The shining brass spun slowly through the air, sunlight glinting with a majestic sparkle as it smoked with remnants of fired propellant. The bullets flew through the air, small sonic booms trailing in their wake, distorting the air alongside the blasts of light which blasted across the shattered plains. And the blood flowed freely as bullets and las blasts eviscerated human bodies, the sheer volume of fire turning them into a canvas of death.
For now.
Fingers pumped triggers till they squealed with the strain, and barrels sent shots straight till they burned like the sun. And still the crowd of traitors charged. Power packs were dropped, and fresh ones slammed home, and the ritual continued again, and again. As Clem crawled on her stomach to the pill box to drag up more ammunition cans, Michal yanked the charging handle, and let fly with another punishing volley of lead, the stubber belching a foot long tongue of fire as it sang its deadly melody. But regardless of how much fire the remnants of the platoon poured out, the crowd of traitors kept charging. As they neared the one hundred and fifty meters ranging mark, the call went up for the guardsman to switch their weapons to automatic fire, and soon instead of a snapping crackle, the air was simply buzzing.
From his elevated position Michal could see that they were barely making a dent in the forces still streaming from the Tec plant. The chanting traitors just keep coming, their voices spouting what Michal could only imagine were dark prayers to a false god. They kept ringing in his head, harsh whispers bounding around. Shaking his head at their influence, he refocused, and resumed his firing. The stubber did a fantastic job of halting the enemy forces in their tracks, but even such an embodiment of the Emperors wrath could only hold back the storm for a finite time. The enemy kept creeping closer and closer, now starting to return the platoons fire with their own auto weapons. The sniper who had taken out so many troopers in the beginning had disappeared "Frag knows where", though Michal. He couldn't care less. No sniper, and no mortars made his job easier. But just then, the Emperor's wrath ran out, and the rolling tide of chanting heretics surged forwards.
The barrel of Michal's stubber, warped by the heat of thousands of rounds, exploded, shards of steaming hot metal scything through the air in a million directions. Michal smeared his face into the dirt, desperately trying to avoid the deadly splinters. He failed. A shard of metal as big as his finder lodged itself into his shoulder, cementing itself under his collar bone. For a brief moment, he thought nothing of it, feeling amear sting. But a moment later, a fire, as hot as a plasma reactor's core ignited in his shoulder, and sent him slithering on the ground in pain. Blinded with pain, he managed to choke out a few words over the vox, trying not to vomit as his blood soaked his uniform. "Clem, i'm hit. Need help" he managed to say, before his voice left him, and he hurled what little his stomach contained over the remains of the stubber. "On my wa Hughh…" was the only fragment of message he received in return. Recalling his training sergeants brutal teaching methods, he managed to drag the small medkit out of his belt, and ripped the field dressing from its case. Jamming it against the flowing wound, he tied it off as tightly as he could. "Clem"?, he shouted out, not bothering to use his Vox, thinking she would be close enough to hear him by now. "CLEM!?" He repeated. Grunting with effort and pain, he heaved himself up onto an elbow, and peaked across the knoll he was on. And promptly collapsed once more at the sight. Clem was sprawled on her side a dozen meters away, unmoving. The only thing that told him it was Clem he was looking at was the meltagun across her back. She had no other identifying features anymore. All that remained above her shoulders was the ragged stump of her neck, shards of her spinal column and arteries poking out, the power of her death shot obliterating her head entirely. His limbs trembling, He shakily activated him Vox, and reported to his sergeant, "Stubber position is down sir. Shooter is injured, but mobile. Loader is…"
"Loader is what Specialist?!", shouted his sergeant, his voice laced with fury as he fired his own lasgun at the rapidly approaching horde".
"Dead sir. Clem is dead."
"Copy that Disponette. Maintain position and provide marksman fire. Fourth Squad has picked out some of the traitors who might be field leaders".
"Yes sir". He replied, Hauling his lasgun back to his side, he thumbed his own safety catch and let the powerpack warm for a moment, before dragging it back to his seated the stock of his gun snugly against his left shoulder, thanking the emperor he was able to shoot off both sides of his body. Squinting down the iron sights, he swept his gun across the lines assaulting his platoon.
He managed to pick out a roughly ornamented man, carrying a chainsword and auto pistol, waving his arms, almost driving the men around his forwards. "Goodnight", whispered Michal, squeezing the trigger. His gun gave its tiny kickback, the charge pack cycled, and a ruby red bolt of solid light sped through the air. The man toppled over, his head a charred mess. Grinning to himself, he shifted the helmet on his head, and keep sweeping his sights over the mass, which kept creeping closer and closer now that the stubber had been destroyed.
"They're getting more aggressive" he realized, noticing a small group of heretics who made a sudden break for the line of guardsman. They managed to get within 20 metres before being torn apart in a hail of lasfire. This pattern continued for some time, the "suicide" squads of attackers charging, and dieing, paving the way for the rolling crowd of the main force to slowly advance, using the bodys of the dead that carpeted the plains as cover. Moving to within 50 meters of the line of guardsman, they suddenly stopped their chanting, which had been ringing through the air since the start of the engagement. This also caused a momentary stoppage of the fire that the platoon was pouring out, as guardsmen looked at each other nervously before their sergeants bellowed the command to keep firing.
All Michael could do in this instant was stare helplessly as the crowd of maniacs popped a series of signal flares amid their lines, flares which showed their locations to artillery observers. Just as quickly as the flares had been lit, a huge amount of puff of smoke darkened the air above the tec complex in the distance, filling the air with a shrill scream as the first artillery batteries opened fire.
Like the tales of the gods of old raining down their wrath on the worlds they watched over, the shells struck. Enormous craters were dug, ears were shattered by the supersonic shriek of the shells dropping earthwards, and bodies torn destroyed beyond recognition by the explosions.
And slowly, the line of death began to advance away from the suicidal mass of heretics who had lit the flares, creeping slowly towards his platoon's location. And the screaming began again, audible even above the thunderous racket of the shells. The traitors screamed praises to the chaos gods, and added their own guns to the destruction once again. The creeping barrage, coupled with the enemy fire left the Michal's platoon with one option.
Death
If they stood their ground and fought, the artillery would kill them. And if they broke and ran, they would be shot in the back by the heretics guns. And if Michal knew it, then his sergeant knew it. Which was why he was currently bellowing a demand for every gun battery and mortar team to turn its fire on the tec complex which was bombarding them. And he was soundly told that his breach was not a priority, and to Hold the line as all costs. "MISERABLE FRAGGERS!", he screamed, tossing the vox handset back to the guardsman it belonged to, and firing incoherently into the dust storm kicked up by the artillery. Kicking the wall of the trench, he ducked down, and tore the last power pack from his belt kit, and slammed it into place, determined to carry out the Emperor's work till the last breath left his body. and being a true leader of men, he knew that his squad would follow his order to the letter. Baring one of them, they would all fight, and die this day. Noticing some of them guardsman in the trench around him fixing their bayonets, he realized that he was one of the only ones still firing, the other having exhausted their ammunition.
Michel watched helplessly from his position on the small hill, not 50 meters away from his sergeant, unable to aid his fellow warriors in any way. As the first wave of shells reached the trench, he shouted an oath to the God Emperor, and prayed for forgiveness for failing to defend his brothers. As his view of the trench was obscured by the detonating artillery, Michal watched the over pressure wave race towards him, and felt its impact for a split second, before it tossed him through the air like a rag doll, and he knew no more.
