him more terrifying, but it did earn a grunt and a nasty look in my direction. The Champion hesitated and turned towards me. He drove Commissar Blake back with a lightning-fast sweep of his chainsword. The Marine screamed, not in pain, but in glory as it savored the pain.
"YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED PUT, MORTAL. LOOK UPON THE FACE OF YOUR EXECUTIONER!"
He reached up and ripped his helmet free. The fearsome scowl on his face made me want to soil my armor. He thrust with the chainsword, aiming for my midsection. Diving into a combat roll, I landed out of his reach and fired into his exposed knee. The Commissar went for his other knee, catching his open defenses and slicing through to the bone. She retreated and struck again and again, ducking and squirming around each strike of the Champion's chainsword. I had never seen a human that dexterous on her feet. She had abandoned her cautiousness and was attacking with unrestrained fury.
The tide had turned, and the Champion knew that. His face twisted in rage and he began throwing himself at us. But we were ready, and his movements had lost their preciseness. Every time he turned to me, she struck and drew blood. Every time he turned to her, I shot him again and again in any unarmored point I could find. The flames began to sink in and boil his flesh. Real pain began to make itself known, though none of it looked like it would slow him down. The entire time he was yelling with fury. When he finally sank to his knees, blood gushing from dozens of wounds that each would have killed an ordinary man, I had used up a whole second magazine. Commissar Blake finished him off with an overhanded swing that split him from head to sternum.
And then the Enemy was flooding the trenches. I greeted the first one with a shot through his throat. Priming a grenade, I hurled it over the lip of the trench and let the explosion take care of the ones behind him. Switching my lasgun to a lower power setting, I started putting rounds through them as they came over. There were so many. Commissar Blake rushed to my side, firing with a recovered lasgun. A couple of Guardsmen rushed in from further down the trench and joined us. Our firepower held the Enemy off for only a few seconds before so many poured through we were swarmed.
Hand-to-hand was not something I relished. I hacked and stabbed with my bayonet and the fallen Lieutenant's chainsword. Heads rolled, limbs were severed, people were screaming and falling in the mud. It was a blur, it always was. Reality faded to a dull echo in the back of my mind as I lunged at anything wearing red or blue. Green and black were good, red and blue were bad. Kill the first. Move on to the next. Find a third. Two at a time. Stab him in the back. Block the axe. Slit his throat. Bash his brains in. It was like a never-ending frenzy of death.
Nothing was never-ending. Eventually the rush subsided, and I was staring at a trench full of the dead and dying. All but one of our reinforcing troopers had joined the dead, and Commissar Blake was leaning heavily on her power sword. Her face was as pale as paper-sheaf but she looked unhurt. The Trooper at our side had plenty of scratches and bruises, but he had thrown himself to the firing pit and was shooting madly into the retreating Enemy.
Without wasting a moment I gathered up my precious hotshot magazines. Stuffing them into pockets, I collected everything I had dropped and hooked the lieutenant's chainsword to my belt. It had proven more than useful and I had a feeling I would need it again. The weapon was well-crafted and old; I had a feeling it was an inherited weapon that had been passed down. It must have had plenty of kills to its name.
"That's it?" I limped to the trench and looked out. The horde was retreating. Scattered, accurate fire from the Cadian lines were dropping them like flies. I didn't understand. There were so many left. They could have come in with their bare hands and ripped us to pieces by virtue of sheer numbers.
"Why are they running" I asked aloud. "There's got to be at least a couple thousand still out there."
Commissar Blake pulled herself up beside me. Her breath came in ragged gasps.
"Perhaps we broke them. With the loss of their leaders," she motioned to the fallen Traitor Marines, "their spirit must have shattered. They have always shown cowardice in the face of the faithful."
"Nah, they're all loons. Did you see them?" I kicked over the corpse of an Enemy. It had been a man once, but now its face was warped with extra teeth, eyes, and other disgusting things that didn't belong. "Most of them are little more than wild animals. Something big had to have called this assault off."
"I do not like the sound of that." She turned and pointed to the lone trooper who was still with us. "You, name?"
"Trooper Brunson, Madam Commissar."
I turned back to the man. He was one of the Siege Company soldiers. "I'm assuming command here. Get us a headcount of the survivors, now! Report back to me with the next highest-ranking soldier in the outfit. We need the chain of command up and running yesterday. Also, I want numbers on those who can and can't fight, ammunition, breach points, and especially that heavy bolter."
"Belay that order!"
Commissar Blake pointed in the distance. I turned and saw the mass of retreating soldiers begin to regroup. They were not coming back towards us, but organizing into solid blocks of infantry formations. They were just barely in range, and careful shots by some of the more skilled marksmen were dropping them even as they formed up. The others were utterly unbothered by the losses. And they were no longer just infantry. Twenty vehicles now decorated the Chaos force. They were large, heavily armored, and surrounded by crowds of Traitor Marines. The kid gloves were off. We were about to be attacked by a wave of Traitor Marines.
I sighed and looked about the trenches. Two more Guardsmen limped in from further down the line. One was barely walking, leaning on his lasgun as a crutch. They did not bother reporting in, they simply moved to firing positions and began gathering fallen lasguns, grenades, and anything they could use. They moved like dead men, limbs jerking mechanically. I could see the exhaustion in their eyes. These men hadn't slept in days.
"So that's why they ran." I turned to the Commissar and nodded. "They were just softening us up, testing our line before the final push."
"So many…" To her credit, she did not appear frightened. Her pale face grew paler and she took a step towards the firing steps. One hand was clutched to her stomach, and I saw blood seeping from between her fingers. She was soaked in blood all the way to her knees. "Must… hold the… line."
"Easy, Madam Commissar." I eased her to a sitting position. "Don't worry, we've got this."
I motioned for Trooper Brunson. When he approached I pointed to the vox. "Get on the horn and contact Command. Tell them our situation, and order Shattered Lance."
"Shattered Lance, sir?" He frowned in confusion. That's right, he wouldn't know that term. His unit wasn't designed to be on the front lines; Kasrkin knew the command too well.
"Shattered Lance" I repeated.
"What's…"
"Call it in, damn it!"
The trooper flinched. He scrambled about the body of the fallen vox operator until he found the receiver. Within moments he was shouting into the vox. I heard the response, broken and full of static.
"Confir…tered Lance."
Trooper Brunson glanced up at me. Something in the officer's tone made the order click in his head. The receiver slipped from his suddenly nerveless fingers.
"Sergeant…"
I snatched up the receiver. "Confirmed. Shattered Lance. We are facing a major force of Astartes. Armor, transports, infantry. Priority targets. Send everything you've got."
"Shattered Lance confirmed" the officer on the other side said. I thought I heard other voices in the background explode into cross-chatter. That would be the Air controllers signaling the launch bays. "You made the Emperor proud out there."
"Fracking better have" I whispered, vox off and tucked back against the operator's corpse. Rising to my feet, I patted the terrified soldier's shoulder. "On your feet, Trooper. We're still alive and there are plenty of enemies to kill."
We picked our shots, not wasting a single round of our depleted ammunition stores. Maybe one of the Traitor Marines fell, but our lasguns were little better than flashlights painting the targets. The Chaos hordes fired with much more luck. Las and bolter fire exploded against our cover. Rockets pounded into the strong points that had been identified in the last assault. Direct-fire cannons obliterated the heavy bolter team and a dozen men nearby. Trooper Brunson fired quickly and efficiently, taking down twenty enemies before a bolter shell punched through his skull and exploded his torso. His blood rained down around us like horrid confetti.
Commissar Blake lay still in the trench, her face ashen and her skin cold. Her guts had spilled past her limp hand and lay neatly in her lap. She wasn't as fast as I thought she had been. I stopped firing long enough to snatch up her bolt pistol and began firing it in addition to my hotshot. That drew more attention, and a Predator's cannon began to swing my way.
We were hurling the last of our grenades when the Marauder bombers burst from cloud cover and began dropping their payloads.