No Sabers No Glory

by OldDragoon

The Imperial Second Armored Cavalry Regiment is sent to Fishbach to fight the Chaos spawned Orcs. Warhammer 40K

No Sabers, No Glory

A Warhammer 40K Story

The truck groaned up the hill toward the outpost. Sergeant Elim Boroos sat in the cab with the driver and scanned the camp closely. There were bunkers, foxholes and gun emplacements ringing the place. Guards were visible in the four observation towers, as well as at intervals along the perimeter. He knew there would be standby gun crews in the bunkers and emplacements as well. He could see the gun barrels of two Leman Russ tanks dug into deep emplacements on the side they were approaching, ready to repel attackers. Near the gate, to one side were the burnt-out remains of a Chimera armored personnel carrier.

The gate swung open and they drove into the base. His eyes scanned for familiar faces. The truck pulled up in the center of the place in front of the command tent, which was surrounded by a tall wall of sand bags. He jumped down, grimacing at the pain that ran up his right leg, realizing he had to be careful about jumping around for a while.

The familiar odor of a field base, the smell of burning shit, vehicle fuel, cordite and an underlying scent of death nearby made him stop for a moment and collect himself. He could see the torn and smashed remains of a Salamander armored vehicle to one side. Blood and gore stained the driver's hatch. Jagged holes in the armor let light through. Grimacing, he turned away.

He walked to the rear of the truck and took his bag, being careful to put it on his good left shoulder, rather than his right. He limped up to the door of the headquarters and put his bag down. Just as he was about to enter a large man emerged and almost ran him over.

"Would you watch where the frack you are going?" the man growled, grabbing his shoulder roughly as they tripped over one another. He let out a cry at the pain that lanced through his shoulder, then his leg. The man stopped and jerked back in surprise.

"Boroos! By the Emperor, I am sorry," the large man said, stepping back.

He clenched his teeth, holding his shoulder.

"Did I injure you?" the man asked. He was a head taller than Boroos and half again as wide. First Sergeant Bruno was the top NCO of the unit and an old friend of Boroos's.

"No, my shoulder is just very sore still," he said.

"You should still be in the hospital," Bruno said.

He shook his head. "No, I was going mad. I needed to get back. By the looks of things not a minute too soon."

Bruno shook his head and grimaced.

"Well, it will do you no good if you reinjure yourself, but then you always were thick headed. As long as you are back I certainly can put you to work, though.

"How are the boys?" he asked.

"Your old platoon is under new guidance, but not many survived that frackup that almost got you killed. No, I have other work for you. Come on, though, get inside and let's have a cup of cafe and you can see the commander.

Bruno grabbed his bag and led him inside, kicking two sergeants he had not seen before out before ensconcing him in the best chair and getting him a large cup of the black shit that passed for cafe and, along with a shot of dark, brown whiskey.

"Is Flagg still captain?" he asked.

"Yeah, still kicking. He damn near bought it, though, got blown right out of a Chemira, the one by the gate. It was sneak attack just after we moved in here. He was the only survivor and walked away with nothing but a headache. The boys are calling him invincible."

"That's dangerous," Boroos said.

Bruno nodded and poured more whiskey into their cups, then more of the black cafe.

"But you know how superstitious they are. Anyway, I have a job for you . We are rebuilding the unit and I need a good platoon sergeant. There is a big op coming up soon and I need a good man with the new lieutenant. He came from Headquarters and is still somewhat green, but has a lot of energy. I need you to help him survive his first operation. The troops are tired, worn out and we need to keep them on their game."

Boroos laughed at him and the situation. Boroos had been fighting for years in armored units and had seen a unit in this state before. Men who had survived when others had not often developed a feeling of survivor's guilt. They could also become careless and that was dangerous for everyone.

"Well, it sounds like I have come back at just the wrong time, as usual," he said.

"Did I ever tell you about Geridon?"

"Yes, and if I were drunk I would listen again. As it is, I need to find a rack and something to eat before I go to work."

Bruno laughed this time and led him to where the senior NCO's had their billets in a sand-bag covered bunker near the center of the camp. Bruno left him to his own devices and returned to the headquarters tent. Looking around the small bunker he put his sea bag on an empty bed and then found something to eat at the mess hall before returning to the motor pool. His leg was hurting more now and he grimaced as he approached it, for more than one reason.

The Salamander armored recon vehicle had seen better days. The left track guard was gone; the personnel door at the back of the passenger compartment liked to spring open while moving and the transmission made ominous grinding sounds. Boroos shook his head and opened the engine access cover, eying the caked on black oil, sand and grit that had accumulated on the engine and the rest of the parts under it. The dust from the desert seemed to get into everything. He closed and latched it, then looked at the tracks, examining the blocks with an expert eye; of the ten he looked at four were in need of replacement and the rest needed new pads. The right-rear idler wheel seal had gone and axle grease seeped from it, staining the wheel and the armor around it.

His left leg was still stiff and his shoulder hurt, but he was pretty much in one piece; he figured if he were in the condition of the Salamander he would be flat on his back. He had, due to his injuries during the first day's fighting, been laid up. He had been lucky, he thought, as he limped around the vehicle to the rear. No one else in his Chimera had survived the missile that had entered the front of the vehicle and thrown him from it. Only luck had saved his life in the next hour as the medics found and evacuated him.

He had regained consciousness in the field hospital and screamed from the pain, scaring the nurse working on him into a scream of her own. They had pumped pain killers into him and he had retreated into a drugged haze as he had recovered.

While in his drugged out condition he had dreamed he was home working in the fields with his family when the Terinids came and killed them all while he watched. He had not , of course, but it was the worst of several nightmares he had had over the years, especially The worst injury was the burn to his left leg, which had also taken the longest to heal. He had almost died from the infection and fever, but his tough constitution and massive doses of antibiotics had saved his life. Now he was back with the unit, with a new vehicle, a new crew and most of the company dead or wounded, it seemed; there were a number of new faces in the camp.

Casting his eye into the crew compartment he found a nasty mixture of oil, grease, dirt, spent ammo, live ammo and bits and pieces of personal kit and some stuff he could not identify and was pretty sure he did not want to covered the bottom. It smelled like a garbage dump or worse. The paint was pealing in large patches and the hull mounted auto cannon looked like it had been disassembled and never put back together. Parts of it were piled on the commander's seat. There was literally no ammunition stored in the proper locations, but there were several boxes of field rations stowed where the second radio should have been mounted. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and counted to ten like his mother had taught him. "Never say something in anger that you will regret later," she would always tell him.

Of the pintel mounted heavy bolter that should have been present according to the manifest he had been given there was not present. The tarp, set of extra fuel and water cans, camouflage net and sponson mounted tools were all absent as well. He looked out at the desert and sighed. The unit had been on Fishbach for nearly six months; they had been the second unit on the ground after the light infantry scouts. The place was valuable for its ore and the bounty of its large seas, but almost nothing of note grew on land except a very nasty cactus that threw its thorns and the birds that nested in the cacti. They secured the spaceport for the follow on units after a nasty fight with a sizable force of Orcs and then they held the place until the heavier units could land. They had taken heavy losses in the fighting and more since, but they were still on the front lines. The light infantry that had been sent in first has been withdrawn for security duty in the rear, but the general seemed to think that they did not need a rest. After all, they rode into battle, while the infantry walked.

Normally the company had four platoons made up of six Sentinals, four Salamanders, two Chimeras and a mortar squad mounted either in another Salamander or a quad-truck. They were down to at most three Sentinals, two or three Salamanders per platoon, one Chimera and the mortar squads had long since been broken up to crew the other vehicles. There should have been almost 40 men to a platoon, but most could barely muster twenty and as to the war, there was no end in sight.

He walked slowly around to the rear of the vehicle and looked at the short crew of three. The driver was a small, lanky man with an over-sized nose, protruding eyes and had the nickname of Rat. The gunner, Felix by name and nicknamed Porky, had somehow, despite the exertions of campaigns, short rations and other adventures, managed to stay the shape of a pear, a fat one at that. The loader and radio operator was average in every respect, except for his singular lack of initiative and ability to sleep literally anywhere and at any time. This was the crew of One-Twelve, the numeric designation of the vehicle; they had not named it, as far as he could see. He stood in front of them, hawked and spat on the ground.

"Uh, Sarge, that ain't nice," Porky said.

"Did I put you at ease? Did I give you permission to talk? Did I?"

"No, no, Sarge," the large man said, his florid face becoming even redder.

"Well, then shut the frack up!"

He paced back and forth in front of them for a moment, looking at nothing in particular. Counting to ten did nothing for him.

"You are my new crew," he said, turning to look at them each in turn. "As your vehicle commander I am responsible for your sorry asses. You, in turn, are responsible for certain duties on our vehicle. As far as I can see none of you are very good at carrying out those duties. Never in all my years in the Guard have I seen a vehicle in such utterly distressing condition unless a bunch of orcs were using it and as we are short on orcs in camp, I assume this is your fault!"

He paused for affect and Porky started to say something but one look from Borroos was enough to shut him up.

"Yes, I know you have been on extended field duty, been shot at, and been lost, almost captured and then your commander, Corporal Anton, was killed. I know all of that, but you have been sitting on your asses here in base camp for two weeks since that ordeal. I see no repairs to the vehicle. No request on file for new parts, new tracks or a replacement heavy bolter. Nothing; you have been lying around on your asses waiting for something to happen. Well, it has!

"I have happened and if I don't see some action this afternoon I will have all of you in front of a very nasty Commissar I know explaining yourself out of a bullet to your heads. Is that clear?"

They were silent. Rat's eyes were bugging out even more than usual as the small man looked at him, a bit of drool running down his chin.

"I said is that clear?" he shouted.

"Yes sir!" they all said.

"Louder, your frackers!"

"Yes sir!" they shouted in unison.

"Good. Now, I want each of your to take a task."

He paused.

"Driver, I want you to go and see if there are replacements for the tracks and a other parts in supply, then order them," he said, standing close to the little man, who he discovered had a horrible problem with body odor. In the field that was permissible, but there were showers about, granted luke-warm, but not bad. "And once you do that go take a shower and put on a clean uniform!"

"Yes sir!" Rat said, a drop of sweat dropping off his nose.

"Now, Private Felix, where is your bolter?"

'Uh, at the armorer," he said.

"And the status of said bolter?"

"Broken."

"And why is it broken?"

He shrugged, "because a bullet hit it?"

"No, why is it still broken?"

"I dunno, sir," he said.

"Well, go find out. And tell the armorer that if I don't get my bolter back today I will come looking and he will not want that. Neither will you, understand?"

"Yes sir!" he said.

Nodding he turned to the last man.

"Now, you, my man, will find whatever cleaning materials you can and you will clean that orc-like vehicle behind you. Orcs would not even ride in that thing and when you two are done with your errands I want you back here helping him."

He took a deep breath and walked to the front of the group again. The Felix raised his hand just as he was about to dismiss them.

"Yes?"

"What will you be doin'?" he asked.

He froze for a moment and then smiled.

"I will be talking with the chief mechanic about our fine chariot here and checking in with the Captain. Then, as soon as I can I will be back to help you clean this thing and see how your projects are going. Now, have I accounted myself adequately?"

The gunner nodded with a smile and the man grimaced.

"Fall out and get your miserable carcasses in motion!" he shouted at them.

He was fairly certain none of the three would have moved as fast under fire as they did for the next few moments. He hawked, spat again and turned toward the unit's command post. Felix, the fat one, moved pretty well for his size, he noted, a smile that could only be seen as grim satisfaction on his face.

As he walked the unit's executive officer, Lieutenant Burby joined him. He saluted and the office returned it.

"You were pretty tough on them," he said.

"Have you looked at that vehicle?"

The officer nodded. "Last week and then I got dragged off to escort a supply column and forgot all about it. It is a mess. You know they are very lucky to be alive."

"I wonder how they made it," he said.

"Well, despite the condition of the vehicle they managed to get back to our lines. I honestly don't know all the facts, but none of the guns were working, the ammunition was gone and they are just about out of fuel when they pulled in. The track snapped while they were moving it into position. They brought back the body of their commander, too,"

The sergeant grunted and turned and looked at the ancient vehicle.

"Hell, it's got to be fifty years old."

"Try a hundred and fifty," Burby said with a wry chuckle.

"Probably with the original engine. Why don't we ever get anything new?" he asked, shaking his head.

They walked together over to the tent of the unit's chief vehicle mechanic and looked inside, seeing the man's boots sticking out off the end of the cot. The sergeant looked at the lieutenant, who shrugged and stepped back. With a quick motion he kicked the boots of the sleeping sergeant. With a grunt and then a shout the man was on his feet, looking out a the pair.

"What the...! Oh, it's you sir," he said, smiling ruefully.

"What are you doing sleeping during the middle of the day?" the lieutenant asked, bristling.

"Uh, the commander, he said to take a break."

"Oh, I guess it's OK then," Burby said. "Can you get someone to work on One-Twelve?"

"One-Twelve? It's a write-off sir," the sergeant said.

"Not anymore," Burby said. "The promised replacements are not coming in and we need it for a mission."

"Frack, now you tell me! Uh, Sir."

"Can you get someone on it? Send them to the Sergeant here for instructions."

"Yessir, I'll do that," he said, saluting the lieutenant.

"And then get some rest," Burby said, smiling and returning the salute before leading the sergeant the fifty feet to the headquarters tent.

The lieutenant allowed the sergeant to hold the flap of the headquarters tent aside for him. The sergeant followed him in, and they found themselves in the much cooler, if stuffy interior of the dark command tent. After a moment their eyes adjusted and at the table half way up the tent sat the commander of the Third Troop of the Artenian Second Armored Cavalry Regiment talking with the unit's senior sergeant. Two radio operators occupied seats at the front of the tent. The commander and his senior sergeant could not have been much different in appearance. Captain Flagg was a dapper, immaculately dressed man who looked too young to be away from his mother. He had a pencil thin mustache, closely cut hair and dark, serious eyes. His senior NCO, First Sergeant Bruno, was a bear of a man who dominated whatever space he was in. Standing taller than any other member of the company he was muscular and had a shaved, bullet head, a hook nose and full lips that always seemed to be set in some sort of snarl. Thinking his size and shape meant he was slow was quickly dispelled by the keen intelligence in his one gray eye. His left arm, left eye and foot were all prosthetics, the result of wounds gathered in his long service in the Artenian Second Armored Cavalry Regiment.

No one knew what had ever become of the First Armored Cavalry. It has simply sailed away on its transports and they and the regiment were never seen again. Whether swallowed up in the Warp or ambushed somewhere no one knew, but this was the second regiment raised. The bright yellow piping on their dark, gray coveralls and crossed sabers on their epaulets were a point of pride. Used in an economy of force role, they were usually the first to find the enemy and the unit to hunt down the last of the survivors. In between they protected the flanks and rear of the main force. In this case it meant being out here in the wilderness, two hundred miles from the spaceport, spread out and hoping to see the enemy before he saw them, then allow them to report and fall back. Each company had fifty miles of front to cover, plus patrols and supply runs between their positions and regimental headquarters to the rear. It left little time for maintenance, repair or anything else.

The captain and sergeant looked up as they entered and stood attention.

"At ease," the captain said. "Care for some cafe?" They both nodded and accepted cups of the dark, hot liquid and settled on overturned crates near the others.

"Well, old one-twelve has seen better days," the captain said, smiling at Boroos.

"I have seen better crews," the sergeant said.

"Now, don't be too hard on them," Bruno said, his voice a low growl like the engine of his tank. "Most wouldn't have brought even part of it back, let alone all of it. She is a good old girl, too; seen lots of action and keeps going."

"What about the gear and the tracks?"

"I sent the boys back for some rest and refitting and when they got back it had been stripped. The bolter is in for repairs and the parts for the main gun are on order. I think we have enough track to make that good. Requisition yourself what you need and we'll scrounge what you can't get."

"I have another vehicle for your section and we are getting some medical releases in tomorrow," captain Flagg said.

Elim drained his cup and looked at the three.

"I suppose I will just have to make a section out of them," the sergeant said, somewhat chagrined.

"Why do you think I picked you?" Bruno said, chuckling. "And, Burby here, the Captain has a surprise for you."

The captain nodded, noticing the nervous look on the young lieutenant's face.

"Regiment has detailed Lieutenant Joies to be the Colonel's aide, so I need a new First Platoon leader. You are it, but I won't have an executive officer any time soon, so you will have to do both jobs for now. Sergeant Boroos will be your senior NCO. I advise you two to get your act together, as I have you scheduled for a patrol tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning?' Burby asked, his eyes wide.

The captain nodded. "Now, you have your Chimera and support squad. Add them to the mix. There is a Hellhound and I think another old Chimera out in the track park. The replacements we got can fill in as crews. That will be your platoon for now. I want it ready in the morning, which means you have about twenty hours to get your shit together.

"Now, I think that is enough. Briefing at four hundred tomorrow morning. Get out of here and get to work," the captain said. He looked at them and said nothing. The sergeant and lieutenant looked at each other for a moment and then stood, saluted and marched out. They stopped short outside the tent and looked around.

"How the hell..." the lieutenant started.

"Not now. We have things to do. Follow me, sir!" the sergeant said, leading him to where his new crew was cleaning out their vehicle as two mechanics unloaded a new set of track blocks.

To one side was another Salamander that looked even worse than the other, with two road wheels off and a track on the ground. Four men worked around it. From the bustle emerged a tall, skinny figure with a huge grin on his face and limping badly. He wore only a pair of cut-off uniform pants and boots with no socks. A bright, red line of scar tissue ran up one side of his torso and disappeared around his back. His left leg was a prosthetic which clicked and whirred as he walked.

"Sir's, Corporal Tentsi reporting!" he said loudly, saluting the pair.

They returned the salute and Sergeant Boroos looked at the corporal.

"The last time I saw you you were dead,"he said.

"Just about, but the doc saved me. I'm good as new, if you include my new leg. I brought some others with me and we're fixin' old one-ten up. She needs a lot of work, but not as much as old one-twelve over there."

"I'll see about the rest of the platoon," Burby said and disappeared in the direction of the long line of vehicles to one side. Boroos followed the limping corporal back to the two Salamanders and helped the crews. He watched them as they worked. There were now ten of them among the two vehicles and it only took a moment for him to decide that Tentsi would command the other Salamander. He picked out a likely fifth for his vehicle, an older man that seemed to naturally take charge of the men as they worked. He needed a strong second as the senior NCO in the platoon. There were dark spots where corporal strips had once been on his uniform; he must have been busted at one time or another. The crew of one-twelve worked hard and as the sun reached its zenith and the heat increased he became less disillusioned with them.

The gunner had reassembled the auto cannon in the hull of the vehicle and dry fired it. The heavy bolter, looking like new, was mounted in the pintel as it should have been, covered by a new canvas cover. A pile of equipment, tools, canvas, water and fuel containers were piled at the rear of the newly washed track. The heavy and hard work of changing the tracks was underway and they all pitched in to turn bolts and help, stripped to the waist, cussing and sweating as they worked.

The mechanics who had appeared had the engine running better and had found that the transmission had a bad cam, which they were replacing to much complaining and grousing as they worked deep inside the vehicle. The chief mechanic was looking at the differential on One-Ten and shaking his head. Other than that One-ten was looking better. It had not been stripped, but the autocannon needed a new barrel and some other parts and it was apart on a canvas on the ground nearby.

The sound of growling engines heralded the arrival of the rest of the composite platoon.

The lieutenant had gathered whatever vehicles were not assigned to platoons, shanghaiing crews and supplies. The first was an ancient and rusty Hellhound with an autocannon in the hull. Next was a Chimera with an autocannon turret, followed by an standard infantry variant. The lieutenant was in the hatch of the autocannon turret. The vehicles pulled into a rough line with the rest of the vehicles and the crews climbed out.

Sergeant Boroos walked over as the lieutenant jumped down.

"What a mishmash, sir" he said.

The lieutenant grinned, then looked as the crewed unloaded. Most of a squad of infantry, eight men, got out of the Chimera and four from his Chimera. Four climbed out of the Hellhound.

"We need all the help we can get," he said.

Gathering the senior members of each crew around they went over the needs of the different crews. They all needed to top up ammo and fuel, water and food. Tasks were assigned and the area became a hive of activity. Sergeant Bruno arrived and aided the Hellhound crew in getting their beat-up, ancient machine together, appointing one of the crew as an acting corporal with the connivance of the platoon leader. He discovered that the Hellhound had a bad radio and sent for a tech to get that fixed. Chow was provided on site at the command of Bruno, with extra helpings for all, and they hardly stopped to eat.

Work continued through the afternoon, the men sweating freely as they prepared their vehicles for combat. One-Twelve was put to rights and Elim assigned an older man, a former corporal, as his assistant vehicle commander and had him supervise the crew as he and the lieutenant gathered maps, code books and other things they needed to lead the mish-mash of vehicles.

As night neared they distributed food and water and took a break. It was starting to look like a unit.

Bruno made another appearance toward dark and looked around, chewing on his cigar.

"You may just make it yet, you dogs," he growled.

"They'll do," Borroos said, handing the senior sergeant a cup of caff as he sipped his own.

"I think they may," Bruno said. "Make sure they all sleep. Are they ready for tomorrow?"

"As ready as the Emperor can hope for," he said.

"As the Emperor wills," Bruno said, smiling as he watched the newly minted scout platoon make ready for its first mission.

Four hundred hours was before dawn. The five vehicle commanders, including the lieutenant and the Elim, gathered in the command tent in front of a large map board. The captain and Sergeant Bruno were there. Bruno was in full combat gear.

"OK, your mission is a milk run, but you need something easy to get started out there," the captain said. Elim had heard that before, not trusting to the "intelligence" that had been sloughed together by the regimental headquarters.

"There is a report of a few orc cycles harassing supply convoys and couriers in the rear areas. Not many, just two or three, but it could be more serious. I need you to sweep the desert here and here." He indicated two broad swaths of desert on either side of the supposedly secure supply road back to the headquarters seventy clicks to the rear.

"It is assumed that they have holed up in one of the old way stations off the road somewhere that they can see activity from, then come in and attack, then disappear. I would stay pretty much in sight of the road, or at least near it. I have prepared data slates for each crew and you should all familiarize yourself with the terrain.

"If you run into more than you can handle call for help and fall back. Report all hostile contacts immediately. There will be artillery support on call and maybe even air cover if you are lucky. Any questions?"

"How many of the bikes did they say, sir?" one of the sergeants asked.

"Three to six, according to reports. They are not heavily armed, just stubbers and some flamers, so you should be able to handle them."

Elim frowned. He had fought orcs before and they were slippery characters, good at scrounging and surviving. They would be out scavenging wrecked vehicles and equipment looking for heavier weapons and maybe more vehicles. He did not like the odds, but then he was not giving the orders.

As they left the briefing he drew the lieutenant aside.

"Look sir, we have to be careful out there. Orcs are nasty and may seem dumb, but they are crafty. No charging off attacking them. Make contact, fix and lead them into a fire trap. That is how we will survive this," he said.

The lieutenant nodded, thoughtful. "If we can find their area of operation we can pre-plot some artillery and draw them in. Maybe even get a few with mines."

"Exactly my thought. I'll get a few crates of mines before we mount up."

He found four crates of 24 mines each behind the company ammo dump and had a crate loaded into each vehicle. They were already crowded with ammo, supplies and people, but soldiers rarely complained about too much ammo. Giving the lieutenant the thumbs up they moved out into the gathering dawn under radio silence. The unit rarely used radios when hand and arm signals or standard operating procedures worked just as well. He led his section out first, his Salamander to the left, the other to the right. The Chimeras formed the center of the formation and the Hellhound formed a rear guard. It also towed a trailer of fuel with cans of water tied to the sides. It would drop the trailer in combat, but they needed the extra supplies.

The small unit made good time paralleling the main supply route just out of sight, looking for signs of the orc bikes or other signs of the large, dangerous greenish humanoids. The morning wore on and as the sun reached its zenith and the wind picked up they pulled into the lee of a hill and put out pickets. The lieutenant and he had picked out a location higher than most the surrounding terrain with a high hill to their back. Two men with binoculars and a hand held radio formed an observation post on top of the hill, with two more men in a position to the right where they were screened by a low rise. No one could sneak up on them. They stayed in place until it was nearly dark, spelling the outposts each hour. Nothing showed up, not even a vehicle on the supply route.

As darkness fell they moved out to the east again, this time in a tighter formation, no lights on, guided by the infrared goggles they used in night operations. They had been moving an hour when a double click came over the vox and they stopped and took up an all-around security position while the sergeant and lieutenant went forward for a closer look. Orcs were good at hiding out here and in this case it would be fatal to run into them unprepared. They could see almost an even dozen huddled around a fire. There were six bikes of various types and sizes. One orc stood on a hill, silhouetted by the fire, on guard. The rest were intent on eating. Elim did not want to know what they were eating, but could imagine.

"Call in artillery? he whispered to the lieutenant.

He nodded and they carefully plotted the orc position before moving back and getting the portable vox and four men for security. The vehicles had shut down and they could hear the orcs from where they stood. They were downwind, which had helped mask their approach, along with the hill. Even if they had heard them they would probably have thought they were on the supply route, which was about a kilometer to the south, but they had still been lucky.

Getting them into position to block the orcs if they made a break for it was impossible as they could not cover all sides, so they settled for a loose semi-circle to the west, all of the vehicles hidden and back. Once they were in position they moved forward again. The orc sentry was sitting down now, eating something.

"Firebase One three, this is Scout One One, over," the lieutenant said in a low voice into ther vox.

The firebase was ready and willing. Orcs in the open was just too good to pass up.

The call for fire went in, fire for effect was requested, as the orcs would be on their bikes if they tried to adjust fire. The first round from the Earthshaker hit perfectly, destroying most of the bikes and killing a number of orcs outright. As more shells fell the orcs were decimated. Two managed, somehow, to get on one of the bikes and take off, the huge, ungainly machine spewing sand about as they ran from the fire. Unfortunately for their chances of survival they charged directly into the autocannon on Salamander One-Twelve and Felix found their range quickly, along with the bolter. The bike exploded in a fireball, one of the orcs disintegrating with it as the other was turned into a living torch that was dispatched with a burst of bolter fire. In moments it was over, the only sound the snap and bang of ammunition cooking off among the destroyed orcs and their rides. The sentry had been killed by a chance piece of shrapnel that laid him out.

With shouts and cheers the men stood and celebrated their bloodless victory. It had been a textbook operation to that point.

Elim stopped and cocked his head to one side and looked to the north. There, out of the desert, roared a dozen heavy orc war bikes and behind them came more orcs on foot all bent on avenging their fallen comrades. Before he could do a thing they had fired on the Hellhound and struck its cargo of ammunition or promethium and exploded in a huge fireball. After a second of shock the the Imperial cavalrymen started returning fire. Two of the men with them ran for their vehicles but a huge orc vehicle drove them down, the orcs on the vehicle laughing until a missile from one of the Chimeras hit the vehicle and exploded it in a shower of metal and orc parts. Fire laced the night and the battle quickly turned into complete chaos. The orcs did not fight in any organized way, but attacked and circled wildly. Two of the bikes collided in a massive crash, fire climbing into the air. The orcs on foot charged forward, heedless of the fire of the cavalry vehicles, firing their huge, crude bolters and pistols, many armed with only huge hammers and axes, trying to close with the cavalry.

"Call fire!" he yelled at the lieutenant.

"But, our men!"

"They are dead if we don't he yelled, firing his lass rifle and killing an orc that had seen them and charged. A bike turned and charged toward them, the gunner on the back firing volleys of wildly inaccurate fire as they came on, but one of the bullets hit one of the last two men with them, blowing him in half. A lucky shot by Elim killed the driver and the bike turned too sharp and rolled, the gunner flying through the air, landing at Elim's feet, where he killed it with a round to the head.

Salamander One-Ten was almost overwhelmed by a crush of orcs, but they pulled away, firing as they went, running down several. One-twelve was moving and firing, its crew trying to keep the orc machines in front of it. The Lieutenant's chimera's turret was causing great havoc as the other Chimera charged through and throng, crushing a bike as it made its way toward them.

"Yes, on my position, now! We are being overrun! I don't care! We will get out of the way, just fire!"

The Chimera pulled up, putting itself between them and most of the enemy and the door opened. They threw themselves in and the vehicle took off. The gunner at the left sponson bolter fell, his head blown off, and Elim grabbed it and riddled the bike that was bedeviling them with fire, making it tumble and crash. He gunned down two orcs that were trying to fire a missile at them and then another three who were charging the rear of one-twelve. Over the vox he heard the lieutenant telling them to scatter just as he heard the scream of the first shells. All hell broke loose then as the shells fell in a wide dispersement pattern, killing orcs and lighting up the night. They charged away from the fight as fast as they could as more shells fell.

"Yes, to the north, move the shelling north!" he heard the lieutenant. There were several secondary explosions and more artillery fire fell. He saw One-ten break free of the fight, its guns firing to the rear. In the center of the fight was On-Twelve, its left track off, its guns blazing as the orcs charged it.

"Give it everything you have!" the lieutenant yelled and as the shells fell and One-Twelve disappeared behind a wall of fire and smoke. Then they were out of it and into the desert. No orcs followed and they circled around, finding One-ten and the other chimera in the dark after a short search. There was no sign of one-twelve and no one thought there would be. They hunkered down, treated their wounded and reloaded weapons, but other then the distant sound of some orc engines and the fires that remained, the battle was over.

No one slept the rest of the night, what there was left. Finally, dawn came and they looked back toward the battleground. Over a large area were scattered orcs, pieces of vehicles, pieces of orcs and the shattered, burned out remains of the hellhound. In the center sat the hulk of one-twelve, holed and battered, its track still on the ground, surrounded by dead orcs and pieces of orc equipment.

Dismounting, Elim and the lieutenant walked wordlessly toward what they were sure was the remains of the crew. As they neared Felix popped up and aimed his lass rifle at them, his eyes wide.

"Oh, it's you, sir" he said.

Rat and the other crew members stood up then, looking at them. They were all wounded to one degree or another, burnt from fire and almost deaf, but they had survived. One-twelve was nearly wrecked, with a sprocket off on the left side, the track mangled. Holes from heavy rounds had holed the armor and oil had pooled under the engine compartment. The lass rifle barrel was half gone and the bolter lay on the ground by the vehicle. Rat was liberally covered with blood, but it looked like it was from a number of small wounds that covered most of his torso, none life threatening. Porky had a head wound and had a bandage over most of his head, only one eye showing.

Elim stopped and stared.

"How, how?" he could not finish his question.

"We played dead," Rat said, grinning his crooked grin. "With the artillery and all they took off or was killed. They left us for dead, I guess."

He shook his head. There were at least twenty orcs within fifty feet of the vehicle, all showing signs of artillery or bolter fire. He turned and saw, not ten feet away, the protruding end of a huge artillery shell. If it had not been a dud the vehicle and crew would have been disintegrated when it went off.

"So, what do you think of them now, sergeant?" the lieutenant asked as they watched one of the Chimera's crew hook a tow cable to the mangled Salamander.

"Lucky sons of bitches or Emperor protected, I don't know, but they did us right last night, they sure did." The crew smiled through their wounds and fatigue and climbed into the Chimera as the medic started looking them over.

A relief column lead by Sergeant Bruno met them not far away. He took off north, looking for the survivors of the previous night's melee, smiling as he did.

The captain met the unit as it pulled in, congratulating each man.

"Good job, all of you," he said, shaking each man's hand.

"We lost the Hellhound and crew," Elim said.

"They died serving the Emperor and took a lot more orcs with them. How many would you say did you get?"

"I counted at least fifty," the lieutenant said.

"Intelligence just reported a company size element attacking the Third Company to the north yesterday. I think that is who you hit. Sergeant Bruno will get the rest, but you did a good job of softening them up."

He looked ad one-twelve then, with the crew climbing out of the Chimera.

"That old bullet magnet made it?"

"Yeah, about time she went out to pasture," Elim said.

"That was my first track," the captain said. "You treat the crew good too. They saved my skin more than once." With that he walked over and started slapping the crew on the back and they smiled, even though being touched hurt even more.

Elim stood there, mouth open as the captain bestowed his old crew a hearty welcome.

"You'll catch flies that way," the lieutenant said, laughing as he walked toward the dining hall.

The small, burrowing animal, looking like a lizard with feathers, climbed into its den and curled up as the machines drove by. As they disappeared into the distance it poked its head out, scanning for more of the noisy, deadly creatures that had lately invaded its neighborhood. When it heard nothing it stepped out into the sun, only to be snatched up by a large, green hand and eaten whole by the hungry beast. It did not even have time to cry out.

The group of orcs, twenty of them, all of them hungry and thirsty, made their way through the rocks, hugging the edge of the escarpment where the armored vehicles would not go. Most of them were wounded and carried only large axes and clubs, with a few bolters among them. Jugger, the orc in front was the largest and meanest looking with several human skulls hanging from his belt and carrying a clan totem.

Juggers stopped and looked around, growling to himself. The human armor had destroyed the entire raiding force of Bigga Boss Hyutsing. He had led a group of five orc machines in the raid behind enemy lines, accompanying Hyutsing and his bunch. They had done well in the first raids, destroying human trucks and supplies and gathering a large cache of loot in the caves they had found.

Then, last night one of their patrols had been ambushed by the humans and they had gone to rescue them. The human scum armor had fought back fiercely. Bigga Boss had been killed when the booby trapped vehicle had exploded. The rest of the raid was a disaster and then the artillery had fallen. More had died. Finally, they lost the humans in the dark and turned back toward the caves.

They had barely limped into the caves when the damn tanks showed up, firing their cannons right into the mouth of the cave, burying half of the remaining orcs and killing many more. None of the vehicles had survived and only the fiercely burning fires at the front of the caves had allowed them to escape into the rocks. Artillery and tank rounds harassed them as they retreated and more died. Of over a hundred orcs only these twenty remained and they were almost at the end of endurance, which was saying something for orcs.

One of the orcs pointed up and shouted something that he never heard. Just then bolter rounds started hitting the rocks and throwing fragments through the orcs. Screaming and yelling some fell and some ran. One was hit by a round and blown apart, covering Juggers with blood and offal. He roared in anger and ran, the aircraft screaming overhead. Suddenly rockets started hitting the rocks above them and boulders fell. Rock dust covered the area. Juggers fell and hit his huge head and everything went dark.

He woke to twilight. It took him a few moments to get up. He looked around. The only sign of the other orcs were a few limbs sticking out from under rocks. It was deathly silent. Groggy, hungry and thirsty he realized he could only see out of his left eye. He examined his head as well as he could and found he simply had no right eye any longer. Groaning he started to move in the direction of the Orc lines. He was too tired to watch where he was walking and suddenly he found himself looking down the barrel of a heavy bolter and several laser rifles. He stopped and stared for a moment before letting out a frightful roar and charging. The bolter fired and he disappeared in a welter of blood.

Sergeant Bruno spit over the side of the Leman Russ tank and grinned his lop sided grin. The orcs had been massacred; none had made it out of the badlands they had stumbled into when their raid had gone bad. He called the unit together and they moved off toward the company camp as he whistled. The composite platoon that they had sent out had done exactly what they had hoped, brought the enemy out of their hiding place. A larger force with tanks would never had been able to locate them, as they would have hidden. The lighter armor, though, was not as threatening. The problem was that the orcs still did not have the measure of the Cavalry and he wondered if they ever would.

Borroos leaned back against the side of the Salamander and nursed his coffee. He was clean, fed and tired. The rest of the crew had worked to fix all of the damage that had been incurred in the battle a few days before. Lieutenant Burby had been working as well and Boroos could hear him snoring in his tent nearby. They had added another orphan, a Salamander with a light mortar mounted in the back and a flamer in place of the auto-cannon. It was a strange vehicle and needed work, but the light mortar would come in handy, as would the flamer.

They had named One-Twelve Old Faithful and One-Ten Ripper. The new one had the name Merry Day on it, whatever that meant. The crew was, like the others, a scraped together group of troopers. They had grown to twenty now and were, along with the rest of the troop, preparing to spearhead the long awaited attack into the orc held hills to the west. The main battles to the south were over, the orc host there crushed and the general could now turn his attention to the entrenched enemy to the west.

To accomplish this, the captain had explained, he had deployed five armored regiments, ten infantry, plus heavy artillery and air. The regiment would move forward, make contact with the orcs, fix their locations and relay them back to the follow-on units. They would then allow the armor and infantry to pass through and move to the flanks, one squadron to the north, one to the south and the third, theirs, to the rear, where they would form a rear guard for the Seventh Field Army (Heavy) headquarters and trains. The troops were happy with this assignment. They needed rest and this would afford them that opportunity.

Borroos and Bruno had had a drink earlier and discussed fears that things would not go as planned. They rarely did and when the shit hit the fan the cavalry was usually the one to go and clean it up. Being in the rear would make them a perfect fire brigade. Well, they had done it before and would again, so they just shrugged and finished their drinks.

He had just dozed off when someone cleared his throat at the rear of the track and he looked up.

Colonel Olden, the Regimental commander stood here, along with the captain. He struggled to stand and the colonel held out his hand.

"Stay right there, sergeant, you have earned it. I just came by to tell you how proud we all are of you and your men. Good job out there the other night."

"We all serve as we can," he said, a little groggy.

"That we do, Borroos. Well, if things go right we will finally get a little rest in a few days," the colonel said. "This company, especially, needs some rest, so I am making you the regimental reserve for the mission. How does that sound?"

"Fine with me, sir," he said. "My men will like that."

"Get some rest. We have a lot to do in the next few days," the colonel said, returning his salute and turning away with the captain.

Felix poked his head up over the side of the track and looked after the colonel.

"That the commander?" he asked.

"Yes, Felix, it is," he answered, trying to get comfortable again.

"I thought he would be taller," Felix said and disappeared.

Elim shook his head and smiled. Felix was a good gunner, but some of the stuff the man said.

MOVEMENT TO CONTACT

Fueled, armed and as repaired as they ever would be, the vehicles of the 2nd Armored Cavalry moved out under a cloudless sky toward the west. Moving in a V formation, with two squadrons up front and one to the rear with trains further back yet, they advanced on a wide front toward the hills a fifty kilometers to the west. the approach was restricted by two things, the mountains to the north and badlands, scarred, boulder strewn hills and ridges to the south. They moved quickly at first, then more slowly, bonding from what cover there was to the next, over-watched by their sister vehicles, probing for the orc positions intelligence said were there.

In the rear moved Captain Flagg, Sergeant Bruno and the rest of the troop, in much the same formation as the rest of the regiment, just on a smaller scale. They were the reserve and rear guard at the same time, shepherding the trains while providing a fire brigade if one was needed. The troopers all wore dust masks and goggles as they moved out. The amount of dust that several hundred armored vehicles stirred up was horrendous. In the center of the troop was the armored platoon, a group of five Leman Russ pattern tanks, not the ten they should have had, commanded by Sergeant Bruno, as there was no officer to command it and few had the number of years commanding a Leman Russ as Bruno did.

The captain rode in the van in an old, beat up Hellhound mounting extra radios and a pair of heavy bolters. Above them screamed fighter bombers on the way to harass the enemy, invisible in the night sky. He looked around as his unit and thought of all the men and their lives and felt proud and scared at the same time. He dared not fail them.

Elim and his platoon formed the far left part of the formation, just keeping the platoon to the right in sight as they moved forward, the large transports of the trains making huge clouds of dust to the rear. He was glad they were not behind them; the dust out where he was was bad enough. The rumble and vibrations of the vehicle would have lulled him into sleep if it were not for his apprehension about their current advance. Orcs had a nasty way of surprising their enemies. He could only hope that that was not the case that morning.

At the front of the cavalry's advance was Captain Keene, the commander of Troop A, the Aces. Like the rest of the companies he was understrength, but less than the rest, which was why they had been placed in the vanguard. Keene was a tall, stolid man with a large mustache and bright, blue eyes. His beard and hair had long since gone steel gray. He rode in a heavily modified and up-engined Salamander mounting twin bolters on the pintel and bristling with radio antennas. He had augmented his crew with an anti-armor team and a flamer team for this mission. He figured he needed all the help he could get.

Orcs he knew how to fight, having faced them many times, so he was confident of his unit's ability to hold its own for the short time it would have to, but there were always things one did not anticipate in war. One thing that made him nervous was that they had not pushed small patrols out very far toward the mountains for over a month. What mischief had the damn orcs been up to in that time? They were getting close. The edges of the first rocky cliffs were only two kilometers away.

He had his night vision goggles on and was scanning when he thought he saw something in front of them. What was that? A line in the desert that should not have been there.

Then he realized what it was and screamed for the unit to stop, but it was too late for a number of vehicles that slammed into the deep ditch in front of them, metal screaming and men flung out and up from the vehicles. All along the front it was the same and then the rounds started to come in. A rain of bombs, artillery and mortar shells came down, bracketing the stalled advance. Most missed badly, but enough hit that there were burning vehicles scattered all along the trench and the screams of the wounded and cries for medics echoed. Some vehicles returned fire, even though they could see nothing of the enemy. Rockets streaked out of the darkness, targeting the sources of the tracers and more than one hit home. He was screaming for a cease fire when a round landed in the very center of the open vehicle's crew compartment and killed everyone on board instantly.

In the chaos that his death brought his senior sergeant and executive officer finally got the unit to pull back out of the artillery barrage far enough to call the engineers, which were not far behind, forward to bridge the trench. The damage had been done, though. The units piled up and stopped, the advance ground to a halt.

Large engineering vehicles, bridges mounted on their backs, trundled forward and pushed bridges out and across the trenches, some taking hits even as they pulled back. The cavalry started forward, engines revving. Just as the lead elements crossed there was a huge, undulating call from the other side and hundreds of huge orcs rose up from their concealed and covered holes in the ground and fell upon the first vehicles, cutting the crews apart as their comrades fired into their ranks. Bolters, flamers, auto cannons and laser rifles fired into the mass of charging orcs who used the bridges to attack the vehicles in a massive wave.

The colonel had just reached the front when it happened and for a moment was frozen in horror. Then he went into action, calling up the entire reserve and calling artillery on the trench and area behind it. Men were dying and vehicles exploding from improvised bombs as the rest of the unit charged forward and started firing. The dawn came slowly, showing the carnage of dead orcs, burning vehicles and dead cavalrymen.

Elim heard the call and they sped forward, the engines of the Salamanders and other vehicles screaming as they charged toward the combat that was becoming louder by the moment. He had no idea what had happened in the van of the advance, but whatever it was it was not as planned. They turned and swept to the west, skirting the slower artillery and other transport. Dawn was just arriving when he saw a cloud of dust coming from the left and picked up his mag glasses to see better what was coming. Orcs, dozens, maybe hundreds of orc vehicles charging toward the flank. Where had they come from?

"Break, break!" he shouted over the vox. "Orc vehicles coming in from the west, many of them!"

There was a shocked silence and then the captain's voice came over the vox.

"Company, wheel left and take up positions blocking their advance.

The captain voxed the colonel, who suddenly understood the enemy and their tactics. The bulk of the regiment was engaged to the front against the infantry while the vehicles were encircling them.

"Pull back!" he commanded. All units fall back to phase line Blue! Now, break it off and fall back as fast as you can. We have flanking orcs to the west!"

He grabbed most the headquarters unit and took off to the rear and the west, attempting to locate the orc incursion to best position his unit.

More cavalry died as they attempted to disengage, but most of them got away, their nimble vehicles leaving the orcs in the dust as they moved back toward Phase Line blue, which marked a sunken creek bed to the rear, the first place there was cover to use in a defense.

Elim and the rest of the company prepared for a desperate defense. the captain asked for and got priority fire from the artillery units and soon rounds started to impact among and around the orc vehicles and while some were destroyed the vast majority kept coming. There was a roar of engines to the rear and he turned to see the entire contingent of Leman Russ tanks charging up to take positions among the company vehicles and in moments their massive guns were lobbing shells into the enemy formations, killing orcs by the dozen, but there were plenty where that came from. As they approached range the bolters and other guns opened up, throwing more death into the formations, but it soon became apparent they were not going to be able to stop the tide.

With grinding gears and growls from their engines the tanks backed up, firing as they went, taking up new positions. The lighter cavalry vehicles then fell back between them. They never stopped firing. The artillery continued to fall. Now the orcs were firing and One-Ten took a hit on its side, killed most of the crew outright. The rest were wounded and climbed out and into one of the chimeras just as another orc shell hit the battered salamander and set it ablaze.

The colonel and his headquarters vehicles, four chimeras, roared up and took the enemy under fire as well.

A chimera went up in a ball of fire and then one of the other platoons lost its platoon leader. Men fell wounded or dead at their guns, their comrades taking over for them. They continued their leapfrog retreat, punishing the orcs as much as they could, but the orcs kept coming, weapons spitting death and closing with the cavalry. Suddenly there was a new sound above and fighter-bombers screamed in, firing guns and missiles into the packed formations of orc vehicles, causing huge damage and finally slowing the assault, though several vehicles continued on, some with both orcs ablaze, their guns continuing to throw rounds at the cavalry.

With a final wave of tank and heavy bolter fire the surviving orc vehicles were obliterated. The plain for several kilometers was a panorama of burning orc vehicles, dead orcs and craters. Another troop salamander and a chimera were burning, their crews dead. A Leman Russ had lost a track and the tank commander was dead. The regimental commander reoriented the unit, calling in artillery to clear the orc infantry while fighter bombers strafed them. Engineer units were coming forward and under cover of two troops started bridging the trench for the following units. Only a few orcs fired on the engineers and a few rounds from the tanks and some artillery silenced even this fire.

To the rear Elim and his troopers, as they screened the southern flank, could see the long lines of chimeras, tanks and other vehicles. Soon the front line had passed and they relaxed and started replenishing their ammunition and fuel. The troop was even shorter people and vehicles than before and was assigned guard duty over the rear support trains, along with anther troop from the regiment. The captain was given overall command of the two troops and put them into small lagers of two vehicles in a wide circle around the trains, carefully setting up pre-planned fires for the artillery and air cover before retiring to the back of his Chimera for some well-earned rest.

That afternoon they learned that the massed attack by the orcs was basically their last gasp; only sporadic opposition was encountered in the foothills and the final assault on their mountain stronghold would take place in the morning. The battle that morning had broken the back of the orcs, the General had declared and he pushed his victorious army forward.

It was one in the morning when Sergeant Bruno woke everyone up and implemented Plan Alpha, which was a plan to put all of the firepower of the two truncated troops to the west, facing the battle. They woke up, rubbing sleep from their eyes and with the usual aplomb of such troops, moved with alacrity into their assigned slots, weapons ready. The mortars, illumination rounds prepared, were on standby.

"What's up?" Elilm asked as the unit leaders gathered in the center of the line, where the captain's chimera was hull-down behind a berm of sand.

The captain looked about him, his mouth a thin line.

"Well, we all seem to be here. Good job getting into position. It looks like it was a trap; the orcs have sprung one on the main force and they are fighting hand to hand. They are behind them too, so we are prepared to repel any incursion. The trains are also on alert and I consulted with the trains commander, who is placing his men and what firepower they have at the flanks and rear.

"Army command has devolved to Colonel Temis, as the General seems to have gone missing or dead. No one knows. Keep your heads down, your ears on and your guns ready. The rest of the regiment is forming to the south, hoping to make a spoiling attack into the flank of any incursion toward us. We need to hold the orcs long enough for them to get at them."

He looked around. They were a hard bitten group, survivors of some horrific battles. Would any of them be alive in the morning?

"The Emperor protects!" he said, making the sign of the Aquila. They echoed him and made the sign as well, then turned and went back to their units. There was nothing more to say. Their guns would do the talking.

As battle went in the unending war between the forces of Chaos and the Imperium, the battle that night was not a large one, but it was bloody and desperate. It did not even have a name. The orcs had infiltrated behind the 501st Provisional Army commanded by newly promoted General Harpen, a former aide of the system's Lord General. To all appearances the orcs had been all but wiped out. They had put up a desultory defense, falling back into the mountains, where they had set themselves up in a fortress dug deep into the rock. The army, made up of three armored regiments and their supporting units and four of infantry mounted in armored personnel carriers, was preparing for an assault in the morning. The tanks would use their guns to blast the fortifications on the heights while the infantry made a ground assault. Artillery and air cover would assist in the assault, of course. The support units were very close to the front lines, filling the fuel tanks and ready to replenish the magazines of the tanks. They were drawn up in long lines as if on parade, only a few feet separating them, their crews asleep on or under them. Most of the tanks were the same. All was ready for the morning.

The assault never happened. Orcs appeared in the rear and among the tanks and trucks, more poured out of the mountains, supported by a phalanx of their strange and noisy vehicles, armed with bolters and rocket launchers. More than a thousand of the guard died in the first few moments. Tanks exploded, men died and then an ammunition truck exploded and set off a chain reaction. A huge explosion and fireball erupted in the rear of the army, slaughtering the crews of the trucks and killing many of the assaulting orcs at the same time. It was actually one of the things that saved the army from complete destruction, as the entire rear assault force of the orcs was either incinerated in the fireball or killed by the shrapnel resulting from the blast.

This gave the rearmost imperial units a moment to reorient and take up arms, allowing them to hold the orc press off for a few precious moments while the survivors of the forward units fell back and reorganized. The battle was not over, but the surviving ranking officer, the General having been killed in his command track when an orc satchel charge detonated the magazine, was able to form a ring of steel that resisted all efforts by the orcs to penetrate it. The mass of the orcs bypassed this ring and flowed on, charging toward the rear of the main imperial army. The only thing in in the way was the 2nd Armored Cavalry Regiment,

The motto of the regiment was First Up, Last Back and they lived up to it that night. The regiment had been assigned the southern flank of the army and now found itself cut off from the main army by a horde of orcs. In the center and back ten kilometers were two troops guarding the main Army trains. They found themselves in the path of an orc army outnumbering them twenty to one. The orcs came on, screaming and shooting into the air, vehicles belching smoke and fumes, guns belching bullets. Rockets flew into the cavalry positions, bullets into men, but they fired back. Mortars fired illumination rounds, lighting up the mass of orcs. If they had not known that the man next to men needed them the men of the two troops would have turned and run on the spot facing the massed enemies, but they stood and fired. One chimera blew up and then a salamander followed. The small reserve, two salamanders manned by walking wounded, roared into the gap and met the orcs head on, killing them by the dozen as they stormed the position.

Artillery fell among the orcs, but it was not enough. Men fell and guns fell silent as orc shells, badly aimed as they were, still found targets among the cavalry. The mass pressed forward and they were firing at point blank range now.

Out of the darkness to the rear came two chimeras, painted black and green. From them disgorged twenty heavily armored figures carrying hell guns. At their head was a tall, massive man in the uniform of an Imperial Commissar. He carried a huge power axe and a bolter pistol. His eyes blazed as he lead his troops into the orcs, slaying them as he screamed out a battle prayer. The cavalry troopers cheered and, drawing their swords and pistols, followed him into the press. A huge orc, carrying a massive hammer and wearing red armor charged the commissar, only to have his right arm severed and then his head. The orcs nearby, seeing their champion felled lost heart and fell back. The troopers charged, the commissar and his men at the head and the charge broke, if only for the moment.

From the rear came a monstrous bellow and a new Orc champion appeared, even larger and fiercer than the first. He picked up an orc that was fleeing the commissar and literally threw him, knocking the commissar down. Only heroic efforts from his men saved him from the renewed onslaught. The troopers were caught out of their vehicles and several fell before they could regain their cover.

Several of the black armored men were down now, even their hell guns not enough to stop the press of orcs. Out of the night came the sound of engines and the rest of the regiment charged into the flank fo the orc horde, guns blazing as they fired everything they had into the mass. The orcs turned to meet this new threat and the sound of battle reached a new crescendo. There were more and more orcs coming out of the night and not more troopers to be had. The commissar was back up, directing his men and calling for support.

There were just too many of the orcs and even the weight of the regimental fires, depleted as they were from the long campaign, and was not enough to hold them forever. Huge orc war machines appeared from the gloom, firing their ungainly guns into the cavalry lines and they began to sag. Cavalry for all its firepower was not meant to stand toe to toe with heavy enemy units and fight it out. They were meant for scouting, hit and run and pursuit. Orc infantry got in among them and more troopers died.

Out of the night came a scream and thunder and two strange, huge gunships appeared, spewing death into the orcs ad they dropped their payload among the cavalry lines. Men, no, more than men, appeared from drop capsules and with the cry "For the Emperor!" met the orcs with bolters, flamers and chain swords. They wore strange armor and towered over the tallest cavalrymen, their leader even taller, carrying a huge battle hammer that crackled with energy. He waded into the enemy and faced the huge orc leader, who, with a cry that shook the ground, attacked. The two titans met and exchange blows, the huge scimitar of the orc, cracking with malevolent energy, meeting the hammer with a crash. Bolts of power shot out all around, killing many or the nearby orcs.

"Astartes?" asked the lieutenant as he stood in the back of the battered Salamander with Boroos, his own vehicle in flames, his arm in a sling.

"I believe so, but I've only seen them in picture," Boroos said, smiling and loading a new belt into the bolter the lieutenant had been firing.

Over the com came a new voice.

"Men of the Guard, we are here to succor you! Advance with us and we will eliminate this pestilence"

"The Regiment will Advance!" came the call over the com and with a ragged cheer those that could advanced with the giant armored warriors. With a stroke of the huge hammer the Astartes leader smashed the head of the orc in and it fell. The orcs turned to run, but they were too slow. The Astartes and the cavalry took them as fast as they could and they died.

The planet Laque was a huge, brown dusty globe with large, pale ivory ice caps and two huge, saline seas. Down the spine of one continent ran a huge range of peaks. It was a mining world, needed for its huge deposits of minerals and metallic ores. Mammoth dust storms raged across the surface of the planet where they touched land and made swirling cloud formations over the seas. There was green only at the edges of the continents and in some mountain valleys, but it was hard to see from orbit.

Sergeant Elim Boroos stood in the view-port of the Imperial Transport "Emperor's Will" and grimaced. It looked like a bad place, but then they were rarely sent places that were good to visit. Orcs had come to Laque a year before with a huge fleet and taken it from the undermanned garrison, killing whoever they could. Responding with all due speed the sector command, under Lord General Haque had attacked to take the planet back. That had been six months before and the war was still raging.

The Artenian Second Armored Cavalry Regiment had been called in to help clean up the last of the orc infestation. They accompanied two regiments of heavy infantry and one of tanks on the same transport. These units, plus another two tank regiments and one of light infantry and one of artillery made up the 551st Provisional Field Army, which was to take the western portion of the main continent. All indications were that the orcs there were present in a smaller concentration than they had been around the main cities and the 551st would be able to remove them.

Behind him the officers and NCO's of the Regiment were gathering for a final briefing before dropping to the planet. Captain Flagg, who was standing next to him turned quickly and he followed. The regimental commander must be on his way. He was not wearing a communicator yet, but the captain was.

Boroos felt himself lucky to be under Flagg's command. They had served in three deployments together now, starting out as one of his vehicle crew. They, through attrition, risen in rank, though he had been busted once, so was no longer Flagg's top sergeant. Bruno had had distinction and Boroos did not envy him the job. No, platoon sergeant was fine with him.

The commander entered and they all snapped to attention. Olden was a good man and had risen from a lieutenant to commander of the regiment in his tenure. He was scarred, with an augmented eye and missing two fingers on his left hand. Other wounds had scarred him as well, but not all were physical, they all knew. His brother and cousin had died serving in the Regiment. He stepped up to a low dais and looked around.

"At ease!" he said, smiling a crooked smile.

They relaxed, but most of it was minimal.

"We are dropping in one hour. I know we are as ready as we can be, but we also have news. The Orcs have reinforced and attacked, so we will be dropping into a near combat situation. It should not be an opposed drop, but you never know. As you all know, we are understrength and still rebuilding, but the Emperor needs us, so here we are!

"Second Squadron will lead the landing. Third will follow and First will form the reserve. Headquarters will drop in stages. But you all know that. Right now I just want to tell you how proud I am of you and this regiment. We have all lost friends and some others in the service of the Emperor, but we will no shirk. By the time we leave this dust ball of a planet the Orcs will have a new name for terror and it will be the Second Artenian!"

There was a cry and then a shout of wordless acclamation and the colonel smiled a grim smile.

"Well, a toast, then!" and they raised their glasses, draining them in a single drink.

He looked around and wondered how many of the men in the room would be alive in twenty-four hours.

The Regiment was almost destroyed. Entire companies were down to half a dozen beat up vehicles and there are entire platoons that had ceased to exist. They gathered on a hill not far from the battlefield and tried to sort things out. The support units had had their own fight during the night with stragglers from the Orc horde and had taken losses, but nothing as severe. They rolled into camp and unloaded, setting about repairing and refitting what they could. Retrieval teams moved around the battlefield trying to reclaim what vehicles they could while graves registration carried on the grim task of finding and cataloguing the dead.

The Colonel was hollow eyed, tired and looked shaken, but he carried on, a bandage on his right hand and another on his leg. He moved about, talking to the men and consoling the wounded. Sergeant Bruno, a new scar on his scalp, organized the company as best he could, but there was not much to do. Of the 85 men that had entered the battle only forty could still walk. The captain was wounded and the only officer on his feet was Lieutenant Burby, so he was now acting commander. One-Twelve had been dragged out by the surviving Chimera and its crew was eating something while it steamed and popped from the fire that had run through it. The engine and large bolter were the only things left, with the rest of the interior charred. One track was gone as was a sprocket. The three bedraggled crew fell asleep where they sat.

There was a stir as a group of Chimeras drove into the camp. One was the Chimera of the commissar that had helped them. He limped down the ramp and stood there, looking around. The one in front disgorged a general and several of his staff. Bodyguards formed a cordon around the general, their eyes sweeping for threats.

Haque hurried to met the General, saluting him. The commissar shook the colonel's hand.

"Well, Colonel, you did one hell of a job out there tonight."

"Yes, my men did the impossible," he said. "but, they paid the price, too."

The general narrowed his eyes. "We all must serve the Emperor as needed, whatever the price," he said. The colonel met his eyes without flinching.

"I have seldom, if ever, seen a unit stand and fight like this unit did, General," the commissar put in. "I was on my way to the front when we happened on the fight and assisted as best we could. At no time during the fight were they not beset by overwhelming numbers of the enemy, yet they fought and died like true heroes of the Empire. Yes, they paid the price, but not for lack of trying. But for their bravery and sacrifice all may have been lost here tonight."

The general, mollified, nodded.

"What do you need?": he asked the colonel.

"We need to be relieved and pulled out of the line. I have less than fifty percent of the vehicles running and almost all are damaged enough for a major refit. My men are exhausted and most of my officers dead or wounded. We cannot continue."

The general frowned, but the tall commissar nodded.

"So it is. General, I concur with the Colonel. They need to be pulled back and rebuilt. Sir, allow me to assist the colonel in reorganizing and rebuilding his unit. His commissar is dead and many of his senior leadership as well."

The general nodded and looked about.

"I can see the wisdom in it. You have my support and I will order whatever you need, Colonel. Good luck."

the colonel saluted the general and he returned it. With that he left them to their work.

The Colonel sat down on the ramp of his Chimera and rubbed his sore leg. The commissar walked up and stopped.

"May I sit with you?" he asked.

The colonel nodded.

A sergeant bought them steaming plates of food and cups of cafe and they sat in silence and ate. The colonel looked over at the commissar.

"What is your name, commissar?"

"Colonel Trey Gillam," he said, putting his hand out for the colonel to shake.

"You have my thanks," the colonel said.

"Your men and you saved the army, colonel and at a cost far higher than you ever imagined. I saw good men die out there and without the help of the Astartes and the orbital strikes you may not have survived at all. The second squadron especially should be noted. they met the enemy, twenty times their size, head on, and held them far longer than I would have thought possible."

The colonel nodded, looking around at his devastated unit.

"You should sleep, colonel. I will see to what I can."

"I can't..."

"Your men do not want you to use yourself up. they need you," the commissar said, sipping his cafe.

There was no answer. The colonel had fallen asleep there at the rear of his track. The commissar motioned to a sergeant, who covered his commander with a blanket and went about getting everyone in the area quiet. The commissar called his men in and had them set up a perimeter about what was left of the unit, then went around, putting the men to bed.

As dark fell he walked to the edge of the unit's encampment and looked down at the former battlefield. From it strode the massive figure of a Space Marine. The man's ancient armor was battered and stained, but it was still awe inspiring. He was obviously not a regular marine and the commissar nodded in recognition of his rank.

"Colonel Commissar, it is good to see you again," the man said.

The commissar recognized him then from an encounter some months before half way around the planet. This was the same Space Marines Sergeant who had led the team that had infiltrated the huge Orc base and destroyed the Orc warlord there. It had been a masterful stroke and had thrown the enemy into confusion and sown fear among them, at least temporarily.

"Sergeant, it is good to see you as well. Your intervention here was timely."

"We were sent out to help the main body, but then this horde appeared and, well," the man shrugged with a small grin.

"The Guard was sorely tried here."

"But they fought well, with their hearts and their guns. It was a good fight," the sergeant said, looking at the pennant still fluttering from the antenna of the burned out tank nearby. "These are called the Armored Cavalry?"

"Yes. They aren't meant for a stand up fight with the likes of a Orc armored force, but they held their own today."

"We all serve in our own ways," the Sergeant said, walking over and plucking the pennant from the antenna.

"Do you think they would mind my taking this as a memento?"

"A memento?"

"Yes, I would like to remember what we saw here tonight. It will go into the annals of the Chapter."

"I am sure they will be honored."

The marine, huge in his armor nodded and carefully folded the torn and dirty pennant up before stowing it in his belt pouch.

"Now, I must be going, but it has been an honor to fight alongside the men of the Armored Cavalry," he said. With a salute, a fist to his chest, he turned and stalked off, his boot leaving deep imprints in the soil. In moments he was out of sight and a few moments later the gunship lifted off with a flare of its engines and e deafening roar.

The entire regiment was withdrawn from the front line the next morning. What vehicles could move were driven and the rest were towed or hauled back to the regiment's main base, twenty kilometers distant. There they were met by the support troops and others who took charge of their damaged and destroyed vehicles while the troopers found hot showers, new uniforms and food waiting. By the end of the day the entire regiment, except for the support troops, were sleeping soundly wherever they could, mostly in large, hastily erected tents.

For the next week they did nothing but eat, sleep, write letters and visit their comrades in the field hospital. Officers met and talked about reorganizing.

Sergeant Boroos stepped out of the tent he shared with nine other senior sergeants; he had just been promoted to Top Sergeant for the company and sported new stripes on his sleeve. The former Top Sergeant had been evacuated for further treatment due to his extensive wounds. He squinted in the bright sunlight and looked around. Today they were getting the soldiers back in the saddle. He had visited the motor pool that morning to inspect the vehicles' condition. The mechanicus workers had done wonders, but there was much that the crews needed to do yet, from loading ammunition to sighting in new weapons.

Captain Flagg was sitting at his small field desk writing a report when he neared and he looked up.

"Just who I needed to talk to," the captain said.

Boroos saluted and Flagg returned it from his seat.

"Have a seat," he said, indicating a folding camp chair nearby. Boroos poured himself a cup of cafe from the flask sitting nearby and sipped it as the Captain finished writing.

"So, how are the men?"

"As far as I can tell they are just fine," Boroos said. "Five more came back from the hospital this morning and ten more should return tomorrow. We are still thirty percent understrength, but since we only have about that many of our vehicles, that should be fine."

The captain nodded and poured himself some coffee as well.

"How do you feel about serving with the infantry?" he asked.

"With the infantry?'

"Well, infantry of a sorts. Seems like we made an impression on some important people during our fight with the orcs. Now they want a squadron to work with them. It's the Astartes."

Boroos could only stare at the captain.

"I see that is a surprise."

"And how could we possibly be of help to those supermen?" he asked. "They drop one company to take an entire planet, for the Emperor's sake."

"True, but there are only two squads on the planet and they are stretched thin. They want us to provide coverage and scout, while they react to what we dig up. The good part is we would have great logistical support and they have airlift capabilities. The bad part is we would be alone, just the squadron. They are making up a two troop squadron and I would be commanding. I want you for my top sergeant."

"So, when does this start?"

"We roust the men out tomorrow morning. First, we meet with all the officers and senior non-coms and get them on board. The Astartes have guaranteed us anything we want. There are four new Leman Russ tanks and ten new Sentinels, plus other vehicles. We have a week to work up and train, then we lift half-way around the planet and go to work."

"Well, it sure sounds like fun," Boroos said, smiling and finishing his cafe.

"Here is a list of the officers and NCO's assigned to us. Get them here by fourteen hundred."

"Yessir, will do," Boroos said, standing up and looking around. Men were relaxing in the shade of their tents, some writing letters, some playing cards, others sleeping. Over at the end of the tent street four of them kicked a ball around. Yeah, he thought, in another day they would start playing grab ass and getting in trouble. Time to get out and kill some more orcs."

The camp came to life the next morning. The newly reformed squadron fell in in front of their vehicles. Besides the two cavalry troops of ninety or so men there was a headquarters troop of sixty. The equipment looked much better than it had in a long time, Boroop thought as he called the squadron to attention. War did strange things, he reflected. Only a few months before he had been a senior platoon sergeant and how he was an acting Squadron Top Sergeant.

Newly promoted Major Flagg and the company commanders took their positions and he stepped back.

"At ease!" Flagg called out. The squadron came to at ease and all eyes were on the major.

"We have been seconded to the Astartes. It is a unique situation. As a result, we have new equipment and replacements. Your officers will further brief you, but to say the least, this is an important mission. The important thing is that we will be serving the Emperor in the best way we can, by killing orcs!"

The men cheered at his last statement. Boroop walked the track line, assessing what they had to fight with. Each troop had its three platoons. Each platoon contained a Scout section of four Sentinels, fast and light two-legged walkers mounted with bolters. While lightly armored they depended on their speed, small size and maneuverability to survive. Then there were four Salamanders, open topped vehicles with a hull mounted chain gun and a bolter. Two Chimera armored personnel characters mounted with rocket launchers and bolters and carrying two foot scout squads made up the heavy part of the platoons. The last vehicle was a Chimera that was the platoon command vehicle. The platoon sergeant commanded the Salamander section and the platoon leader the "heavy section".

There were thirty six men in each platoon and for the first time in months they were up to strength.

The Headquarters Platoon was made up of four Chimera, one for the troop commander, one for the top sergeant, one for the medics and one for the maintenance team that also mounted a crane and equipment to repair vehicles. Four large lorries carried supplies.

It was a strong unit. There was a company of eight Leman Russ tanks under the command of a captain to support the cavalry troops with heavy fire if needed. He was pretty sure they would be needed.

The huge Astarte gunship transports landed near the base early in the morning two weeks later. Several large transport shuttles landed behind them. The guns had been sighted in, the ammunition stowed and all manner of other supplies gathered. Many of the wounded had returned and absorbed back into the unit. Boroos stood at the end of the track park and watched the men climb into the vehicles. Ground guides motioned and the first vehicle of the first platoon moved out.

Out of the nearest of the gunships came eight of the Astartes. For the first time Boroos had a clear look at their armor. They were members of the Imperial Fists, one of the proudest and most respected of the Astarte chapters. Their gold colored armor was scarred and pitted, but still impressive. On the right shoulder was a black fist in a circle. At the front of the squad was the leader of the unit, carrying a huge power hammer.

Colonel Olden, regimental commander and Major Flagg stepped forward to meet the man that towered over them, though they were quite tall themselves.

The Astartes sergeant exchanged salutes with the officers and looked around.

"You seem to be ready for us," he said.

"We are, Batista," said the colonel. "You will take good care of my men, won't you?"
"The Emperor protects," the sergeant said, making the sign of the Aquila.

"Yes, of course," the Colonel said.

"Major, I would like you to ride in my craft. One of my men will be in each craft to support and coordinate our effort."

"I would be honored," said Major Flagg.

"You may bring some of your staff as well," said the Space Marine as he watched the vehicles drive by, ignoring the goggle-eyed looks from the cavalry troopers. Astartes, to most of them, were not much more than a legend, heroes of tails told late at night.

The Major and Boroos followed Ballista to the gunship, into which were loaded the three Chimera of the headquarters section and the crews. They strapped in and the vehicles were tied down. The men stared around the inside of the Astartes gunship. While they had ridden in many shuttles in their careers this was an Astartes vehicle.

The engines increased their RPM's and soon the entire ship was shuddering. Finally it lifted off and tilted to the East and their new battleground. Around them lifted the other gunships and shuttles. Escorted by fighters they soared into the air.

It was a long flight and they had do stop for to refuel at an airfield on the edge of the sea that separated the two continents. They landed and fuel trucks surrounded them, hooking up refueling hoses, feeding the hungry machines. The rear ramp of the gunship dropped and they got out, stretching their legs.

Elim found himself alone with Ballista.

"How long have you been, well, an Imperial Fist?" he asked, trying to make conversation.

"I have serve the Emperor for one hundred seventy three years," Ballista said.

Elim looked up at him.

"That's well..."

"Impossible?"

"No, incredible."

"It is a long time, but it has been a very invent full one."

"I have been in the Guard for almost fifteen. It has been interesting, and not a little dangerous."

"What do you think of this 'armored cavalry'?" Ballista asked.

"I think it is a great idea. We get to meet the enemy completely outnumbered, sometimes out-gunned, fight them until the rest of the army arrives, then are left to clean up afterwards. What's not to like?"

"Ah, that sounds much like what we do. I like you cavalrymen," Ballista said. "Always in front, first in last out."