Armorum Fidei Chapter 38
"Enemy is closing, estimate four minutes till they enter artillery range," came the vox-report from the spotters on the highest levels.
"Copy," Toran replied, "Hold fire until they cross the threshold. All squads stand by to engage."
His orders caused flurries of activity, making men and Transhumans grip their weapons tighter as they prepared for the fight to come. The Space Marines were drawing a lot of attention, the mortals unaccustomed to having warrior-giants standing over their shoulders, but Toran was counting on the awe mere men felt for Space Marines to bolster morale, they would need it for the fight to come. Especially as they were fighting from inside a Train-city this time.
"Eyes front lad," Toran said to a mortal gunner, clinging to his Heavy Bolter. They were standing inside a large cupola, sticking out of the back of the Train-city Turhen. A large sweep of Plasteel housing six heavy weapons, making it a key hard point in the defences of the settlement. Toran had judged this would be the site of the heaviest fighting and so had elected to station himself here, where his strength would be most needed.
He gazed through the firing slit and spied a dark wave chasing Turhen, the alien army closing as fast as they could run. Turhen's engines rumbled as the Train-city fled, goading mechanisms to turn faster and faster until the bearing squealed. It wasn't enough, the Psybrid's slave army was faster, fast enough to overhaul the fleeing humans. Soon they would be close enough to engage, then the city would fall. Toran wasn't about to let that happen, too many civilians had died under his watch, no more he swore, not this city, not today.
"You look ready to jump out the window and run at them," Lorath commented.
"If I thought it would work, I just might," Toran confessed.
Lorath and four of his assault marines were with Toran, strength enough to deny almost anything that came their way. Several levels above them a Devastator squad lurked, heavy weapons pointed earthwards. Beyond them artillery barrels poked out of the roof, waiting for the order to fire. The majority of Third Company were spread throughout Turhen, forming flying squads that would repel any invader who broke inside. This was necessary, the threat of subversion from within had not disappeared and Toran suspected his squads would be needed to impose order within the Train-city before this was done. Meanwhile Sixth Company was elsewhere, waiting for the order to strike.
Lorath leaned down and peered out the firing slit as he asked, "You're sure this is a good idea?"
"It's the only recourse left to us," Toran explained, "With our base's destruction supply lines are cut. Our ammunition dwindles and repairs are impossible. Fighting in the field is pointless, only by garrisoning endangered Train-cities can we hope to make a difference. Plus we can draw some meagre rounds and fuel from the civilians."
Lorath snorted, "The Administratum's eternal hard-on for standardising absolutely everything works in our favour. A Heavy Bolter forged on Voss can use rounds from Necromunda without a qualm. Still we're on the defensive, it feels wrong. We should be driving into the heart of the foe with an all-out attack."
"Give me a target and I would," Toran growled, "Oh, for a command centre, a comms-relay or even a spaceport to attack. The Psybrids seem to need none of them, so all we can do is hold the line."
"How long for? How long until they grind us down to nothing?"
"As long as we possibly can," Toran muttered.
The Psybrid army was close enough for Toran to pick out individual targets in the mass of enemies. He saw leaping E'kinda, galloping J'rule and lumbering Borlac. Slaves taken from scores of races, some he didn't even recognise. They came on relentlessly, driven by uncaring masters into the teeth of enemy guns. Toran felt no pity for the Xenos but still it seemed a pointless death, these vile aliens would die never knowing who killed them, they would not be made to see the innate superiority of the human race before their execution. A small quibble but it rankled.
Toran opened the vox and called, "All squads: one minute to engagement. You know why we're here, you know who we fight for. Do your duty to the Emperor and Mankind and keep an eye upon the civilians, in case of subversion. Raynek, is Sixth Company ready?"
The Sixth Captain had taken his squads and the remaining vehicles out, lurking hull-down in a dip in the landscape. When the fighting was at its peak he would launch a flanking attack, trapping the Xenos between the anvil and the hammer, at least in theory. Still he sounded confident as he replied, "Ready, willing and able, tanks are purring and aerial forces need only your word."
"Hold for the critical moment, fuel and ammo are precious commodities," Toran voxed, then switched vox-channel to a private link, "Furion, any sign of trouble in the gun batteries?"
The Chaplain was in the artillery command post, making sure no subverted threatened their heaviest weapons and replied, "No issues so far, but I will keep them in line."
"Those guns must continue firing no matter what," Toran urged, "And Polarus?"
"He's sulking," Furion spat, "Hasn't said a word in hours. I am not sure what he resents more, being denied fighting in the front line or being kept on my leash."
"He deserves far worse, just prevent him from gutting the civilians and let me worry about the rest."
A rune blinked in his visual feed and Toran commanded, "They've crossed the line, artillery, commence firing in two-second intervals sequence." Atop Turhen mortal gunners heard the vox-command and began yanking firing levers. A booming roar issued forth, like thunder directly overhead as the first gun fired, then two-seconds later the next and the next. Turhen wasn't the largest Train-city but it boasted a dozen artillery pieces and their fire rate ensured constant bombardments, without interruption or pause. The effect on the enemy was profound, explosions blooming among the horde, throwing broken bodies into the air in showers of gore. Detonation after detonation arose, culling them mercilessly and yet they pressed on regardless. Their numbers more than enough to take the hits and roll on without pause.
Toran saw flurries of dark wings spring up to darken the sky above and he ordered, "Aerial threat incoming, Hydra batteries, give them everything you've got!" Stuttering lines of tracers dissected the sky, hammering thousands of rounds into the cloud. Bodies fell like hail but they still closed, braving the storm without the slightest concern for their own lives. Toran spied the cupola gunners trying to elevate their barrels to point skywards but he commanded, "Keep your guns pointed at the biggest mass."
"But…" a pale-face man with scores of trinkets about his neck protested.
"The flak gunners will cover us, trust them to do their duty, as they trust you to do yours."
The man had no spine to argue with a Space Marine and clutched his gun as the horde closed. Peppered by explosions they raced into heavy weapon range and with a sweep of his hand Toran commanded the gunners to open fire. Six Heavy bolters erupted with yammering barks of ear-splitting noise, sweeping the horde with furious volleys. Other defensive emplacements joined in, carving deep furrows and chewing alien flesh to pieces. Toran spied Xenos ripped to shreds by detonating mass-reactives, bodies falling to be trampled underfoot. Scores died, hundreds, thousands, culled by righteous human defiance but it wasn't enough, not nearly enough. The enemy closed to the very base of Turhen, clamouring up and over its huge wheels and they sought a way inside.
Toran met the threat stoically, "The mortals have had their turn. Brothers, let us join them."
Lorath eagerly commanded, "Pick your targets, single shots only, remember ammo is limited, make every shot count!"
Toran took up his bolter and leaned into the firing slit. Five Assault Marines leant with him, awkward jump packs clanging on the lintel as they aimed their pistols downwards. The barking of the Heavy Bolters didn't trouble them, despite blazing barrels being inches from their faces. Toran peered downwards and saw a mass of fiends clawing towards him, eager to rend and tear. He met the first one with a single round from his bolter, putting a shot into its fanged face. The beast fell away, knocking several others from their perches and sending them dropping to the ground below, to be crushed by impact or trampled underfoot.
Toran smoothly panned his bolter back and forth, putting precise shots into the faces of anything that closed. As he tracked and fired he voxed, "Furion, any signs of internal strife?"
"None, and that worries me. The artillery hasn't been touched, there are no hints of subverted so far."
Toran's hair stood up on the back of his neck as he barked, "That's not right, every attack so far has seen corruption strike from within."
Furion replied, "I agree, this isn't right. I will redouble my watch on the guns."
Frustrated Toran returned his focus to his shooting. Scythians, K'nib, Kroot and Tallestrians, he met them all with the same revulsion, as did his Brothers. Six bolters fired downwards, denying the alien's advance. Toran was confronted by all the diverse horror the galaxy could spawn but he felt no fear as he crisply aimed and fired, aimed and fired, over and over. He emptied one magazine and swiftly swopped it out, then another and another. He was running through ammo at a furious rate and as he slotted his last magazine home ordered, "Stand by for close combat!"
"Finally!" Lorath spat as twin lightning claws extended from his gauntlets, "About bloody time!"
Toran emptied his last rounds at the rising tide of horrors, then his bolter clunked dry. Instantly he mag-locked the depleted weapon to his hip and drew a blade. Not the Sword of Thiel, the long-bladed duelling sword cumbersome in such tight confines, but a trusty combat blade, inlaid with the polished finger-bones of a dead Brother so to imbue it with his strength of arm.
A gangly K'nib crested the lintel of the cupola only to have Toran ram his blade into its eye. The alien jerked for a second then fell away, only to be replaced by three more. Toran met them all with the same disdain, stabbing and hacking at anything that came over that rim. His arms grew wet with alien blood, staining his proud blue heraldry dark-mauve but he ignored the insult to his plate as he killed and killed. Alongside him the Assault Marines hacked with their chainswords, ripping apart anything they encountered, while Lorath's claws dissected foes into chunks. They were killing foes as fast as they possibly could but it seemed to be having little effect. Despite torrents of firepower, despite artillery raining down ceaselessly, the aliens pressed on, swamping the Train-city in bodies.
Lorath swept the head off a Tallestiran as he shouted, "As much as I enjoy this, isn't it time to call in Raynek?!"
"Almost," Toran snarled as he stabbed a Scythian through the throat, "Hold the line for a minute more!"
Suddenly the sky darkened as three insect creatures dropped from above, Q'uorl, breaking off from the aerial fighting to attack the cupola. They fell upon a pair of men servicing a juddering Heavy bolter, sharpened claws reaching for soft flesh to rend the men limb from limb. Yet Toran was already in motion, he slammed into the aliens and drove his knife into a spine. One alien went slack but the other two turned on him, mandibles clacking evilly. A claw came at his face but he lowered his helm and the point scored over the top without penetrating. In return he drove a punch into the spindly face, driving his fist through thin bone into the jellied brains.
Toran turned on the last one as he shouted, "Get back on that gun!"
"They'll kill us!" a mortal wailed.
Toran grabbed the last Q'uorl about the neck and hoisted it high, stabbing its abdomen repeatedly as he roared, "They'll kill all of you if you don't! I'll hold them off; you get on the sodding gun!"
The men found their courage, emboldened by Toran's merciless dispatch of the aliens. They grabbed the idle Heavy Bolter and in moments had it firing again. Toran trusted they wouldn't falter again and returned to killing anything that tried to break in. With strength and skill they held the line, keeping the alien horde at bay. Surely they must have culled tens of thousands already but then disaster struck. Toran lurched as the Train-city of Turhen suddenly jerked under his feet. The whole city, five kilometres of it, ground to a halt and ceased moving, left stranded in the midst of the seething horde. The tide of enemies climbing the walls doubled, pouring over the lintel in a torrent. Toran met them with blade in hand, hacking and stabbing for all he was worth but could barely hold them back, so many were they.
Desperately he cried into the vox, "Report, why have we stopped?!"
The vox crackled, "Intercessor-Sergeant Rewsaq reporting, subverted have sabotaged the drive systems. The rearmost compartments are crippled by fires and broken gears. We've killed the filth but repairing this will take hours."
Lorath howled, "We don't have that kind of time, they'll overrun us in minutes!"
Toran agreed and voxed, "Raynek, we're in trouble. Hit them in the flank now, come fast Brother, we won't last long on our own!"
