Chapter 34
The next few weeks were spent in a grim wrestling matched with the combined warbands of the Iron Warriors and Black Legion. With their troops arriving in force, the Black Legion was free to assault the main body of the Imperial battlegroup's fortifications in the valley. This allowed the Iron Warriors to concentrate on their efforts to rebuild their own defense works throughout area of operations. Their own reinforcements were already harassing flanks, overrunning outposts, and some long-range groups were even assailing the mountain fortresses which ran along the northern side of the valley on a line from Kasr Sonnen.
Meanwhile, the embattled Imperial defenders were clinging to their territory as best they could. Heavy artillery continued to act as a shield, cutting off the Heretic Astartes and their demented followers before they could seize a position. Aeronautica Imperialis wings were being detached from Battlegroup Cadia or dispatched from nearby planetside installations. More Interior Guard and Shock Trooper Regiments were arriving as well, filling gaps in the lines and giving the more worn-out units time to recuperate in rear positions. Kasr Sonnen's manufactorums and the battlegroup's own local facilities were steadily producing wargear on an around-the-clock schedule, supply the troops with fresh wargear from Flak Armour and M36 lasguns to Leman Russ Main Battle Tanks and prefabricated defense works.
But reinforcements were struggling to get through to them. Those that were airdropped by Valkyries were continually harassed by heretical fliers which struck with great speed and at moments when the fleets of dropships were vulnerable: when they were landing or taking off. Because of their steady advance, the Black Legion was able to seize the majority of the all-weather roads the joint Adeptus Astartes-Astra Militarum force fought so hard to retake from the Iron Warriors. Unable to bring in men, armor, and supplies by the road hub, they were forced to rely on the southern route. Convoys were slowed due to the steep terrain and by having to first enter Kasr Sonnen and then follow the circuitous route down the opposite side of the ridgebacks to enter the valley. Occasionally, the regiments manning blocking positions along the all-weather roads would attempt to send relief columns through but after half a dozen were destroyed, General Battye ordered all breakthrough attempts to cease. The blocking positions were imperiled as well and needed as much manpower as the valley defense.
Black Legionnaires continued to harass the flanks and the Iron Warriors renewed artillery bombardments made life miserable for the troops on the frontline. Even though they were steadily giving ground to the enemy, however, they managed to fight well and were continually cheered by the presence of the Adeptus Astartes. Those Battle-Brothers who were not actively engaged in frontline positions were held in reserve along the second series of trenches. This gave them greater flexibility in countering hostile maneuvers. If a breakthrough was occurring or seemed likely to happen, they would plug the gaps and assist the Astra Militarum troops until the enemy attack abated. The strategy was working well to blunt enemy attacks and give friendly forces chances to conduct a tactical withdraw. Slowly but surely, the troops' morale was rising.
Those first weeks, when the enemy was counterattacking in force and the lines were destabilizing, there was no chatter around the cooking fires, no boasting between the regiments as to who was braver or more skilled in combat, and no singing. Many were ashamed at their flight. Combined with their want for success, repeated failures in their assaults, and continually giving greater swathes of ground, it was hard for the Imperial Guardsmen to walk with their heads held high. Now, they were growing more confident in combat and their dispositions grew more cheerful. One could hear the typical chorus of laughter from dugouts during meal hours as well as the banter between different soldiers. At night, the troops sang all manner of bawdy songs with crass lyrics, if just to remind themselves of the comforts of a Kasr soldier's hall. Even if these were but mere distractions between the next battle or watch detail, their spirits were gladdened.
Marsh Silas, Bloody Platoon, and the rest of 1st Company were maintaining their first-day objective: keeping the frontline linked between the center force, consisting of the of their old friends of the 95th Cadian Regiment and the 45th Altridge on the extreme left. Supporting 1333rd and the 45th regiments were other familiar faces: the 217th Cadian Mechanized Regiment. With armored units now fulfilling stationary roles or providing transport between different positions without the shrinking Imperial camp, their mechanized infantrymen were spread out among the left flank. Whether these four regiments were in the frontline or pulled back to interior positions to rest, there was a great deal of intermingling between them.
At night, Marsh Silas had taken to checking the trenches to make sure the men of the Altridge Regiment's 5th Company and a squad from Bloody Platoon were pulling watch duty together. He liked them to be spread out far enough so that they wouldn't be wiped out by a single enemy artillery shell but could still communicate via hand signals. After completing his evening inspection, he would find Sergeant Afdin. They would sit on a cutting into the trench wall where soldiers who were not required to stand-to during watch could rest. At first, they would just smoke together, Marsh Silas with his pipe and Afdin with his hand-rolled lho-sticks. But eventually they began to chat.
On this particular night, nearly a month after the Black Legion's arrival, the Altridge fellow brought a strange look device. It was made of wood with an extended circular base that had a hole cut in the center and a long neck about the width of a man's palm. Strings stretched from the end of the neck all the way to the base, even over the hole. At the end of the neck was a piece of would with little metal knobs the strings tied off to.
Afin noticed, chuckled, and began to strum his fingers across the strings.
"You folks ain't something like this on Cadia?"
"You'd have to look to the officer castes to find an appreciation for some manner o' musical finery," Marsh replied, sitting back against the trench with his pipe clenched between his lips. "All we know are good ol' marching music, drill tunes, and soldier's songs. You don't need a contraption like that to sing to."
But Afdin kept strumming whilst the fingers of his opposite hand curled, pressed, and slid up and down the neck. The pitch of the notes change, because a little higher and brighter.
"It's called a guitarran."
"Sounds like High Gothic."
"Oh, do you know the tongue?"
"Just a little."
"I had to be versed in it, for I was a teacher back on Altridge."
"You look a little young to be a Drill Abbot."
"I did not serve the Ecclesiarchy," Afdin replied. He was smiling a little bit as he played the guitarran and didn't look up. "Altridge is a Civilized World and although we be Emperor-worshipping folk, not every lesson is taught within the cathedral. There are schools for children who will one day serve this Imperium. Some go to the manufactorums, others might do well enough to get into better schools, and one day they'll become merchants or entrepreneurs, trading and selling all manner of goods across the planet."
He finished playing the song and affectionately tapped the wooden furniture of the guitarran. Marsh Silas took his pipe from his lips and tugged up his collar. The night air was chilly and snow as falling gently, nestling softly in his blonde hair. A great deal was already accumulating in Afdin's aburn locks but he didn't seem to mind. Eventually, he looked up and brushed it out, smiling up at the sky. "I never saw snow until I came to this place," he said wistfully. "Altridge is very warm planet. It's never quite cold, even during the rainy season."
"Winters are long in these parts of Cadia. Warm days will come soon enough." Marsh pointed at the guitarran with the neck of his pipe. "Is that what you taught them children? Music?"
"Rhetoric," was his proud reply. "To expound upon ideals with eloquence, poise, and the ability to persuade. No student who desired a career in politics or inter-planetary relations would dare skip such a course. Ten years I spent educating youths to become great speakers. I took a great deal off pride in that."
Afdin's smile grew very somber then and he looked down at the duckboards. The ground underneath the boards was dark and churned up from so much digging, but the cold air froze it. Much of soil spattered the boards and created clots in the spaces between them. In the low-light of the moon, they appeared as dark splotches that lacked any kind of definition.
Marsh Silas puffed on his pipe stoically and observed the man for a few moments. Now that he said it, he did appear rather scholarly. His eyes were studious and wise, there were a few lines across his forehead indicating his creased brow, and the way his stubble grew gave him the appearance of someone older.
"What drew you away?"
"My duty, or so I was told," Afin said. "The Emperor's Gift occurs on Altridge ever fifty solar years. The demand for soldiery was increased and so many who not already serving in the Planetary Defense Force were drafted. The best of us formed new Militarum regiments and were sent to the stars."
"To be chosen to serve in the Emperor's armies is a great honor," Marsh Silas, folding his arms across his chest and nodding approvingly.
"I would think that any post a citizen holds that in some way serves his or her fellow man is honorable." Afdin leaned back against the wall of the trench, his shoulder brushing against Marsh's. "I know service in the Astra Militarum is an honor for Cadians. But it is your birthright to such an honor, for you are a warlike people. The Emperor made you so. That is well and good. Altridge was a place of many peoples and ideals, a place where folk worked hard to not only better the Imperium but themselves. Even the nobles had to rely on the sweat of their own brows and the ethic of their works to earn the Emperor's light. I was able to rise to my post, from student to pupil, to extend teachings to generations and generations. Is it not just as important to have learned people in our grand Imperium as we do soldiers? Must we always rely on warriors to preserve the Imperium? Will the soldiery be the ones to maintain its glory?"
This he said holding his hands out, not quite a shrug but a kind of imploring to no one in particular. Marsh Silas could see the exasperation etched in face and the sadness ingrained in his eyes. He looked forehead again and lowered his pipe.
"It wasn't until a little over a year ago I learned to read," Marsh admitted. "Still learning. Have to work on my penmanship and according to my dear friend, I still don't talk as good as I should. But I wasn't much concerned with taking up such things until I another friend pestered me enough about it."
Excuse me, sir, it was not quite as simple as that.
Marsh Silas chuckled to himself. "He helped me realize that ideas, teaching, opening yerself up, putting your energy into learning, these ain't such bad things."
"Your friend sounds very wise."
I like this Afdin.
"Aye, he was. We talked very much. Argued sometimes. Debated, as it were. He and I wanted to make some great changes to this Imperium. I still do. A soldier and a learned man don't have to be two different souls. Put those two together and you won't be maintaining glory, you'll be making it anew. Or at least, I hope so."
Afdin did not speak for a few moments and this made Marsh Silas feel uncomfortably. Nervously, the neck of his pipe just a space away from his lips, he glanced over. The Altridge NCO was gazing at him curiously. When their eyes met, they looked forwards again.
"You're a strange one."
"I suppose I am."
"I like you, Silas. You're about the first Cadian who truly treated me with any respect."
"You've come to Cadia at a choice time," Marsh said, deflecting the flattering comment. "I used to hate you tithe-worlders. I thought you scum, for it was a tithed soldier who murdered my own father in an act of treachery. But yer not all the same."
He held his pipe over to him. "Ye have a chance at becoming Cadian yet."
Afdin took the pipe, puffed on it, and exhaled slowly.
"Smooth."
"Sure is."
"You are a singer, are you not? How about a tune, then? Sing on, and I'll follow. Make it a sad one."
"Why would ya want to hear a sad one?"
"Melancholy is sometimes best reciprocated with melancholy, friend. We'll sing a jaunty one tomorrow before we take that damnable hill.:"
It didn't take Marsh Silas long to think of one.
"Along a windswept battlefield,
of shattered shield and broken spear,
a moor where fates are signed and sealed,
the darkened smoke does dare reveal,
comrades lost who did not yield."
Afdin was playing the guitarran now. The chords he struck were slow but rhythmic, their tones somber but mystic. They matched the deep falls in Marsh's voice and hung in the air when he drew the words out.
"Their hearts beat still, their eyes are pale,
their wage is froze, their armor's billed,
their souls have left amid a widow's wail,
their bones been placed, the grave is filled",
and a no more—"
There was a shifting noise to the left. Marsh stopped singing at the same moment Afdin stopped strumming. Their heads snapped in the direction of the sound.
"Vesna?" Afdin whispered to the sentry posted closest to them. "Was that you?"
There was no reply. Marsh Silas and Afdin stood up slowly, the former drawing his Ripper Pistol while the latter picked up his M36. Side by side, they walked down the trench with their weapons raised to a low-ready. Silvanus, I can't sense this Vesna. But there is a presence close. Tread lightly. Barlocke's voice was dark and foreboding; it felt as though some hidden hand in his mind was sliding their hand across a cold rockcrete wall.
They came across the sentry, standing on the parapet and resting against the sandbags which lined the lip of the trench. "Vesna, what goes?" Afdin asked again. When Vesna didn't answer, Afdin took the man by his shoulder and jostled him. The Guardsman immediately slumped back into the trench. His throat was cut.
Silvanus, look out!
Marsh Silas turned to the parapet and saw half a dozen masked figures leap into the trench. He raised his pistol, squeezed the trigger, and swept it from left to ride. Bullets cut down several of the assailants but two of them landed right against him. The force sent him stumbling back against the opposite wall of the trench. When one attempted to tackle him, he shot him down but a second hit him in the side of the head with the butt of his autogun.
The blow was sharp and hard. His vision blurring and ears ringing, Marsh tumbled to the side. Attempting to recover, he turned and raised his pistol. Another heretic grabbed his arm and forced it against the trench wall, slamming it so hard several times that he lost his grip on his sidearm. Looking past the heretic in this moment, he saw Afdin pressed up against the same wall and struggling to keep his M36 out of a heretic's hands.
Just as it seemed like he was about to lose his grip, he purposefully let go, drew his laspistol, and fired. The single lasbolt struck the heretic in the chest and threw him against the wall. "Heretics in the wire!" he screamed. "Heretics in the wire!" As he yelled, he whirled towards Marsh and shot the two heretics pinning him against the wall. Others jumped in, ignoring the two Guardsmen. They posted themselves nearby and started firing their autoguns into the trench as the sounds of respondind Imperial troops were heard. Bullets snapped and lasbolts sizzled and seethed. There were yellow, blue, and red flashes. Grenades exploded, showering them with earth.
More heretics came piling in. Marsh scrambled for his Ripper Pistol but instead was hit in the face and sides. But he slid his trench knife from its scabbard and slashed the first man who tried to pin him across the face. It opened the sack hood he was wearing, revealing deathly pale skin that was tight on the skull and burning red eyes. Afdin shot a few more but when he reloaded, he too was assailed by several heretics. Marsh ran for him, attempting to stab one of the heretics in the back. But a blow from the side knocked him over and he swung wildly. The shadowy heretic leaped back, dodging the blow, and tried to grab him. Instead of defending, Marsh charged and stabbed him in the belly. The weight of his assault carried the heretic over to the opposite wall of the trench and he gored him then, twisting the blade.
He withdrew it, feeling blood on his hand. Before he could race for Afdin, somebody jumped down on top of him. A heretic on either side restrained his arms. Forced to the ground, his heart throbbing in his throat, his breath coming out in heated snorts and growling rasps, he watched as Afdin was similarly pushed down.
One of their hands pressed Marsh's face into the dirt next to the duckboards. Groaning, he closed his eyes so the dirt didn't get in. He grunted as a few booted feet kicked him in the sides and stomped on the back of his legs. Then, they picked him and Afdin up and started to carry them out of the trench. Marsh and his companion did their best to fight and struggle, but they were restrained by so many of the foul heretics they could hardly move.
Pop! Just as Marsh was being pulled from the trench, a flare exploded overhead. The heretics, diligent in their task, ignored it and kept carrying him out. Suddenly, there were lasbolts and Bolt-shells. Heretics began to fall, losing limbs and breaking into pieces from the explosive rounds. In the confusion, Marsh managed to break free and tried to reach Afdin, but was quickly subdued again. Fists fell on his gut, knocking the wind from him.
Falling onto his back, he tried to push them away but it was no use. They grabbed his arms and began to drag him. Marsh watched the trench slide slowly away from him, even as muzzle flashes glowed. Then, in the light of the flare, hulking figures emerged. Blood Ravens came sprinting towards the trench, leaped over it, and drew their massive daggers. Smashing into the party of heretics, they stabbed them through, cut them in half, beheaded, crushed, and tore. Pulp and blood stained the snow.
When a heretic attempted to level a shotgun, Captain Thule appeared with his Thunder Hammer. Roaring, the Space Marine swung and struck his puny opponent so hard the hammer split him half. Blood splashed onto the snow and the heretic's upper half landed a few meters away from its legs.
Thule reached down and plucked Marsh Silas from the ground. Endymion likewise took Afdin and the squad of Bloody Ravens escorted them back to the trench. Just as they all climbed back in, enemy artillery started to fall.
Shivering, Marsh fell into the bottom of the trench and sat up. A lamp-pack was immediately thrust into his face.
"Stop, you're blinding him!" Carstensen said, pushing Honeycutt out of the way. She held Marsh by his shoulders. "Are you hurt badly? Are you hit?" Her hands patted him from his shoulders all the way down to his legs, searching for a wound.
"His face is swelling up. Bad cut on the temple. Commissar, let me work," Honeycutt insisted. When he tried to move in, Carstensen shoved him away and continued checking.
"I'm fine," Marsh wheezed, trying to regain his breath and then started pointing desperately at Afdin. "Check him, check him."
The Altridge NCO was not hit either but he received a heavy blow to his eye. It was now blackened and swollen. Walcott was already looking him over. Afdin was lifting his hand and nodding.
A shell landed close by and showered them with earth.
"Remove yourselves to the dugout," Captain Thule ordered.
Carstensen and Honeycutt each took one of Marsh's arms and helped him back to the closest bunker. Walcott and the other Guardsmen present brought Afdin. The Blood Ravens, very calmly under the artillery barrage, joined them in the bunker.
Marsh and Afdin were seated side by side, given water, and soon the medics and chirurgeons were tending to their many abrasions, cuts, and swellings.
"Captain Thule, we are in your debt," Marsh finally managed to say, still shaking from fear and adrenaline.
"Fuck. Fuck." Afdin shivered. "What was that!? Why did they come for us in such a way!?"
"Prisoner snatch," Carstensen said, kneeling beside Marsh. "They mean to take prisoners and interrogate them for intelligence; gun positions, bunkers, troop numbers, and the like. We would do the same."
"Fuck!" Afdin swore again. "Poor, poor Vesna. What will happen to his wife and babe?"
"The enemy grows bolder," Thule remarked aloud.
"Force Commander, we have finished checking the corpses. It appears these are new arrivals, a band from the Lost of the Damned known as the Band of Dusk, devotees to the Black Legion," Endymion said as he walked in. "They continue to bring reinforcements."
In the light of the lamp-pack, Thule's brow grew heavier and his gaze seemed troubled. Endymion, still wearing his helmet, stood by hesitantly. When the Force Commander did not speak, he took a step closer. "Brother-Captain, the Black Legion—"
"I know," Thule grunted.
"If the Chapter Master—"
"I know." Thule shut his eyes and shook his head. "He has already contacted me once with orders to disengage."
Marsh and the gaze of every other Imperial Guardsmen present in the bunker turned towards the Bloody Raven. Violet eyes bulged with shock and horror at the very the thought of their leaving. Thule noticed their imploring, frightened gazes and turned to Endymion. "Once the barrage ceases, post our Battle-Brothers along this line. We shall maintain a vigilant watch to relieve the Guardsmen for a time. They have work to do in the morning. Then, we shall return to our original positions to await further orders."
Endymion nodded and stood by the entrance to the bunker. Thule turned to Marsh Silas and walked over, his Power Armor thudding on the rockcrete floor. It was only then that the platoon sergeant realized the Force Commander was holding both his trench knife and Ripper Pistol. "You shall need these on the morrow, I presume."
"Thank you, sir," Marsh replied graciously, bowing his head.
The barrage ended soon after and the Bloody Ravens filtered out. Thule waited until they'd all left to follow. But Marsh Silas, warding off a concerned Honeycutt and Carstensen, stood up and hurried to the door. "Sir, please. Why must you leave?"
Thule gazed down at him almost sympathetically. The heaviness of his brow and darkness of his eyes seemed alleviated for a moment. Turning his head, he looked down at the ground for a time. He seemed rather sad then and Marsh was most surprised. All the Space Marines he'd seen in the past weeks, those few who did not wear helms at the least, were so stoic and brave. Even the Scout Marines, who could be a bit more reckless, held an air of nobility about them. In the face of overwhelming odds, they fought on with such diligence, honor, grace, and dutifulness. Their leaving in the face of an enemy they'd fought so long was unthinkable.
Eventually, Thule managed to meet Marsh's violet gaze once more.
"Our Chapter Master dislikes engagements with the Black Legion," he said quietly. "I cannot ignore the threat they post, however. In the name of the Emperor, my Bloody Ravens and I shall remain as long as we can."
"You would do that for us?" Marsh Silas asked.
"If you are perfectly willing to lay down your lives for Cadia, then so are we."
Thule passed through the door, bowing his head so as to not hit the rockcrete edge. Marsh stood in the entrance, watching him march down the trench. The Blood Raven seemed especially noble in the young Cadian's eyes, even though his gait was slow and his conscious was quite heavy.
"Come Silas," Afdin said, taking his arm. "Let us rest a while. Captain Thule is right. We've much to do on the morrow."
Marsh Silas took a moment to look at him, but eventually nodded. His heart was finally calm and sleep seemed quite a desirable thing.
###
Elevation 142 was the topographical designation for a hill at the foot of the ridgebacks on the western side of the Kasr Sonnen plateau. Two days prior, it was seized by the Band of Dusk who installed a mortar battery. Although the majority of the ranges were much higher than it, the hill was an excellent fortification. It was wide, the slopes were gradual, and studded with rocks and vegetation, making it easy to entrench. The top was flat, allowing artillery pieces to be easily emplaced. What's more, with the ridgebacks to its rear, it couldn't be assailed from all sides and the attackers would be subject to enfilading fire. Its proximity to Imperial lines also made it an excellent observation post and anytime the frontline regiments were relieved, they'd be subject to intense medium and long-range artillery.
Colonel Isaev ordered it to be taken. The duty fell to the 1st Company of the 1333rd Cadian Regiment and the 3rd and 5th Companies of the 45th Altridge.
"You'll have artillery support until you hit the ridge, then the bombardment will divert to ward off any reinforcements," Captain Giles said to the assortment of platoon leaders and NCOs assembled around him in the command bunker. "We'll be sweeping from the center to the right. 5th Company will come down the center with us and then sweep left so we can encircle the approaches. 3rd Company will advance up the ridgebacks and knock out any gun positions overlooking the hill."
Giles closed his map-book and tapped the leather binding. "If we take Elevation 142 and hold it, we may be able to advance the line and retake some lost ground. We very well may regain the initiative of this damnable siege. Questions?"
"Will we have tank support?" asked Lieutenant Comstock of 2nd Platoon.
"Negative. All Astartes, air, and armor support are being held back in the case of a general offensive. We won't see any reinforcements until we take and hold that hill. Anything else? Fine, back to your posts, wait for my command."
Marsh Silas put on his helmet and hurried down the trench with the other officers and enlisted men. His face was still sore from the pounding he took last night but it was mitigated slightly by the stimulants Honeycutt provided. He found Bloody Platoon assembled in their section with their bayonets fixed and wargear ready. Although there was not as much prideful boasting as there was on previous assignments, he could see their spirits were high. Men nodded, smiled, and shook hands. Marsh tugged on their equipment as he passed between the ranks.
Once again, Bloody Platoon would be going up the center and would serve as the anchor between the rest of the company and their Altridge companions. Much to his delight, he found Sergeant Afdin standing at the end of their line as well. They exchanged smiles.
"I don't think there's time for a smoke this day," Marsh told him.
"We'll have one at the top of the hill."
"Emperor's blessings with you," Marsh Silas said, shaking his hand.
"And to you, friend."
"Well, look who it is!"
Marsh turned around. Joining Bloody Platoon's ranks once again was Haupt, the Militarum engineer who fought with them during the Battle of Kasr Sonnen and the assault on the hills. An amiable and gregarious fellow, he was quite liked by the enlisted men and they were more than happy to see a familiar face.
He saluted the officer as he came up and they shook hands too. "My, my, haven't you been promoted yet?"
"No, sir, but if we do well today, I think it'll be another round of promotions and maybe a few days furlough in Kasr Sonnen."
"Now there's something worth fighting for!" Haupt joked, buckling his chinstrap and sliding a bayonet onto the lug of his M36.
Marsh Silas felt better for seeing him. Eastoft would be marching with Bloody Platoon again and Scout Sergeant Isenhour also appeared wordlessly in their midst. Ghent even passed through, providing encouragement before joining Captain Giles who was with 2nd Platoon. Having Afdin and his formidable fighters to the left gave him great courage too.
Stepping onto the parapet, he watched the artillery shells fall on the ridgebacks and Elevation 142. Huge columns of black earth and white snow flew skyward. From a distance of four hundred meters, he couldn't make out any of the enemy's fighting holes. When he raised his magonoculars, however, he could see the lips of holes, the sticks and foliage they piled up around their concealed positions, and even the barrels of some of their Heavy Stubbers.
"Bloody Platoon, listen up!" Marsh said, stepping back down. "You're light, today! Weapons and ammunition only. If it can't kill a heretic, you're to leave it behind. You don't stop unless it's to pick up a wounded man. When we hit that first slope, use the rocks for cover. 1st and 3rd Squads, hit them with grenades. 2nd, 4th, and 5th Squads, we'll push them with bayonets. Walmsley Major!?"
"Staff Sergeant!?"
"Say sir; commanding officer absent."
"Sir!?"
"The moment you see we've gotten halfway up the hill, move the Heavy Weapons Squads up to us. Deploy smoke for cover."
"Wilco!"
"May the Emperor be with you all! See you at the top, men!"
The bombardment intensified. Men trembled with adrenaline, their fingers drumming on the ladder rungs and the sandbags. Exhaling heavily, murmuring prayers, patting their wargear down. Marsh closed his eyes, gave a though to the Emperor, one to his beloved Carstensen, a third to his mother, and one more to his dear friend Hyram.
The whistles blew.
"For Emperor and Imperium!" Bloody Platoon screamed and heaved themselves over the top.
Marsh looked left and saw 5th Company swarming towards the hill. 3rd Company swept across the ridgebacks, shooting as they ran. He looked right. 1st Company's formation loosened as mortar shells started to fall among them. Earth and rock showered his helmet and Flak Armor. NCOs shouted for the men to hurry onward. Heavy Stubber rounds raked across the soil, spattering their filthy trousers with even more dirt. The snow they ran through was light, slowing them little. Flakes sprayed his face each time an enemy burst struck nearby. Over their heads, the Heavy Weapons Squads left in the trenches pounded the hill with Heavy Bolters, Autocannons, mortars, and Lascannons.
The artillery barrage moved right onto the main enemy position. As it slackened, the enemy's fire intensified. Marsh Silas was biffed and buffeted by bracketing mortar shells, but he picked himself and kept running. Bloody Platoon hit the slope of the hill and some of the men immediately laid down. They started whipping grenades up the slope at the Heavy Stubber muzzle flashes. Grenades detonated in rapid succession—thump, whump-thump-whump—and then the Shock Troopers advanced.
Marsh Silas lobbed a grenade into a hole a few meters ahead of him. It exploded in a shower of brown earth and he heard screaming. Darting forward, feeling the concussion of autogun slugs snapping by his face, he jumped in. He bayoneted the two survivors and then went to the opposite end of the hole for cover, as enemies in a higher position were shooting at him. Marsh stood back up, squeezing off shots. Other Guardsmen came up to his position, sliding behind rocks or crawling along felled logs. Fleming knelt to fire his Grenade Launcher but was suddenly stuck in the lower back beneath his Flak Armor. He cried out and tumbled to his side, writhing.
Marsh turned to see the barrel of an autogun sticking out of a concealed position.
"Contact rear! Spider hole!" he shouted and immediately suppressed the position. Gunnery Sergeant Wulff scrambled up to it, lifted the wooden lid which was covered with grass and leaves, and slid a grenade into it. She jumped away just as the resulting explosion blew the lid off.
All around, Guardsmen dipped the lasguns into spider holes and gun positions, firing blindly. Drummer Boy forced his barrel into one spider hole only to have his M36 ripped from his grasp. When the heretic jumped up, Rowley the Whiteshield quickly gunned him down. Haupt leapt into a Heavy Stubber position, bayoneting one of the defenders and grappling with the others. The engineer clutched him by the throat and struck him furiously in the face several times. Tossing the assaulting down, he removed the big gun from its tripod, gripped it with both hands, and slammed it down on the heretic's head repeatedly.
Marsh crawled to the top of the hill. Bursts of autogun fire and lasbolts struck the ground near his face just as he emerged. Above him, he saw the muzzle flashes of so many guns along the ridgebacks firing at him. They couldn't wait for 3rd Altridge company. When he looked over his shoulder, he could see the Heavy Weapons Squads already moving up. The attacking force was committed and if they stalled now, they'd lose the initiative.
Rolling onto his back, he got the attention of the Guardsmen around him. It was too loud for him to be heard, so he balled one of his fists up and then ran his other hand over it, indicating a grenade attack. Everyone unclipped a fragmentation grenade from their chest rigs, yanked the pins, released the spoons, and lobbed them. The detonations rocked the hill.
Marsh stood up, waving them on. "Follow me! Give'em everything you've got!"
With a roar, they charged onto the top of the hill. At the same time, 2nd Platoon came racing over the crest led by none other than Captain Giles. The officer was twirling his Power Sword over his head and yelling at the top of the lungs. Singlehandedly, he seized a Heavy Bolter position, dispatching both gunners, and then stormed a mortar position. The four operators tried to fight back with daggers but the officer nimbly weaved between their blows, slicing their bellies open, severing limbs, and decapitating them with elegant swipes of his blade.
And then there was another valiant cry. There went the Altridge 5th Company, streaming over the top! Bravely, they flooded the fighting holes and locked into a brutal melee of fists, daggers, and bayonets. Even as men dropped all around from enfilading fire above them, they overran Elevation 142.
Unable to find any more targets, Marsh turned his attention on the enemy gunners above him. It was a difficult angle, as the ridgebacks were quite steep and he had to lean back very far. Some of the men went so far as to lie on their backs or against the inner reverses of fighting holes to shoot up. Walmsley Major established a line of heavy weapons along the crest without tripods or mounts so they could train the weapons upwards. But the enemy poured their fire on, sometimes dropping grenades or letting them bounce down the declines right into the Imperial position.
Figures started emerging on the jagged slopes of the ridgebacks.
"Is that the 3rd Company!?" Marsh yelled as he entered the makeshift CP, a large open dugout where Captain Giles and the Company Command Squad were setting up.
"Enemy reinforcements!" Commissar Ghent hollered. "Contact front!"
"Contact right, contact right!" Lieutenant Savidge, commanding officer of 3rd Platoon yelled. "They're coming from their trenches! By the Emperor, it's the tanks of the Black Legion!"
"Our armor is beginning to advance!" Giles shouted, pointing back towards their lines. Sure enough, Leman Russ MBTs and supporting infantry were now entering open ground. Artillery was falling in their midst. Streams of heavy fire were emitting from the enemy's trenchworks. "We will hold! Give me the bloody Vox! Tertius Six, Primus Six; where the fuck are you!? I cannot see you!"
Marsh organized Bloody Platoon so they were facing the eastern slope. Heretic Predator tanks were forming a semicircle near the base of the hill and committing to volley-fire with their cannons. Each time a salvo hit, it felt like a wall of fire and steel was landing in front of him. It was impossible to stand up and fire. Guardsmen could only crawl up to the crest, loose a few lasbolts, and then had to retreat for fear of a direct hit.
One clot of Guardsmen adjacent to his position suffered such a strike. It landed right in their center. Shrapnel tore through their Flak Armor, severed limbs, and sent them sprawling. Few survived; those that did were clutching bloody stumps where their legs used to be.
"Intervals, intervals!" Marsh Silas ordered, forcefully spreading the men out. "Don't bunch up! Knaggs, Fletcher, do something about those tanks!"
"The launcher is in-op!" Knaggs shouted, waving his hand. "It's damaged!"
"Fuck! Foster, Ledford, shift your Lascannon left! Left!"
The pair did as they were ordered, bravely moving the cumbersome weapon under the intense tank fire. They erected the weapon, fired, and were able to shear the turret off one of the enemy Predators. Marsh Silas was crawling towards them to help direct their fire when a shell landed near them. He pressed his face into the dirt as hot shrapnel hammered the ground around him. Smaller pieces bounced off or bit into his Flak Armor. When he raised his head, he saw them lying there, moving only a little.
Foster sat up first, lifting himself off the busted weapon. His bionic jaw was hanging by its left hinge, swinging back and forth. Blood seeped from his mouth and a few of his teeth fell out. Ledford rolled onto his side and raised his right arm; it was amputated at the elbow. He was wide-eyed as he gazed at the stump.
In a blink, Marsh found himself kneeling over Ledford. He took out a tourniquet and closed it above the amputation. When he tightened it, Ledford screamed. There was no time to treat the small puncture wounds in his legs, back, and arms. Marsh Silas scooped up a handful of dirt and plugged the wounds with the soil, causing the gunner much agony. As Walcott and Caferro dragged him away, he turned his attention to Foster, who had taken up his M36 and was shooting down at the approaching heretics and Traitor Marines. As he fired, Marsh grasped the swinging bionic jaw and snapped the hinge back into place. Then, he rolled bandages along the gunner's exposed, burned forearms.
"They're encircling us!" Carstensen yelled. "Captain Giles, orders!?"
"Tertius Six, Primus Six! Are you receiving!?" Giles yelled into his Vox handset.
Marsh Silas was dragging Foster away, the brave Shock Trooper still trying to shoot in his groggy state. Warriors from the Band of Dusk gave a great war cry and started charging up the slope. Those in the ridgebacks above them were flooding down the slopes like a waterfall. The 3rd Altridge was nowhere to be seen. Out on the plateau, the Imperial offensive was faltering in a haze of burning tanks and lines of dead Guardsmen.
"Not again, not again," Marsh murmured as he dragged Foster back.
"Fall back, fall back!"
The platoon sergeant squeezed his eyes shut. There was no time to lament. He picked Foster up and helped him down the opposite slope. Bloody Platoon, the rest of 1st Company, and 5th Company bolted for friendly lines in complete disarray. Squads were all mixed up, even the regiments were scrambled together.
Marsh Silas running as fast he could with Foster's weight on him. Suddenly, there was a hot, electric pain in his right buttocks. He yelped and fell onto his hands and knees. Reaching back, he felt blood on the seat of his trousers. Groaning, he stood back up. Unseen hands grabbed him and he was whisked forward.
Haupt and Carstensen were helping him along. Isenhour was jogging alongside, supporting Foster. Grunting in pain, Marsh craned his neck and looked back. Hordes from the Band of Dusk were rushing after them with their Black Legion masters marching steadily behind them. Tanks fired over their heads, hammering the Imperial positions. When they reached the first trench, not many of the Guardsmen stopped running.
"They're not stopping for anything!" someone yelled. "Keep going!"
"Hold fast, hold fast!"
"Run for your lives, men!"
"Make a stand here, men!"
"All is lost!"
"Up and over, men, to the second line, we can't hold here!"
It was a flurry of running troops piling down the trenches or climbing out onto open ground to get away. Marsh didn't even have time to dress his wound. Men were wailing and calling on the Emperor for preservation. Bloody Platoon and many other Guardsmen were barreling towards the second trench when a figure emerged from it. He trudged through the snow and despite the chill in the air, he wore no shirt, just boots and Militarum trousers. In his left hand, he carried a laspistol. His right arm and much of his chest was bionic and he was holding a Power Sword.
Bloody Platoon came to a halt in front of Lieutenant Hyram. Many other soldiers from the regiment as well as the 45th Altridge also stopped. Panting from the effort, the officer lifted his sword into the air. His violet eyes were burning.
"Guardsmen!" he hollered. "Stay with me! You are brave sons of Cadia and Altridge! You are the Emperor's soldiers! In His name, you will hold! Follow me!"
Marsh's heart swelled so greatly with admiration of Hyram's courage he thought it would burst! Men broke into cheers and tears! Hyram breezed past them and raced for the trench the Band of Dusk were seizing. Hundreds of Guardsmen did the same, following the Lieutenant with an incredible vigor! Shooting and roaring, they slammed into the heretics as they attempted to charge past the trench. It was a push of bayonets! Shock Troopers and heretics fell all around, clutching bleeding wounds. Wounded men beneath them continued to struggle, hitting, kicking, strangling, and stabbing.
Finding himself between Hyram and Carstensen, his wound no longer afflicting him, Marsh threw himself into the trench. He pummeled one heretic with the stock of his M36, shot a second down, and ran a third through the belly with his bayonet. Carstensen flew into the fray, swinging her glowing Power Fist. Five of the heretics came at her but with a blow to the one in the center, the coiled-up energy exploded and decimated all five. The concussion burst their eyeballs, shattered their teeth, and slammed them against the trench's wall. And there was Hyram! He slashed a heretic across his chest, stabbed another through his neck, ducked under a sword swipe and cut a man from his feet. The soldier was brilliant in all his movements.
As they regained the trench, Hyram waved his sword. "Hold them! That's it! That's the Cadian style! Show them your mettle! Let them see the light in your eyes, men! That's the Emperor's light, my good men! Give it to them!"
There were the reports of Battle Cannons. Leman Russ tanks rolled up to the trench behind them and fired over their heads. Sponson-mounted Heavy Bolters tore through the enemy's ranks. Adeptus Astartes marched with the tanks, lobbing grenades and joining the Imperial Guardsmen in the trenches. So strong was this counterattack the Black Legion Astartes and their Predator tanks, now under intense artillery fire, could not reach the Imperial line.
A triumphant laugh from Hyram caught Marsh's attention. His friend raised his sword in the air once more. "That's it! We'll fight it out here all day and night! We'll fight it out all week if we must! Keep on, you brave Guardsmen!"
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Author's Note: Well, it's not as early an upload as I would have liked but at least it's a day early and in the afternoon. Hope you enjoyed this one, I actually really liked the way this one went down. We had a point of calm, a point of action, an intermission, an more action that swayed from potential victory, to looming defeat, and then a hopeful but uncertain reversal. I like the pace, the action, came out well.
