The line was in disarray. Orks swarmed about the battlements, Grot crawled inside guns, jamming them from the inside, Guardsmen were butchered without mercy, and the Commissars themselves had no alternatives but to run. It was a total rout. The Astartes were not coming, this fortress was lost. In the far distance, Drop pods could be dropping much needed supplies, defensive buildings, and other such materials. They might not have won here, but they would not fall at their next engagement. It had cost the Imperium several hundred Million men just to keep from loosing the war entirely, but they would turn the tide now, more than ever.
All of these thoughts, came from a perturbed Commander. He was going down with the ship, so to speak. The Commissars, key personnel, and as many guardsmen as they could, had fled the fortress by Valkyrie. It was just him and the few that wouldn't make it. He considered himself a man of faith, but even in the face of such a sea, even he was not holding quite as fast to the rock of belief that held him firm.
Viggs had enough of this. He an his squad of Guardsmen, armed with Almost every heavy weapon imaginable, he himself using a Flamer to keep their small bunker clear, a heavy Stubber roaring as Kastle laughed, hardly making any noise over the machine guns racket. Las gun shot's Cracked over his shoulder, as the Green tide was only just being kept from their little fortress in it's own.
"Get some!" Yelled Kastle, as he seemed to forget that he had a trigger for a reason. Viggs himself had to dodge behind cover a few times, mostly to reload, or if the occasional Shoota came blasting in at him. They wouldn't hold out much longer. As if on Que, two of his squad mates, both Greenhorns took a burst of flame to the chest. Flopping backwards, dead, Viggs had to trade the Flamer canisters over faster, looking out nervously. The blasted Orks had already taken tree inches. They were right on top of them. Spinning out of Cover, he pulled that trigger like it was a religious duty. And it was, in a way.
Viggs didn't have time to react. With a cry of "WAAAGH!" a large ork jumped over the burst of fire, hefting a huge choppa. Dropping the Flamer and rolling to the side, Viggs watched in dismay as the axe smashed the flamer to bits. Pulling out his combat knife, he said a prayer to the Emperor to guide his blade, and was about to charge the Ork with his pathetic pig-sticker, when the Ork was torn apart by a Shotgun blast, almost point blank. Looking over, he saw a squad of Guardsmen running past, one of them stopping to wave them out. Grabbing a nearby Autogun, an a few clips for it, he left the Las Carbine on his back and ran out to join the retreating squad.
"Where's you Sergeant!" Yelled Viggs, popping off a shot at a few Orks as they booked it towards where ever it was the squad was headed.
"He bought it back a klick! We're headed to meet up with the last remnants! They're making a last stand at one of the Barrackses!" Screamed the other, who's Hemet had a Snipers insignia, but was oddly holding the shotgun that, apparently, saved Viggs life. He wasn't much for Last Stands and the such, but what else could he do?
Popping off a shot at an Ork who flattened a nearby guardsman who was just blind firing from the hip, Viggsd turned back to the Sniper. Grinning, he cocked his head slightly and said with palpable sarcasm, "I'm all for a Last Stand. Haven't had one in a few hours."