The slosh of mud and the labored breaths of man cut through the peaceful silence upon the barren, snowy plain.

The stink of mud, rotting corpses and human excrement festered in the air like the scent of pure fear.

The snow had just started to fall, drifting slowly down from the heavens, fat flakes starting to drop upon the mud and the blood, getting twisted about by the steam from the ragged breaths of soldiers and the low rumble of engines that spewed black exhaust.

"I want first platoon on the forward wall!"

"Put a heavy bolter team in the pillbox, move!"

"Get that tank into position!"

The shout of panicked soldiers rushing to prepare cut through the air like a knife, the echo of hundreds of boots on frozen, packed earth echoing through the quiet air.

"Into the trenches! Lasguns forward! Eyes peeled!" The flash of a vibrant Power Sword waving troops forward sliced through the frosty air, more orders getting barked angrily about as officers tried to marshal their troops into position. The officer's cap was peaked high, the crest of the skull and wings of a commissar polished to a high sheen glimmering atop his head. His chest was covered in cord, golden epaulets glimmering on the shoulders of his red-trimmed coat. He gestured to a militiaman who was dragging his feet, leveling the ornate bolt pistol at the man's head. "You!" He bellowed, hopping down from atop a bunker, striding purposefully towards the soldier, seeing the militiaman's eyes track about, finally settling on the fast approaching commissar, the whites growing visible around his eyes growing visable. "You are a proud soldier of the Cedrus Planetary Defence Force! Move like the God-Emperor is watching you! Move, move, move!"

The militiaman took off at a jog, jumping down into the duracrete lined trench, dodging a few of his fellows as they jogged along the trench in the opposite direction before stepping up to the defensive shelf, mounting their positions along the forward wall. He laid his standard issue lasrifle over a sandbag, looking out over the hazy wastes of the approach, seeing muddy craters, upturned earth and dead ork in every direction. The scent of ork flesh was heavy and sickening in the air, almost sticky sweet, but charred like an overcooked piece of meat from the impacts of lasguns, mixed with the acrid stench of Fyceline from from imperial explosives. The man bowed his head, offering up a desperate last prayer to the Emperor, desperate for his blessing and guidance as he prepared to give his life in defense of the Imperium.

His head snapped up, hearing the low rumble of approaching armor, scanning the distant horizon, looking for the ramshackle red paint and spikes of Ork armored vehicles, but as his heart thundered in his chest, he realized the sound was coming from behind him. He turned slightly, pushing his helmet up on his head, watching as a crippled Leeman Russ tank was pushed into a hulldown bunker position by another Leeman Russ with a dozer blade, the shattered remains of the former's forward lascannon gnarled and twisted into a useless mass of congealed plasteel. The berms of the bunker rose up to the top of the tank's hull, protecting everything but the turret. The second tank revved its engine, spewing a thick cloud of greasy black smoke as it clanked backwards, spinning in place and halting. The hatch atop the tank opened and the tank's commander emerged, leaning over, rocking and jerking about as the tank lurched up beside the commissar, now conversing with a militia officer, wearing a similarly peak-billed cap, a colonel's rank tabs gleamed on his uniform. A nervous looking trooper, a lasrifle gripped in his hands stood behind the two officers, shivering, the Vox-caster gear rattling on his back with every shiver that coursed through his frail body.

"Sir, we've finished digging in the last of our tanks." The sergeant riding atop the tank looked down at the commissar and the colonel as they turned and surveyed the few scattered tanks that had been strategically placed along the defensive lines. Most were badly damaged, relegated to nothing more than stationary gun positions.

"Very good, sergeant." The colonel said wearily, saluting, noting the cold sneer the fanatical commissar gave him. "Get your tank to your bunker and hull-down. The Emperor protects." He grimaced, raising the magnoculars that hung around his neck to his eyes, scanning the distant horizon.

"We can only hope the coming blizzard slows the orks long enough for help to arrive." The tanker said, leaning on the turret of his vehicle, brushing some accumulated flakes from the armored plating. "The Emperor better damn well protect till then." The commissar shot the man a warning glare, but the tanker had already disappeared back into the warmth of his armored shell, the tank growling as its engines revved and it lurched forward, chewing up mud as it rumbled away.

The commissar turned to the troopers who were watching the exchange with wary gazes. "If no help arrives, we shall die fighting, dragging as many of those orkish primitives down to hell with us as possible!" The commissar snarled, pumping his Power Sword above his head as he led the men in a rallying cry. A ragged cheer passed through the PDF troops as they turned back to the killing zone before them, their hands gripping weapons desperately, their eyes peeled, fearful of the coming battle.

The colonel risked casting the commissar a weary look before turning to look back at his defenses. He only had a few companies of Planetary Defense Troopers and a bare handful of armor pieces left spread along the defensive lines. Most were worn thin and tired from the cold and the lack of food, but they finally had adequate defensive positions, and the men's spirits had been bolstered by the fact that they had turned back many of the ork's probing attack so far, the remnants of the ork forces scattered across the firing lanes along the front of the base serving as a remind to the troopers that the orks were as mortal as they were.

The firebase was backed up to the Black Forest, a heavily forested terrain so treacherous that even the ork horde had dare not venture through it less they burned a swath for their advance, leaving him with only the forward arc and his flanks to worry about. He peered through his magnoculars again, studying his troops from atop the slight rise that marked the approach to the heavy bunker that comprised his command center.

Constructed as a guardpost for at most a company at a time when on training maneuvers, the firebase had been drastically overhauled with habs, what few prefabricated bunkers had been available, and all the duracrete the colonel had been able to get his hands on for trenches and bunkers. Originally, the small firebase had simply been a training facility, equipped with heavy bunkers and permanent trenches for drilling, but when the attack had come, it had swollen to a mighty bastion, bristling with tanks and lasguns. Now, as he looked along his lines, more of the hull-down tank bunkers were occupied by burnt out hulks than functioning tanks, and the militiamen he had left were threadbare against the rapidly approaching Cedrus winter, weary from constant battle, and starved of both ammunition and food. In the last few days they had lost more men to hypothermia and dissension, quickly quashed by the driven commissar, than to the probing ork attacks that had come so far. The men only seemed to bare with it due to the fact that the attacks had been light, only a few hundred at most coming at any one time, and scant few had made it through the militiamen's interlocking fields of fire alive. Each victory seemed to buoy the men's spirits a little more against their bleak prospects, but there was little that could be done despite the small victories.

It was vital they held out till contact could be made with higher authorities, for this was the last bastion of humanity left on Planet Cedrus. If the firebase fell, no one would know what happened to the planet.

"See that the men are prepared for battle, Commissar." The colonel ordered in his firmest tone. The commissar gave him an approving look, nodding his head curtly, setting off along the trench line, his voice already bellowing at the militiaman who were struggling to stay warm upon the packed earth and duracrete fortifications. "Come, private. We must return to the command bunker."

The vox officer offered no words, simply snapping off a salute and falling in behind him, his lasrifle held at the ready, his head twisting back and forth as he took in the defensive formations.

The colonel trudged up the slope and then started down the steps the bunker's main accessway, pausing briefly, turning to look towards the horizon, now obscured by the heavy snow. "I don't think a little snow is going to be anywhere near enough to stop the green tide." The colonel grimaced at his own tone, thinking that if the commissar had been within ear shot he likely would have shot him dead then and there.

"Sir?" The vox officer asked, glancing at him.

"Nothing." The colonel muttered. He turned and descended the steps into the bunker, passing militiamen stationed behind sandbag berms, a heavy bolter imposed in the wall at the far end, its field of fire aimed directly down the hall at the stairwell. Glow globes cast harsh pools of artificial light upon the ground, throwing long shadows along the hallway.

The colonel stopped at a doorway, snapping off a crisp salute for the sergeant who stood at the heavy door, a well worn shotgun slung loosely around his neck. The sergeant saluted, turning and speaking into a vox panel, the glowing red light attached to the panel blinking once and then gleaming a verdant green. The heavy blast doors opened slowly, groaning as they slid back, allowing the colonel to enter. He strode in, passing more militiamen, most badly injured as they were attended to by medics. He paused, looking at the grim situation in the open bay, seeing dozens of men wrapped in bandages, some propped up against wall, holding lasrifles trained loosely at the door while others sat next to bodies covered by matte green sheets, muttering prayers to the God-Emperor under their breath as they rocked back and forth. The colonel had to gag as he watched a medic try to spray synth-skin over a particularly gruesome leg wound on a militiaman, several of the other wounded men holding the afflicted down, sliding about in the pooling blood on the duracrete floor, struggling for purchase.

The colonel mounted the stairs at the back of the room, saluting the two guards who stood at the door to the command center. He stepped into his command post, the musty scent of maps, field cogitators, and the acrid ozone scent of a malfunctioning chart table all hitting him at once. At the center of the room the chart table blinked out for a moment, a frustrated militiaman slapping the machine impatiently, watching as it burst back to life, the hololiths flickering above it, displaying small blue dots and slightly larger rectangles signaling the positions of soldiers and tanks on the battlefield.

"Any contact with the enemy?" The colonel snapped, looking to the militiaman manning the vox-comm bank where he could monitor all the chatter in the firebase.

"All sectors report clear, colonel." The militiaman barked. He spoke a few words into the vox, waited a few moments, and then a reply crackled back, the signal slightly garbbled. "Scouts atop the bunker report that the auspex is clear for thermals as far as it can detect, sir."

"Good." The colonel murmured, pausing before the flickering hololiths, studying the fleeting blue lights. He watched as one of the large blue rectangles crept to a halt in a vaguely square shape along the jagged defensive lines. The tanker he had spoken with before was now in position. "How go repairs on the eastern approach?"

"The trenches are patched with flakboard and sandbags as best we can manage, but its not duracrete, sir." A trooper reported. "It should hold till we get rescued though." He seemed to still be holding onto the impossibility that the true of the Imperium was on its way. The colonel bit back bitter words; the Imperium likely didn't even know what had happened here.

"It will have to do." The colonel sighed, turning back to the vox bank, looking down as the trooper fiddled with his controls, twisting knobs and hitting buttons, trying to restore the stability. "How goes it, trooper? Any contact with Armageddon?"

"Nothing sir." The trooper muttered, shaking his head, grimacing. "Our gear just doesn't appear to be strong enough to get through the atmospheric storms to even the nearest planet, much less Sector Command on Armageddon."

The colonel cursed silently, the solid lump of ice coalescing in his gut. He patted the militiaman on the shoulder as reassuringly as possible. "Keep trying."

"Yes, sir." The trooper said tightly, as if he resented the implication that there was something more he could possibly do that he hadn't already tried dozens of times in the last few weeks. The colonel looked around the command center, feeling the grim mood, most of the men barely hanging on the vaguest possibility they might get rescued.

The vox crackled to life. "Contact! Western approach! Approximately fifty, repeat five-zero greenskins! Distance three kloms and closing fast!"

The colonel stepped forward, picking up a vox receiver, pressing the activation rune. "This is Colonel Mackey. Are they on foot?"

"Appears so, sir. No armor in sight." The vox crackled. "ETA three minutes."

The colonel grimaced to himself, glancing down at his chron, hitting a few keys, watching as the display started reeling off numbers as he handed the receiver back to the militiaman. "Get on the horn and tell alpha company to let the orks move well into the killing zone before opening fire. I don't want a single ork to get away. Make sure the tanks don't fire. I don't want them to give their positions away yet."

The militiaman looked confused but relayed the orders, notifying the colonel when the orders had been confirmed by the company commander and his platoon leaders. The colonel turned back to the hololith, watching as a number of red dots entered the field along the far left side, moving slowly towards the western defensive zone. The red dots started to flash, indicated they were firing weapons of some sort, likely crude ork bolters that would merely bounce off the duracrete defenses.

"Captain Gerhardt is reports taking fire and wants permission to open up at his maximum effective range to keep casualties down, sir." The vox officer called.

"Put me on the captain's company frequency." The colonel snapped, stepping up to the vox bank. The officer complied, hitting a combination of buttons and knobs to bounce the frequency down. The vox started to flow with panicked chatter of militiamen reporting incoming fire. The colonel snatched up the vox receiver from the trooper and was about to press the activation rune when a voice boomed through, drowning out the rest of the voices. "This is Captain Gerhardt. Calm down boys, you all know how inaccurate ork fire is-keep your heads down and we'll all be home in the morning." The colonel indulged in a grim grin as he waited, listening as the chatter died down, turning to watch the red dots creeping closer to the line of blue dots. "Wait till you see the yellows of their eyes, then pump 'em full of las! Wait for the order!"

Shaky acknowledgements came in as platoon leaders radioed their confirmation.

"Keep me apprised of any developments." The colonel snapped, gesturing for his vox officer to fall in behind him. The militiaman at the vox bank saluted as the colonel moved to a doorway leading off the side of the command center, mounting the steps inside. He passed through another checkpoint, past another gun emplacement, continuing upwards until he stepped out onto the roof of the bunker, into a small emplacement formed of duracrete blocks and sandbag berms. A number of militia men turned, surprised to see the colonel standing there, looking annoyed as he scanned the hazy distance, a veil of white snow descending now. "What's the exact count?"

One of the scouts, his armor lighter than the colonel's flak armor snapped off a salute, holding what looked like a spotlight of sorts, a cable running from the auspex to the dataslate where a pict-screen showed images with the orange glow of thermals flashing past at a slow rhythm. "My count is fifty six, sir."

"Weapons?"

"A few bolter type weapons, sir, but nothing major. Standard ork fare." The scout murmured, using the simple buttons upon the dataslate to tab through the picts, examining them closely. "The leader isn't that large. Could be another scouting formation."

"Most likely." The colonel murmured, letting his hand fall to his hip instinctively, feeling the comfortable leather wrapped butt of the laspistol upon his hip, concealed in its leather holster.

A trooper armed with a long lasrifle with a scope gestured towards the distant defensive lines. "Orks are within the kill zone, colonel."

The colonel nodded, listening as the vox crackled with Captain Gerhardt's voice calming his men, urging them to wait just a bit longer. He lifted his magnoculars to his eyes, peering down and watching as ork soldiers crept forward, moving closer and closer to the defensive lines, picking their way along shell crates and over the rotting corpses of their brethren.

The orks had leathery grin skin, red and brown leather jackets pulled over their flesh, some of them dressed with furs from the planetary fauna. They had piercing yellow eyes, beady and angry. The leader was the largest of the orks, easily a head taller than the colonel, thick tusks jutting from his lower jaw. It roared an angry cry, pumping its bolt weapon over its head, pushing its burly troops into a run as they closed with the defensive lines. The orks fired wildly, most of the rounds striking the mud just before the milita lines or flying high over head, well clear of the troops, but in a few places round blasted rough chunks of duracrete away. The militia men cowered in the trenches, hearing the orks starting to charge, their brutish warcrys carrying up to the command bunker.

The vox barked. "Open fire!"

Captain Gerhardt was the first to fire, pushing himself up from behind the trenchline, leveling his laspistol with the ork leader, squeezing off a single shot. The colonel watched as the ork leader's head exploded in a fountain of blood, gobbets of flesh and leathery hide raining down upon the other orks. For a brief moment the orks stumbled to a halt, suddenly leaderless, faced with hundreds of lasrifles all trained upon them.

Suddenly, lasrifles blazed, scything through the ork troops, militiamen pushing themselves up along the trenches and blasting away with reckless abandon, blazing through the oncoming orks with impunity. Only a few of the orks survived the initial salvo, charging blindly forward with their axes raised high as they bounded forward, the few with bolters blasting aimlessly away. They were picked off quickly in the second salvo, the massed las fire cutting them down in mere moments, one ork getting cut clean in half, the beast crawling slowly forward, his guts spilling from his torso as he roared defiantly. The ozone scent of lasgun fire filled the air, a deathly quiet descending upont eh battlefield as soldiers, their adrenaline pumping, searched for any targets. A single ork grunted, pushing itself up, clawing desperately at the ground towards the trench lines.

A militiaman mounted the lip of the trench, leveling the muzzle of his lasrifle with the ork's burning yellow eye before pumping a single round into the ork's head. It exploded, spraying the snow with red ork blood, the militiaman raising his weapon above his head and whooping victoriously, the cheer echoing up and down the defensive lines. The scouts atop the bunker even joined in, the colonel grinning to himself as he watched the morale swell again.

"Good job, men." The colonel said encouragingly, nodding his head approvingly. He saw hopeful smiles upon the men's faces. "Stay vigilant and keep up the good work." The men murmured their thanks. "Emperor watch over us."

The soldiers echoed him, saluting as they turned back to their emplacements, the auspex again starting to scan the distant horizon, the scouts adjusting it scan the longer distance. The colonel saw a warm image of the killing field, heated by stray las fire and spilled ork blood, flash across the pict-screen. The colonel turned on his heel and descended back into the bunker, leaving the vox officer in the command center before moving deeper into the bunker into his personal office.

The room was dusty and dark, glow orbs casting harsh artificial light around the room, but not all things about the room were bad. Opulent decorative tapestries showed the PDF coat of arms along the left side of the back wall, a massive Imperium Aquila gleamed at the head of the room, and the right most hanging was a decorative tapestry of the planet's coat of arms. The colonel had cleaned up all the flat surfaces of the office as best he could, ignoring the large shelves of heavy tomes, turning his attention to an old recaf machine sitting on a side table. He flipped the machine on and then doffed his cap, tossing it on to one of the open side tables. He settled into an overstuffed chair at the side of the room, laying back, settling deep in the chair and exhaling slowly, closing his tired eyes, hoping for a few minutes rest.

The crackle of the vox communicator panel on his desk woke the colonel from the depths of sleep. He sat up, sniffing at the air, the scent of recaf heavy in the small office. He grunted as the crackle came again, this time discernible words echoing among the static. "Colonel Mackey, sir. Please report to the command center."

The colonel muttered a few choice words as he pulled himself to his feet, moving to the desk and depressing the activation key. "On my way."

The colonel turned to the side table, grabbing his cap and pulling out a china cup and saucer some previous commander had used, setting both onto the side table next to the recaf machine. He could smell the rich scent of the machine dripping the hot brown liquid into the waiting pot, pausing as he looked at the array of crystalline decanters gleaming next to it before pouring himself a steaming cup of recaf. He paused, considering the luxury of it, looking to the bottle of artificial sweetener next to the machine for a minute before grunting, instead grabbing one of the decanters, lifting the stopper and sniffing the contents.

"Sweet enough." The officer muttered, topping his cup of recaf off with a generous dollop of the amber liquid, stirring it using a fine silver spoon, another of the previous resident officer's prizes. He lifted the cup to his lips and swallowed, feeling the burn of the drink flowing down the back of his throat, sighing contently as the heat of the recaf and the burn of the amber liquid warmed him through. He tugged his cap on in an officious manner, setting off, carrying the cup and saucer in hand as he made his way to the command center.

"What is it?" He demanded as he pushed into the command center, glancing at his chron. It was almost sunset.

A soldier offered him a wide smile. "We've detected a ship in orbit, sir."

The colonel practically gagged on his recaf, his eyes going wide as he set the cup and saucer down atop a piece of equipment. "Bring it up on the holo." He ordered quickly, seeing a soldier setting about pulling up an image of the ship in orbit. It was a small cargo ship, but the colonel's heart soared. "Have you made contact?"

"Just now, sir." The soldier at the vox bank said, offering him a wide smile. "They're currently maneuvering to redirect our signal to Sector Command on Armageddon." A blocky looking bulk-lifter appeared on the hololith, the shimmering image of the massive transport starship spinning slowly in the hololith. It was barely more than a command pod blistering with antennae, a monstrous cargo section and a bank of engines at the end connected by a rigid spine, but to the colonel, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

The colonel grinned. "Damn good job, men." A cheer rippled through the militia soldiers.

As silence started to descend upon the command center as the colonel admired the dull ship's angles as if they were the curves of a fine woman, the rattle of the spoon on the saucer starting to grow louder and louder. Recaf splashed over the edge of the cup, the glassy surface shivering and jumping.

"What the…" One of the soldiers murmured, jumping when the cup crashed to the ground, smashing and splashing recaf across the duracrete.

Color drained from the colonel's face. "Private, connect me with the scouts." The vox officer silently tapped in the commands as the colonel grabbed the receiver.

"Corporal Tersah." One of the scouts on the roof of the bunker reported through the static of the vox.

"This is Colonel Mackey. Any contact on the Auspex?" The colonel snapped.

"All clear, sir." The vox crackled, washing into static for a second.

"Damn." The colonel snapped, his mind racing. He turned to the man at the back of vox-comms. "Can you connect me to the ship?"

"Sir?" The vox officer looked confused, but the grave look upon the colonel's face quelled his protests. He hit the appropriate keys.

"This is firebase Cedrus, please respond." The vox crackled angrily, washing completely to static for several seconds as if in protest of the foul weather.

"This is transport Herald of Noctan, Firebase Cedrus." The voice crackled distantly upon the vox. "Go ahead."

"Herald of Noctan, can you redirect and turn your Auspex planetward and supply us with a Hololith feed?" The colonel was leaning against the vox bank, his voice becoming urgent.

"Firebase Cedrus, we will be happy to oblige, but be warned, this will delay the connection between you and Imperial Sector Command on Armageddon." The ship's commander seemed slightly annoyed but the colonel didn't care.

"That's fine, Herald." The colonel tapped his boot impatiently, clenching his fist. "Just do it."

"Executing roll." The ship reported, several long moments echoing through the static of the vox. "Now assuming holding position in stationary orbit. Feed inbound, Firebase Cedrus."

"Feed established with Herald of Noctan." The soldier operating the hololith barked from across the room. The colonel saw a view of the entirety of the planet of Cedrus, the planet looking oddly serene in its translucent blue haze.

"Train your auspex on this position, Herald." The colonel ordered. The feed on the hololith moved, zooming in from the view of the entire planet, training on the largest continent, for a moment. The colonel could make out the two darkened spots of the capital-shrine city of Atlas and the once bustling spaceport of Cyprus. Both were darkened spots of fire-blackened carnage, the spires of smoke visible even on the auspex. The sensors tightened again, centering on a massive bank of clouds that spanned the northwestern reaches of the planet in its entirety.

The vox crackled. "Going to thermals."

Suddenly the bank of clouds turned a deep blue. At the very center was a small dot of orange, the faint splay of the firebase's defensive lines resolving as the auspex zoomed in again, training it's view on the firebase. There was a massive ring of color in the distance, encircling the firebase. The distance between the firebase and the closest arc of what could only be the entirety of the ork army on the planet must have easily been two kiloms. The swath of toiling orange color was easily twice as thick.

"Emperor help us." The vox officer murmured in terrified reverence.

"Herald, begin immediate repositioning to connect us with Imperial Sector Command." The Colonel snapped. He didn't wait for a response and no acknowledgement came from the Herald of Noctan. The captain had obviously realized the gravity of the situation. "Give me a battalion wide vox cast." The soldier look up at him blankly, the severity of the situation having just crashed over him, leaving him with a blank stare. "Just do it!" The colonel barked. The vox officer started to tap in the commands, his motions sluggish as he mumbled under his breath, asking what the point was. The colonel pulled his laspistol from his holster and leveled with the vox officers head. "Do your duty, soldier, or I'll grant you the Emperor's Benediction myself."

The vox officer continued muttering, but his hands flew over the keys now. "Go ahead."

"All units, this is Colonel Mackey." He waited a second, allowing all of the units to concentrate on his voice. "Listen up, men. We've made contact with a starship who is currently connecting us with Armageddon as we speak, however the damned Greenskins are preparing their final attack." He paused again, taking a deep breath. "They're on our left, they're on our right, they're in the front of us, and the Black Forest is behind us. They can't get away this time. Shoot straight, shoot often, and don't let the greenskins take this rock without a damn fight!" The cheer echoed from above as the men rallied, despite the odds they didn't know they yet faced. "The Emperor will protect us! For Cedrus! For the Imperium! For the Emperor!"