Command Tent, other Side of the Valley, same time

Whether it was her forked tongue or the fangs that protruded over her lower lip, Dechella`s hoarse voice was having a lisp and still managed to sound ready to kill anybody in the tent with her. "General Ewelle, give me one reason why you still live. One reason I beg of you. I send you to do the simplest of tasks-attack the hill on the flanks of the Elves. What kept you, did you not get enough beauty sleep or were you a little hungry?"
The General in question was the epitome of a distinguished elder military man-grey hair that was just so, an aquiline nose and a slender ramrod straight bearing-normally. He would have been beautiful in a conventional sense were it for the pupils that resembled a snakes, the eyes where blood red replaced white or the tastefully restricted horns.
Currently he was abasing himself before the Outcast and was pleading in a most undignified manner.

"Mylady-we have taken heavy losses trying to kill the troops in the way of your glorious march. We had to reorganize our troops-and when the order came it stated "if practicable". Before I had not seen that every warrior was attached to a troop and before a scouting of the hills it was clearly not practicable. And my Scouts have vanished-none returned at all."
"You will vanish if you do not do much better-all off you."

Spitting a glob of poison to the back of the abased General that smoked and hissed while it dissolved armor and flesh with equal ease Dechella slid forward to a model a slave had made out of clay in the middle of the tent.
"This is where these cowards have made their lair-they hide like rats waiting for the hounds. They think by occupying the hills they can deny us our victory. Poor fools they are. They occupy a long line of defense and we will attack them at the flanks-that way we face the fewest of them at the same time. General Longchemin, you will attack the left flank. Attack as soon as your last infantry has arrived, you will need them to storm the hills.
General Ewelle, you have a chance to show me why you should live-you attack the right flank as soon as you are ready. Do not fail me. And now go and slay my enemies."

Temple of Sigmar, Altdorf, one hour later

Great Theogonist Volkmar strode through the Temple of Sigmar. It was a beautiful edifice, a wonder in itself that got grudging acknowledgement even from Elves and Dwarves. Inside was the biggest enclosed room in one piece in the Old World, a dome of epic proportions. It`s vaulted roof was supported by countless slender pillars and the top of the roof contained a circular array of windows that gave the most impressive light. At the right time the light outshone the arcs that supported the center roof and made it seem like it floated on top of a band of light.
Flags and statues adorned the walls and plinths and niches the size of smaller temples allowed for more private ceremonies. In Volkmar`s head there were plans for the most impressive of services which would encompass the Emperor and the heads of the victorious armies hosted by him of course to show the world that everything was possible with Sigmar…

It took a while for the strange sounds to get his attention but when they did they held it just fine. Lots of voices, many with the clipped accent of the Germans, the sound of the movement of furniture and hammer blows emanated from one of the larger niches and a stream of badly clad citizens went there. He had certainly not allowed for anything like this and the furor of an angry man of God went burning through his veins. Leaving his retinue behind in his haste to end this abomination he arrived at the scene with flying robes. Before him a lot of uniformed Germans were busy desecrating his temple. Having shoved the benches aside they were erecting folding beds, distributing bed rolls on them and arranging strange metal flasks on the top of which glowing boxes radiated warmth.
In the back side the beds were already occupied with older people often sleeping with open mouths showing the ruins of their surviving teeth. In another corner a pudgy woman had bared her ample breast and was feeding a baby. It was just getting better and better.
He was nearly running to the nearest German who used a brace from one bed to lever the next one open and make sure it was fastened.

"You-you there, what is the meaning of this violation of the sacred temple? What are you doing here?"
"Jan-Eric Prelle, and a good morning to you too. A Father Stein told me we could arrange for the older homeless here."
"Father Stein is about the lowliest priest at this holy place, he would never dare to..to.." The rage in the Great Theogonist was canceling the capacity to make sentences.
"You got a problem, take it up with the Boss. Herr Teut is over there, discussing with some other priest about where to put the port-a-potties I think."
"You want to put potties in…" The view in front of Volkmar`s eyes got a red tinge to them and his ears were filled with the surf of his hate. Lifting the hammer of his office in both hands above his head he mentally recited the application to Sigmar that would send His power into the hammer and his wielder. Filled with this power he would cleanse the temple of unwashed so the glory of Sigmar could shine. The supplication was one of the most basic and the lowliest Sigmarite was proficient in it. For him it was as ingrained as pulling a sword from its sheath.

And it failed. Not with the pain of a failed spell, not with the chocked off words of failed concentration-it simply failed. Nothing was forthcoming; it was as if he had no connection to Sigmar at all.
The meaning of this was all too clear. Appalled with the insight of his failure he lowered the hammer. "I will look up this Teut then. I think we should discuss how to use the temple somewhat more. When I come back, could you please show me how to help you?"
"Uh-yes of course."

Little Round Top, Naggaroth, early afternoon

Areta was feeling close to a true elf again. The enemy had not done much so far and that had allowed her and the others to take in a warm meal-the first in 3 days-to change at least some clothes and to get a few hours of sleep. When she was not sleeping she had a grand view of a column of Chaos troops that marched to the side of her position. It had marched none too fast by her new standard, had to contermarch one while she was looking because they encountered a piece of swampy terrain and were generally not too clever about it as the cavalry had to wait for some infantry. At first these had double-timed it, but the number of stragglers had shown that the enemy commander had overdone that part. The Germans had made their lot even worse when snipers managed to kill several of the Chaos leaders, leading to even slower marching. But now the column had sorted itself out and was assaulting the next hill. It was held by a part of Lord Silverhawk`s hearth guards who had not spend as much effort of fortifying their line as they had arrived comparatively late.

Areta could not see much, but things did not seem to go too well. The enemy had approached the hill without receiving too much fire and now the sounds of battle were definitively moving her way. By now all of her squad were occupying their places and like her had arranged some ammo packs open before them so they could reload clean ammo not from their pouches.
The need to pee and the feeling that she was getting a little too few air made Areta aware of the pre-combat tension-it would no longer be felt as soon as combat was joined. And then it started-the first remnants of the Hearth Guard ran past her. Some clutched obviously injured limbs or supported comrades that served as an explanation for their flight-others avoided all eye contact and just ran.
The barely human howls that issued from the woods covering Big round Top told her what had made them flee.

"Open fire as soon as they emerge from the trees. Look for the small groups-the machine gun takes care of the rest. Kill them all." Richter had taken position behind a sturdy tree a little uphill where he could see his platoon. He handled one of the coveted assault rifles and was clearly willing to lend a hand.
And then they came, with few order or much plan, close on the heels of the last Hearthguards. Swarthy men with yellow skin and slanted eyes, their hair done in topknots and with armor of boiled leather were the first to emerge from the forest edge. Wielding axes and swords and in the depth of combat range they charged the Auxilia`s line. Others, clad in loose dirty silken robes stopped and loosened arrows from composite bows. These received the immediate attention of the Auxilias two machine guns. Leaves dropped to the ground, twigs scythed through the air, tree trunks suddenly showed light-colored craters and the bowmen dropped where they stood.
This left the approaching warriors to the tender mercies of Areta and the other marksdruchii that held the line. "Infantry 250 meters-open fire"
The "cracks" of the elven rifles mixed with the more rapid shooting of the assault rifles used by the Lt. and his second in command. The short distance meant that nobody needed to adjust his sights, it was just the routine of loading-acquiring-target-firing that took the mind. Areta barely saw that the machine guns started to take down the melee fighters as well and had no time to marvel at the stumbling run-and-stumble forced on the enemy by the foot traps and caltrops they had strewn in their way.

Still-it was hard to get them all. A combat rush that did not just bordered on insanity but full embraced it drove the surviving enemy up the slope to the trenches. Firing a last round that took off the face of a screaming brute Areta rose from her knees to a low crouch and stabbed her bayonetted rifle forward and upward. It pierced the stomach of an axe-wielding barbarian who was so drive by momentum that he flew clear over the trench guided by the weapon in his intestines.
Areta drew the weapon back and pushed it through the throat of the injured. She managed to turn in time to stab a barbarian who had jumped into the trench with her and wanted to club Breda who wrestled with another. Stabbing the warrior twice in the back she then drove the butstock of her rifle on the neck of Breda`s would-be killer resulting in the sound of a breaking twig and a man in the throws of a seizure.
Turning back to the edge of the trench she looked for new targets-and found none.

Looking at her squad she found that Arma had a stab wound in her shoulder and saw that Breda was already administering help. "Take the bandage from her kit stupid-you may need yours later. Drusida-when you two are done, escort her to the casualty station, then come back. Try to hustle some more ammo while you are at it. The rest of you-make sure none of these rats get under foot-throw them out of the trench."
The horn that could be heard from the woods made her stop and everybody except Arma went back to the trench`s side. The horn was dissonant, deep and loud. It went into the ear, bypassed the brain and went to the heart-and sized it. It told of bloody tidings-and the screams that followed the horn`s call spoke of those who wanted to dispense them.

In one second the tree line on the opposite side was empty-in the next it was full of running bodies jostling for first position at the slaughter. This time the machine guns were not occupied by trying to hold down some bowmen-this time they could dispense death where it counted.
From two points the salvos went out. The "Schwarze Schaar" had several original MG81 from the Lasbek cache and they showed this world why they had been feared and respected in the one they had left. Originally developed as defensive guns for bombers they had been issued to the army by WW2`s end. Firing even faster than the famed MG 42 they usually wasted ammo, but here they tore into an enemy who had yet to learn not to bunch up. Many warriors were hit by more than one bullet and literally blown apart, other bullets were not stopped by their original victims and flew on to claim more lives. Good as they were the machine guns could not stop all of the enemy-that was Areta`s job and that of the rest of the Auxilia. While they had more than a hundred rifles they fired less bullets than the Germans-but they were individually aimed. With the glee for claiming lives given to the Druchii they zoomed on those who were not part of the main push, on those who had stumbled or who were slowed down by some injury and dispatched them. The enemy never came closer than a dozen meters before the trenches.

Areta checked on her squad-all was well and saw the back side of Arma and Drusida who finally went to the casualty station when the Lieutenant waived her over.
"Sounds like the assholes will try another push-and we have to get some additional ammo for the machine guns. We are down to a few belts each-that won`t last long, so we need to slow the next assault down a little. That is your job. What we need to do is…."
A few minutes later Areta was moving through the Forest on the Big Round Top as quickly as she managed to do quietly. She was hunched over and could just see the back side and ass of Heiner Richter who moved less elegantly then his Druchii but got the job done as well. All of them heard the Chaos warriors who moved up the slope about 50 meters to their right. All what kept them from seeing the Druichii were the trees and their expectations that the enemy was not here. The Lt. raised his arm with and open hand-nearly everybody stopped without bumping into the next elf. Further hand signals formed a line and then send everybody forward. Stopping a few meters from the running enemy Areta stopped with the others, lifted the Grenade she held in her right hand and ripped the cord inside the handle. It emerged from the handle still burning and the Grenade had to go. Making sure there was no tree in the way Areta threw the Grenade as far as the could while grabbing for the next one. She had primed that Grenade already when the explosions and screams started. Dropped directly into the closely packed enemy the explosions ha a 10-meter lethal radius and tore terrible wounds into unprepared warriors. Two more "salvos" went out, then the "Fall back, fall back" made sure that the Auxilia did not try to mix it up.
Areta giggled like a small child who had perpetrated a prank when running back to the lines-pure nerves. And she wanted an assault rifle like the Lt.-the sight of him walking backwards to the trench while firing at pursuing enemies from the hip was just great.

Close to Railroad station, Altdorf, later that day

The amount of Skaven bodies that had accumulated at the Railway station was staggering by now. By far it were not all of the Skaven killed in Altdorf-new ones were arriving with every truck-but by now the heap of them became too big to ignore.
So a large number of people whom everybody else looked at with pity were piling the bodies in just the right way so that air could circulate among them. Usually this would have been a job for the prisoners, a resource that Altdorf was just out of. Now it fell to a lot of daytalers who were out of a job leavened with a sprinkling of THW (disaster management engineers) and fire brigade volunteers.
When the pile reached a height where it became unstable the volunteers retreated and doused it with diesel. A flare provided sufficient ignition to get things going.
Some distance from the fire an excavator had dug a slit and lined it with quicklime-whatever bacteria or Viri the Skaven had, they would stay buried. The area still would have a bad reputation for a long time.

Wolfen Hill, Naggaroth, after Nightfall

Wolfgang Böhler did not like his Dragunov sniper rifle too much. It was competent to 600 meters or so but fell off sharply after that. He used it for special occasions which either asked for the rapid reloading afforded by the self-loading mechanism or after dark.
The equipment acquired in Lasbek had, among other things, a couple of NSP-3 Night Vision devices and these were adapted to the Dragunov but not his preferred Mauser. Given that the NVG did not have all that much range it did not matter.
The flash hider in front of the barrel had been replaced by a combined flash-hider and suppressor made by the resourceful Thorsten Breitkop. While the sound was still well noticeable close to the sniper and the supersonic bullet had its own signature at 500 meters the source of the sound was no longer discernible.
Thorsten watched several heat-radiating green blobs trying to traverse the plain in front of him-time to reduce the enemy`s scouts numbers once again. One of the blobs reached a piece of terrain that he had noted for range. Shooting was as automatic as breathing for him, but the kick to the shoulder and the stopped blob that started cooling was a boost as always.

Command Tent, other Side of the Valley, same time

General Ewelle was not dead yet and doubted that he would die tonight. His troops had not won the heights assigned to him, but neither had anybody else. He had, in fact, managed to maul a troop of Druchii who had tried to defend a piece of terrain too much forward of the hills.
That would not have stopped Dechelle from her usual mayhem, but she had found another target. Hetman Jebstuardi had been the leader of the light cavalry and was supposed to screen Dechelle`s horde and obtain information about her enemies. He was famous for his far-reaching raids and had at times ridden his troops right around the enemy`s army, often coming back with impressive loot and important intelligence.
Unfortunately these grand raids took him out of the range of Dechella`s army, making his services unavailable at inopportune times-and this time had been once too often. Fixing the former general under her snake body and fixing him with two arms she used the claws on his other to scoop entrails from his abdomen and feasting on them.
Careful to leave the diaphragm and the major blood vessels alone she had so far managed to keep Jebstuardi alive while consuming him piece by piece.
The Hetman became quiet enough and Dechella`s bites small enough that she got understandable again. Her blood-smeared face and the bloody bits that flew through the tent impressed the attendants most as this could have been them.

"So sneaking into the enemy`s flanks was too difficult for you then. So let us give you an easier task. The basted Druchii have their special weapons that gave you poor ladies so much trouble on the flanks and none on the center as far as we know. Tomorrow all mages will throw their spells at the center of the enemy`s line. The guns will fire at best speed-and then we will charge them directly with a fury the world will talk about in a 100 years."

Wolfen Hill, Naggaroth, next morning

Wolfgang Böhler was watching the doings in the enemy camp through his Zeiss Victory Binoculars. Now that he was somewhat older he would have opted for something better than a zoom of 10x but the laser rangefinder was nice. The diffuse light given by a deep overcast was not helping.
Despite getting their heads handed to them yesterday the Chaos army still outnumbered the Druchii several times and were far from beaten. His view showed a bunch of rituals taking place and while he had no idea what was intended he doubted he would like the results. He was also surprised that the Chaos Mages were trying to cast their spells at such distance-mostly they needed to be closer, but that was probably why they had put so many mages in a place or were butchering such a lot of sentinents. No matter what or how-he would do his best to end this.

"Horst, send a Runner to Lord Silverhawk. Message as follows: "Unless otherwise directed I will fire at a group of mages in the Chaos camp who perform some ritual."
Without taking his view of the scene he switched on the microphone he had clipped to the collar of his armored vest. "Bruchmeier-this is me, Böhler. I have some mages in the open you need to take care of. They are at 030 Degree, distance 1860 meters. I`ll spot."
"Acknowledged"

Heiner Bruchmüller released the "talk" button on his wireless and turned to his mixed crew of Germans and Druchii. "Get up you lazy fraggers, we have a fire mission. Ready 20 rounds for impact." The German then turned to his Laptop. He had made up an "Exel" sheet for this thing. The distance and bearing to the sniper was known, the bearing and distance to the target given by him was put into the sheet together with wind velocity. He did not have good data on how the ammo would behave for temperature and some other variables, he would have to adjust.
"Boss, ready to fire."
"Good. Bearing is 32 degree, elevation is 25, fire when ready."
"Böhler-this is Bruchmüller-out"
The Panzerabwehrwerfer 600 (Antitank Mortar 600) was a curious gun-firing the same fin-stabilized ammo as the 80 mm mortar it used the same high/low pressure system as the 40 mm Grenade launchers, in fact the system was pioneered for this gun. Therefore it did not give an almighty bang when the gunner pulled the lanyard, but something like the loudest fart in the world and spit out a 4.5 kilogram projectile at a muzzle velocity not fit to write home about.
"Bruchmüller-Böhler here. Left 20, down 50"
"Bearing 31,7, elevation 24,6, do it again."
"Böhler-out"
The artilleryman could not see the effects-he had made his primary firing position on the reverse slope of Boneyard ridge-and was wondering what all the fuss was about when he heard an almighty crash and what could only be described as a hoover on steroids from the left. He only saw something like a black vortex and saw treetops disappearing.
"Bearing ok, up 30"
"Elevation 24,7-step to it guys" The fart went out again and Bruchmüller watched the Vortex moving about nervously while waiting for the results.
"Finally-this is good Bruchmüller-fire for effect"
"Let them have guys-fire 10 rounds and prime some more for air burst."

While the velocity to which the projectiles were accelerated to were a rather anemic 500 meters/second the comparatively soft acceleration had allowed the ammo makers to use a very brittle cast iron for the grenades body. When they arrived at the end of their flight path the casing exploded into countless razor-sharp fragments that wasted themselves against some shining dome.
Seconds later some Cavalry that waited in reserve close to the artillery dropped in something which looked like the throws of an intense orgasm. Bruchmüller`s team never realized that and went through the motions of reloading like the pit-stop team of a Formula one team.
The second and third grenade likewise made for a nice firework in colors that nobody could describe, but the 4th made a bubble that was not there before vanish. The rest of the grenades mashed the mages just fine.
"Bruchmüller-Böhler here. That was just fine, end fire mission."
"Will do"
"Restock ready ammo you folks-do not stand waggling"
Heiner Bruchmüller was happy at his first artillery engagement-and just hoped he would be back in Neustadt soon. His house held a lot of orphans, many of them very young. He loved all of his children, he loved them soo much…

Areta Bane had not seen the mages, but the Vortex that had formed briefly over the troops in the center of the line she had seen-and its effects-much too clearly. The artillery fire had broken the spell-probably by killing the mages and now things were back to normal-if normal included the formation of a huge line of enemies on the other side.
So far she had never seen more than a part of the Chaos army-hopefully this time it was the whole enchilada. Knights in black and red armor assembled under banners she should not look at for any length of time as they made her feel ill-and lustful. Chariot teams brought their beasts under control while driving up to a starting line. Deep blocks of infantry got into formation, horns brayed and commands were shouted.
There were nearly 2 Kilometers between the two lines-did they think they could cross this distance over open fields and arrive in a fashion fit for fight? A runner reached her squad while she still took in the sight.
"Areta, the Platoon is to go to the center together with machine gun team 1-saddle up."
Swearing she got her team out of the trench and formed up with the rest of her platoon with Lt. Richter. "Platoon, we change positions to the Boneyard hill. There we will reinforce the firing line. We should arrive before the party begins-double time""
Areta had just started marching when the fog set in. It cloaked the Druchii position from one end to the other with a dense opaque shroud that might as well be their burial cloth.

Wolfgang Böhler watched the fog envelop the Druchii line with horror-if this were persistent then the enemy could close with the Elves-and his troops-nearly unopposed. If it got to fight at the few meters distance which this fog allowed it would be a slaughter.
He ran towards the point where Jasla and some of the helpers she had recruited plied her trade. "Can you do something about this bleeding haze?"
"We did not ban it in time sorry, it was centered above Culprit Hill and the mages there did not catch it in time."
"No matter-what can you do about it?"
"Now that it is here it has to dissipate-that will take time."
"We do not have any time-we will have visitors soon."
"Then we should retreat"
"We have no orders for that."
"Fuck the orders."
"You picked the wrong commander for that."
Witch and sniper stared at each other, the movement of Jasla`s eyes showed that something lethal was formulating there, the sniper had his hand on the butt of his pistol.
An eternal moment passed and the sniper did neither take his eyes a second from Jasla`s face nor move his right hand anywhere else."
"One of your spells is like a winter storm-can you enlarge it and make it short and less bad?"
Jasla did not even blink, but it was clear that her thoughts were now on a different track. "Yes, that should be possible."
"Then make it so-now"
"No need to get so testy dear Wolfgang."
Dear Wolfgang was about to blow a gasket when the Witch`s eyes rolled backward and claw-like fingers drew glowing lines through the air. Her throat gave void tom sounds that even made Wolfgang step back a couple of paces and the air around them felt charged with energy.
For an eternal moment nothing happened and then a cold gale blew of the hills, taking the fog with it as if it had never existed.
"Good job."
"Then do yours"

Areta was pretty much out of breath when she arrived at her new position, having double-times it for nearly all of the way from Little Round Top. She was greeted by a cold wind howling around the hills, clearing the view all the way to the enemy camp.
And what a view it was-the enemy was in full advance. The Cavalry was still trotting forward, not being close enough yet for the full Gallop. The Chariots were keeping pace with them and took inordinate space for their numbers. The infantry was going through the middle, mostly as they could march through the stakes and trenches that the Auxilia had left.
Much more worrying were a couple of Ogres that accompanied the Chariots-these could absorb a lot of damage and keep going.
Areta did not like her position too much. It had been made with Crossbowelfs in mind, which meant she was standing up and the cover in front of her was not worth mentioning. Lt. Richter had positioned himself between his Platoon and the 23rd Watch, showing a clear understanding of Druchii politics for which Areta was thankful for. Some places in her nether regions still twitched unpleasantly when she saw that regiment.

She had barely settled in when the enemy began the assault for real-the Cavalry began the charge, the Chariots and the Ogres joined, the poor bloody infantry double-timed it. So much hate, so much willingness to close with the foe and kill, so beautiful horses, armor and warriors-all in motion. And then the machine guns opened fire. Especially in the center it were not many of them, but each and any of them was making its presence felt. Even if the enemy wanted to advance in open order-not that that was likely-the narrow front prevented that. And so the front ranks went down in places again and again.
"Target infantry in the open-700 meters-open fire" brought Areta`s unit into play. She went through her ammo at a frightening clip. Every shot she could place raised her chances to survive the day. As they were directly opposed the Druchii on Boneyard Hill targeted the infantry-and that had its first real problem. Walk between rows of stakes 50 cm apart and then jump a couple of trenches-for adult warriors prime shape that should not be a problem, right? Your grandma can do it, can`t she. Oh, she can and so could the Chaos warriors. But to do so slows you down-and that means a pile –up in the ranks behind them. And all of that under murderous rifle fire-that is not so easy any more.
The worst of the pile ups, often caused by losses due to rifle fire got the special attention of the machine gun teams.

Areta never saw it, but Heiner Bruchmüller pushed his gun team and their weapon up the slope to its secondary firing position. The manual stated that it was effective against moving targets till 750 meters or so, and that was when they scored their first hit on an Ogre. The proud Ironguts, wearing cobbled-together armor often up to an inch thick were proof against most attacks. Against a weapon designed to take out T-34 tanks it might as well have been tissue paper and the explosions inside the Ogres were taking them down in a satisfactory manner-satisfactory if you were on the Druchii side of the field of course.

Areta was still firing, but by now her sights were dialed down to 300 meters-and then the distance was so short she did not have to correct any more. She shot as if on the range at Neustadt-aiming every shot to count, never having a feed jam and just occasionally hissing when her thumb touched the blazing hot rifle. She saw some huge bolts being thrown forward by bolt throwers-the hits were just swallowed by the advancing foe. In two places puddles of fire showed where Dragon Fire bolts had been used-these the enemy respected.
Finally the rest of the Druchii could join in-the crossbow shooters all along the line let loose and their bolts could hardly miss at this distance. They could fire about as quickly as the Auxilia, but their much greater numbers told. Before the Chaos Line had advanced despite all losses, despite walking bend forward like walking into a stiff wind, despite being splattered with blood and brains.
Now it seemed like every warrior who stepped forward fell down-some immediately, some after having taken some more stumbling paces when the poison took hold. The line stopped at the stakes in front of the hills and some warriors tried to get through-none survived.
Leaders tried to push their men forward, to psych them up for the final assault-and died. Some were killed by the Auxilia, some by Wolfgang Böhler who enjoyed himself-most by their own men.

Wolfgang Böhler was killing the enemy, about 5 of them per minute, mostly leaders of some sort. That meant that he was not doing his job. As much damage as he did-his main job was sniper no longer-the Auxilia needed a leader.
It fell to his assistant to remind him.
"Boss-some riders are reaching the line below-we should do something." The eyes which suddenly watched him were so cold and dead that he went pale. He was no longer an assistant or in the same team-he was a target and was checked for validity. It took a second and then it was gone.
"Ups, sorry. Is the 3rd Platoon in place?"
"Yes Sir."
"Good"
Wolfgang looked downslope himself and indeed saw a large group of dismounted knights who had closed with the Druchii against all what they did to them. Currently they were fighting themselves through a group of spear-wielding Druchii and next would reach the line of rifleelfs that belonged to Wolfgang. Pushing his to-talk button "Erich, Wolfgang here. Do it now."
"There are still some Darkies between them and us"
"Fuck them-they are dead anyway."

He then watched as the Chaos warriors surged by the last defenders, drawn by the lure of the thin line manned by the hated rifle shooters. And then the line was no longer thin. Rising behind the low breastworks both crossbow-shooters and a couple of assault-rifle-armed Germans rose and for 10 terrible seconds unloaded everything they had into the Chaos warriors at less than 10 meters.
This was what they later called the "high-water-mark" of the battle-nobody ever got closer to the Druchii lines.

Areta watched the retreating Chaos Army-no longer were there orderly blocks and lines, but blobs and groups who ran as individuals as they no longer could face the murderous fire which was no longer so murderous. The machine guns had gone through their spare barrels, even in water they needed time to cool. The Auxilia faced more and more stoppages due to their hot weapons-and it did not matter.
She heard the horns from her side and it did not take long till the heavy cavalry came into view. Compared to the enemy`s numbers they were few-but now they were murderous. The armies of Warhammer did not "bunch up" because they felt like it or their leaders liked the view. Since countless generations units that kept tight, well-disciplined ranks won against units in irregular "formation" every time, nearly regardless of numbers. Therefore all successful armies drilled hour upon sweat-filled hour the keeping of ranks and the maneuvering without losing cohesion-this was where victory lay.
And now the defeated Chaos army had lost it. No longer well-led units they were individuals on the run-and against the cavalry that meant they were the walking dead. A major army had started the assault on the Druchii`s lines-broken rabble came back.