The dust took its time. The dirt what had clodded itself into the chinks and markings on his uniform clung to him as filth, like a virus tightly clenching what cleanliness it could, draining it of its pristine virtues.
His helmet did not permit vision, its lenses claimed by both the destructive properties of filth and the deconstructive properties of locomotion, and the abrupt ceasing of said locomotion leading to shards of his ocular ports spasmotically entrenching themselves into his cornias, their now useless forms corpsified and given a somewhat fitting burial by the aformentioned earth now congesting the port sockets.
His arms felt extraordinarily burdensome, sluggishly perusing the landscape before them, before his phalanges could find themselves grasping a cold steel bar. His chest momentarily collapsing inwards of relief, before his attempts to rise were hindered by a lack of his lower right limb, an extension from his form he had not taken to considering until this moment.
The tinnitus was in a constant growth and fade, the sounds of his brothers pushing forth, the screams and rampant orders bellowed out by both opposing sides. Other nearby mortar rounds kept his head pulsating, his auditory sense failing him for the most part.
With a grunt he would clench a cumbersome fist about his makeshift crutch, digging it into the charred ground beneath him, pushing and pulling himself on the metal bar until he was on his foot. As he began moving forward, he found himself falling unto himself, catching upon his knee and making more inhuman grunts and growls, angrily pushing himself back up, moving forth, using the large bar of metal as a kind of cane. It was much larger than him, much taller in any case. About 5 inches in diameter, maybe 12 feet tall. His only realistic force of locomotion for the time being.
The dirt about him began to slope forward, the only thought on his mind to find the high ground, to survive until he could be seen. He dug the butt of the pole unto the earth, forcing himself upwards, slowly but steadily.
It was around this time that his numbness began to fade, eradicated by pulsations and tensions, muscles both spasming and locking in place.
The fall was not too much, it was the rise that seemed to trouble him. He had only lost maybe 3 feet of ground, but the road ahead would be much less amiable. The only thing to truly overcome the static so far was his screams of agony and rage, forcing his body to work, forcing himself to the precipice he hoped was atop this treacherous climb. For the first time he could feel the life force leaking from his stump, blood supposedly splattering behind him in a profuse trail, gushing not all at once but in waves, like a small ocean of dark red held within his living corps.
As he was climbing, his newfound lack of sight did not inform him in fact that the bloody green bastards were overtaking his homeland, ignoring the pitiful and petty cripple as he climbed fruitlessly to the top of his mound.
He struck the pole unto the top of what he perceived to be a mountain. driving it deep unto the filth, nearly howling to his brothers to fight on, for the glory of their beloved emperor, for the glory of their city, of their sector, their planet. He was their Flagbearer. This was his duty.
He died atop that hill, his wounds overencumbering him. The planet was glassed 3 Earth hours later.
Glory To The God Emperor.