Voltke had crouched down in the stairwell of some wrecked building that was roughly the centre of his line. There was a Heavy Bolter crew on the roof, a squad occupying the upper floor as overwatch and a squad on the lower floor to prevent any would-be assault on the building. Voltke's exhausted body was finally overcome. Sleep took him. He started awake almost immediately. But then he went back under. His voxman sat next to him, leaning against the wall, sleeping also. Together they grabbed the few moments they could. Hours had passed since nightfall and Sterling's successful attack on the Ork lines. Voltke had marched through his own line, inspecting all the half-full platoons who were stretched thin across several buildings, barely able to provide effective garrisons for any of them.
His platoon commanders were exhausted, but they ensured their men were given a few hours sleep here and there. Voltke noticed that his men were particularly well presented. Even the buildings they were billeted in were partially swept clean and the usual squalor of the dilapidated city was minimal. Sterling looked at a company commander and asked about the tidiness of the line.
"It's Monday, sir."
The day where a Death Korp's Regimental Commander would inspect his troops and barracks. His men had taken it upon themselves to maintain discipline and order even in this incessant fighting.
"Very good." Voltke replied.
Voltke stopped to talk to all his Platoon Commanders. They reported positively, explaining their effective use of sniper fire and well organised defence plans. But there was a sense of coolness about them tonight. Not the usual Krieger cold candor either. It was special. They knew that this next attack by the Orks would likely be the end. And any Krieger worth his salt would feel a sense of calmness and openness about it. Voltke's new Second in Command, Major Burkhart, summarised the situation perfectly.
"The time for strategy is over. It will be the watchmasters and guardsmen operating tactically which will deliver a sea of blood up for the Emperor tonight."

The frenzied firing of the Heavy Bolter atop the roof dispelled any notion that Sterling might have ceased tonight's attack.
Voltke was on his feet and at the bottom floor windows with his voxman as the squad stationed there began to fire at screaming shadows charging across the highway. He drew his pistol and joined in the fighting.
"Warn the rest of the line, the Orks are assaulting." Voltke coldly shouted to his voxman.
The Orks had broken hard and fast across the highway, spearing off in different directions. The platoons in the neighbouring buildings were pouring fire onto the assaulting troops, but some Orks would get through, Voltke knew.
Bullets sprayed at the windows, bringing Voltke to his knee seeking cover. He fired until his laspistol went dry, then reloaded. He cast his eyes around the dark room and listened to the sound of battle. A stiff breeze had brought a swirl of dust and grit up into the air. Combined with the exploding masonry and muzzle smoke, the dark night was even harder to see through. He glanced at his men, dutifully firing from cover in the windows into the street. Some guardsmen covering the door, firing hard. And Voltke's voxman shouting something in his ear.
"-overrun, sir!"
"What?" Voltke shouted back as he stood and fired into the street.
"2nd Company is overrun. They're dying in place."
Dying in place meant that no order to retreat would be given by the company commander. A glorious order to give, truly.
"Very good." Voltke huffed as bullets wizzed and Orks in the street roared. He gunned down several, but they were making it into surrounding buildings. He ducked out of the window and grabbed his voxman, pulling him close. This transmission was important to get right.
"Has the general ordered us to retreat?" He yelled.
"No, sir." Came the reply.
"General order: The 202nd Death Korps is to die in place." He yelled.
"Yes, sir."
Voltke fired out into the blackness a few more times until a grenade bounced through the open window. He turned away from it and leapt to the floor as his men shouted,
"Grenade!"

The concussion rocked Voltke. He was deafened, but not dead. He turned his head and raised his pistol, looking at the door and windows. An enormous figure loomed at the window, firing his primitive weapon wildly into the room. Voltke fired back, blasting the thing into the street.
"Up, men!" He yelled. But his men were already on their feet and retaking their positions. One was shot to pieces as he crossed a window. Another was shot down as he retook his position at the door. Voltke stood and ran to replace him, sabre now in hand.
"Sir!" His voxman yelled. "The general says the whole line is broken. We're lost, sir! The whole army!" The excited voxman said, as if being overrun and certain death was the greatest news in the world. And Voltke felt it too. No pressure of victory. Just the ease of death.
An explosion from upstairs which shook the whole building. Then a second explosion next to Voltke, blowing in the walls and sending Voltke reeling again. He slipped out of consciousness but panic brought him back. He mustn't die on his back. He tried climbing to his feet but could not find them. And a second moment of panic as he realised he'd lost his sword. A damned foolish sense of honour entered his mind. He couldn't leave his sword on the field of battle.
"My sword!" He yelled.
The voxman was at his side, sword in hand.
"Here, sir. I'll help you up." He grabbed Voltke's arm and tried to drag him to his feet. But a third and final explosion turned him into a quivering, bloody, pulp. The explosion brought the roof down upon them and the last thing Voltke saw before black was the shredded body of his young voxman, protectively covering his own as concrete fell upon them.
"Darkness take me." Voltke thought.