They thundered across the desert like ghosts on the wind. Hair flapping about their ears and necks. Horses snorting with dust flying from their pounding hooves. Stooped low over their horses backs the men of 1st, 2nd and 3rd platoons raced ahead with the Major. Changhati's heart pounded in his ears and he let out a whoop of exhilaration, this was the true way of the Attillan. The Attillans had one hand on the reigns of their mounts, the other closed around the haft of one of their three hunting lances. Ahead of them they saw them, the Enemy.
Necrons, Changhati couldn't even fathom the meaning of the word in his adrenaline addled brain, if unclean Xenos names could be fathomed. "DRAW YOUR LANCES!" roared the major pulling his first lance from its loop and raising it above his head to inspire the men. 'Like we need inspiring' thought Changhati.

He looked about him, Sergeant Ghaanbatar looked pumped, and his spear fixed forward like an arrow, his straw blonde hair flowing around him. Jochi looked exited and ready, Turgan was quiet as always, his lance dipped ready to take one of the abominations in the chest. Bataar had his plasma gun out and ready, goading his steed with his feet. Erdun had that superior smile on his face, he raised his spear and shouted the founding oath, the one they all took on the founding fields of Attilla, slowly the rest of the men followed.

"WE MEN OF ATTILLA! CHOOSE TO SERVE OUR LORD AND SAVIOR! THE GREAT EMPEROR OF TERRA! IN HIS FOREMOST FIGHING FORCE! THE IMPERIAL GUARD! IN OUR CAPACITY AS ROUGH RIDERS! TO HUNT DOWN THE FOE! WERE OTHERS CANNOT GO, WE SHALL! WERE OTHERS CANNOT FIGHT, WE FIGHT! AND WIN! WE DO THIS IN YOUR NAME AND FOR YOUR ESTATE OH MIGHTY GOD EMPEROR! AVE IMPERATOR!"

The cheer that followed was deafening, 'If these Necrons can feel fear, then they felt that' thought Changhati. The Necrons came into view, a long line in the sands, unflinching. One hundred warriors long and five deep the Necron line waited, with Imperial judgment boring down on them like a bolter round. Their silver body work glinting in the sun and their green eyes gleaming. By some unspoken signal they all took one step forward in unison. Their precision and singularity of purpose would have unnerved lesser men but the Attillans were made of sterner stuff. The thump of five hundred feet smacking into the hardpan was loud and almost eclipsed the pounding of Changhati's heart. As one the soulless machines raised their weapons, long glowing tubes with a backwards facing blade and fired. A ragged screaming noise split the air as the weapons discharged, flickering green lighting shot from the end of the barrels. Half a dozen riders fell, their steeds shot from under them. One slid head first through the sand. It would have been comical if not for the blood soaked trench he left in his wake. Bataar fired his howling plasma gun, sending bursts of Sun bright energy through the air. He screamed he litany of true striking as he pulled the trigger. One pulse smacked into the sand at a Necrons feet, instantly turning it into a pit of steaming glass. The rest of the pulses hit home. The Necron warrior was atomised, its broken body disappearing in a flash of green light. Bataar whooped for joy and fired again, another Warrior vanished, slain by Bataar's unerring aim. "CHAAAARGE!" screamed the Major, lowering his lance to head height. As one the column of Rough Riders formed up into V for Victory formation and lowered their lances, each weapon humming as the explosive heads were armed. Bataar slung his plasma gun and hefted a lance, its head humming live like all the others.
"VICTORY IN DEATH!" they roared as one. Like a human and equestrian lightning bolt the Attillan Rough Riders hit the Necron line. The Necrons, ancient as they are, had never come up against cavalry when their programming was written and so their battle programming has no concept of the square formation as most armies do. They simply do not have the tactical flexibility to repel war mounts. The unprepared Necron ranks split asunder with the force of the Attillan cavalry, their bodies knocked from their feet by the tremendous impact. To Changhati what took ten seconds seemed like ten hours. He saw individual grains of sand fly past his face, he saw the Necron looming before him and raised his lance to its head. He saw the spear tip smash through its face and the flash as he pressed the detonator in the grip. The Necrons head and upper torso flew apart from the blast. It sagged to its knees then disappeared in emerald brilliance. He let go of his ruined lance, letting it drop to the desert floor. The momentum of the charge carried them through the Necron ranks, and off into the space behind. They wheeled about in a tight circle. Their second lances were drawn, armed and ready. "Charge!" yelled Sergeant Ghaanbatar, and they surged forward again. The lighting guns crackled again and more men fell, the remaining Necrons only managed to hit seven Attillans as the dust from the first charge obscured the galloping horses. The second charge struck, like spectres of death, like the anvil blow of angry gods. Changhati's lance plowed into the Necrons sternum and the resulting blast split the abomination in Two. More Necrons were blown apart and those knocked to the ground were struggling to get up. By now whatever controlled this Necron War Cell realised that they had taken unsustainable casualties and the remaining Necrons began to phase out in emerald sparks by ranks. The Third charge smashed through the last rank before it phased out bringing several chromed skeletons down to earth before they disappeared.
"VICTORY! VICTORY! GLORY TO THE EMPEROR!" roared the Majors command squad. The horse banner of Attilla flying in the desert wind. The men stopped, looked about them and dismounted, broken lances were collected. Holes dug for men and horses were filled, first with bodies then with sand. Broken lances were placed at the head of each grave, the deceased's dog tags hanging from the detonator grip. All in all thirteen dead out of seventy five. Thirteen, the price the 58th payed for its first combat action on Loxar IV. The price was not fully paid.

There was a swirl of dust to Changhati's left. With horror he realised the fight was not done. there was a small rise of sand rapidly moving closer to them.
"MOUNT UP! QUICKLY!" screamed Changhati. everywere men ran to their horses. Changhati quickly jumped into Abdullah's saddle and drew his chainsword. everywhere men drew their assortment of secondary weapons, Lasguns and Autopistols aplenty. with a mettalic scream of fury the first Wraith burst from the sand, its killing claws extended. It was huge, easily two times the length of a fully matured Attillan horse. it had the upper torso of a Necron warrior but instead of hands its wrists terminated in three huge sickle claws, so sharp they were cutting the air. instead of legs it had a huge snake like body attached at the hips, capable of propelling it like incredible speed. it flew at the nearest Guardsman and impaled him through the chest, crimson blood staining its silver bodywork. the unfortunate Guardsman let out a inhuman screech of pain, his eyes starting to roll back into his head. the forward momentum carried the Wraith and the man off the horse and back under the shifting sand, his cry of pain cut off short; drowned out by the sand filling his lungs. the second Wraith burst out of the sand in front of Jochi. the young Guardsman ducked and the shrieking monster passed over him, its claws missing him by millimeters. the Third Wraith burst out of the sand and flew at Changhati. Changhati ducked its grasping claws and brought his chainsword up. the Wraith tried to turn its head and avoid the blow that was coming but its considerable forward momentum prevented it. all it did was give Changhati a clear shot at its neck. The spinning steel blades of the chainsword met the Necrodermis skin of the Wraith and sun bright sparks flew from the blade. the Wraiths attack cry became one of anguish. Changhati cut a hands span into the monsters neck before the forward momentum wrenched the blade from his and the damaged Wraith plunged into the sand below. "STAND READY!" yelled the Major. another Wraith bust from the sand and abducted another Guardsman in a shower of gore. Changhati leaned perilously off his saddle and retrieved his Chainsword from the sand. "Major!" yelled Sergeant Ghaanbatar "we need to get out of here!" the major nodded. he raised his hand and circled his fist, the symbol for retreat. as one the remaining Cavalrymen bolted for the security of the base. the vox chimed. "Commander of Cavalry group, this is the "Loxar Chieftain" do you require assistance?". Ghaanbatar looked stunned, after all this time they only thought to help us now? his facial expression screamed.

" This is Major Ganzorig of the Attillan 58th Rough Rider Regiment, " Loxar Chieftain " your help is greatly appreciated". in front of them there was a huge column of dust . "Make a hole! bellowed the Major, and the three platoons split to allow the dust cloud to pass. suddenly the wind changed direction and a monster emerged from the cloud, like a beast from a child's nightmare. Its dull grey hull was Imperial; but it was like no vehicle that Changhati had seen before. it was a hulking beast, a super heavy tank in its own right. the " Loxar Chieftain " burst through a sand bank, sand streaming of its hull like an ocean going battleship of Terran antiquity. It was a huge Super Russ, the Loxar pattern Leman Russ command tank. Its main armament was a hulking vanquisher cannon, with a coaxial heavy bolter for range finding, its other armaments were just as terrifying. its forward mount had a twin-linked Lascannon and its extra wide side sponson's had twin auto cannons, their thick barrels were as straight and terrifying as any dipped lance. the top hatched popped and a servitor rose to crew the pintle mounted, double barreled heavy stubber. with the throaty roar of Cannon the main gun fired. a wraith exploded with the force of a supernova as a super dense kinetic penetrater round burst through its chest. with a Thuk Thuk Thuk noise the flank mounted Autocannons opened up, shredding another Wraith. As the Tank destroyed the remaining Wraiths Changhati relaxed. there was a burst of displaced sand and the sound of shredding air. Changhati turned and came face to face with the metallic corpse grin of the Necron Wraith. Its scarring of its neck where the Chainsword had bit in gleamed as only cut metal can. Its glowing Emerald eyes glowed with a cold lifeless fury. Changhati grabbed the only weapon at hand, "The Fury of Chakara". He thrust it into the Necron's chest. It let out an agonized scream as the pure silver head touched it, Steam rising from the cut it left. The Wraith fell back and reared up on its tail chasing Changhati. It let out a wheeze that could have been mistaken for very crude Low Gothic, "Revenge". It reached for Changhati, the sickle claws cutting rips in his uniform. Changhati ducked the claws and felt the white light burn into his retinas. Three scarlet energy pulses whipped overhead, atomising the Wraith. Changhati looked in front of him and saw Bataar, twisted around with his plasma gun held out level despite his horse's motion.
"You owe me one 'Chang" Remarked the bald plasma gunner. Changhati wasn't so happy to get back to base now. He owed Bataar a beer.