"Fall back! Fall back! Fall--" were the last words of Sergeant Andrew Miller, 812th Cadian company, before some incomprehensible green, flaming ooze reduced him to what could generously be called "dust." The daemon took a moment to roar in triumph as its breathren, and the Chaos Marines behind them, advanced on the Imperial Guard's position.
"Hoooo-leee shit on the Emperor's face," breathed Corporal Johnathan Saturn. The Leman Russ had taken only light damage from the daemon's attack, but it was startling to see the man he'd trained under reduced to... whatever... so quickly. Sarge had always been so cool, commanding... his death would be missed, Saturn vowed, as he blew the daemon's body apart at near pointblank range. Its blood and gore flew apart fabulously, but Saturn shifted the tank into reverse: fighting so many daemons and heretic marines by himself (as the others were regrouping behind him) was no a prospect he looked forward to. If only Colonel Jupiter had paid attention to the sergeant's warnings... ah, but "what ifs" weren't going to help.
A marine somehow appeared in front of the tank, screaming something for his disease god. Saturn shot, but missed, and instead only killed a few daemons behind him. "Damn!"
"You're a terrible shot, son."
"But pa--!" he started, holstering his father's laspistol.
"No buts. You have to accept some things, son, and that's one of them."
He shook the decades-old memory out of his mind. Saturn had joined the Imperial Guard for one reason: to prove his father wrong. That these... "Nurgle?" marines were attacking the planet, turning its inhabitants into zombies, that wasn't important.
"This is Jupiter!" said the radio. "Saturn, we need you to charge the tank into the enemy horde!"
"What?"
"It'll buy the rest of us time to reinforce our position while they kill you! This isn't a debate! It's an order!"
"EmperorDAMMIT," thought Saturn. "Well if I'm dying here, I'm taking as many heretics with me as possible." He shifted the tank into full auto, and started firing wildly into the crowd of daemons and heretics.
He found a palsma rifle and got ready: he knew it wouldn't take long for the tank to stall in the daemons' gore, and he was going to open the hatch and shoot whatever he could. These heretic marines couldn't be any better than a soldier of the Emperor, right?
Just as he thought, the tank eventually stalled. But to his surprise, opening the hatch was unnecessary: a long, thick knife appeared, cutting right through the armor, and starting wedging the hatch open. "They're strong" he thought. On the exterior camera, a blighted face appeared.
"Oh no! He's going to kill us!" said a daemonic marine sarcastically.
"Bring it, fuckers!" Saturn screamed into the loudspeaker.
After seconds that felt like minutes, the hatch opened violently, and Saturn fired wildly into the air. The tank jolted, and exploded: the colonel had used a remote detonation. Bastard.
Saturn awoke, yards away. The marines and daemons were dazed, too. Saturn reached for his palsma rifle, but it was slightly out of reach, and he realized, with dawning horror, that a large section of the tank's armor had fallen on him: it weighed easily two thousand pounds, and he'd never escape. He was trapped and not able to kill.
"No! I must kill the demons!"
"No John. You are the demons."
And then John was a zombie.