Chapter 24

In the darkness, Marsh Silas could see a dim candlelight and a finger moving across the page. It traced and made circles around big words, and a disembodied voice repeated them.

"Advantage. Advantages. Advantaged. Advantageous. Count the syllables, sound them out, and then try writing them."

The candle dimmed and the voice faded. Another took its place and he could see yellow flower petals fluttering in the darkness.

"Love is a faith of its own, Silas Cross...trust, love, faith, just different titles for the same article."

Once more, the voice faded and the flower petals disappeared. There was only darkness, impenetrable, horrifying darkness, an endless, empty void. For a time, there was no voice.

"As much as the God-Emperor holds sway over the galaxy," said a familiar voice, "life is an entity itself. Life is unfair."

Marsh Silas opened his eyes.

He was on his back and he could no longer hear anything. Both eyes stung terribly. When he reached up to wipe them, he realized his face and eye sockets were caked in sand. Carefully, he wiped it away, making sure to keep the sand out of his eyes. His back felt sore and he managed to sit up, fighting against the weight of his flak armour.

Knowing he was shell-shocked, having experienced it plenty of times before, he was surprised his vision was not blurred or slow. Everything was happening so quickly. Dozens of dead Guardsmen littered the ground around him. Just as many wounded were clutching gunshot and shrapnel wounds. Blood leaked between their fingers and stained their clothes. To his front, the blockade was demolished in the center. Many deceased heretics were draped over the ramparts or clogged the massive hole left by the suicide vest. More heretics began to jump over the wooden wall or flow through the gap. Streaks of red, blue, and gold cut them down, severing limbs or blowing up their chests. Grenades exploded, but without hearing them, they were noiseless bursts of smoke, sand, and shrapnel. Some Guardsmen tried to rush the gap, but each time they closed in, another group of heretics would swarm out. These crowds held machetes, hatchets, and knives. Others carried autoguns and stub pistols.

Many heretics were storming out of the huts, sheds, and dilapidated shelters constructed within the cove. Much of the regiment was jammed up, unable to find cover, and were forced to fight where they stood. A great many were trying to run through the lagoon, which at its deepest depth came up to a man's waist. Heretics attempted to overrun those who were advancing through the water, but combined firepower and bayonets thrusts saw them killed before they could throw themselves upon the Guardsmen. Other Shock Troopers attempted to scale the rocks and were firing down into the cove. Heavy Weapons Squads braved the rough terrain and hauled their weapons in rocks and crevices as they attempted to add their firepower into the fray.

All around, the sleek, wet, jagged rocks of the cove and surrounding cliffs loomed over the sandy battlefield. Outside the lagoon, through a hazardous passage in the rocks, white breakers crashed against the natural seawall. A smaller swell would enter the lagoon, causing a small ripple that would bounce the enemy corpses and their boats residing in the water. Some of the waves striking the rocks were so massive and powerful, the white, foamy surf came surging and spraying over the tops of the rocks. Were it not for the barrier, it seemed as though the entire cove would be inundated with water.

Somebody ran past him on the left. Looking up, he saw it was Hyram. The Lieutenant was aiming his lasgun forward and was firing quickly as another horde of heretics tried to charge out. When they were dispatched, he kept his weapon raised but turned halfway.

To understand a man's face in the midst of combat was almost impossible for Marsh Silas. So many emotions flashed across one's features, pulling, tugging, and twisting them in so many ways. Hyram appeared hysterical, terrified, and exhilarated. Both eyes were very wide and he could see how bloodshot they were. The eyebrows were raised very, very high. He was certainly screaming at the top of his lungs by how wide his mouth was opening. Each time, all of his teeth were visible, like a rabid dog.

Marsh, still dazed and deaf, just looked at him. Hyram was still screaming at him when a heretic jumped over a pile of corpses and rushed towards him with a raised machete. Groggily, Marsh pointed at the enemy combatant. The platoon leader turned his head, corrected his aim, and squeezed the trigger. A single red lasbolt struck the heretic in his stomach, blowing it open, burning and spilling his intestines. The impact took him off his feet in the same instance.

Then, as if someone flipped a switch, Marsh Silas's hearing returned. His ears were assaulted by tearing explosions, lasgun bolts, and the rattle of autoguns.

Marsh found his lasgun beside him, changed position so he was kneeling, raised his weapon, and began firing.

"We need to fall back!" Hyram yelled. "We can't storm the gap!"

"Where's Barlocke?" Marsh asked, standing up and taking a few steps backwards, dropping a heretic as he crossed the breach. "Where's Murga? Giles? Isaev? Where the fuck is everybody!?"

Junior Commissar Carstensen ran over, leading Guardsmen from Bloody Platoon. Babcock was with her, holding the standard in his left hand and holding a laspistol in his other. He ran up to Hyram, planted the flag in the sand, and began firing.

"Sir, there's no cover here! We're in the open!"

"Have you seen Murga!?"

"Negative!"

The air was alive with firing, explosions, and screaming, anyone who needed to speak to one another had to yell into each other's faces just to be heard.

"Cover me!" Hyram yelled. He took a knee as Babcock and Marsh Silas went shoulder to shoulder in front of him. The platoon officer activated his micro-bead and brought up the mouthpiece. "Captain Murga, come in! This is Bloody Platoon! We're stalled at the gap! We have multiple wounded and cannot advance! Requesting orders, over!"

There was no reply. Marsh crouched, dumped the empty charge back inside his lasgun, and replaced it with a fresh one. As he did, Hyram tried to raise the company commander again. "Fuck it! I'm calling in for Vulture gun-runs!"

"We've got wounded all over the place, sir!" Drummer Boy shouted, standing on their hasty firing line and pouring hot lasbolts at the enemy.

"By the Emperor, we must act!" Yoxall shouted, taking a position next to Marsh Silas.

"Right flank, heretics coming out of the huts, right flank!" someone screamed.

A squad of traitors, armed with various blades, were rushed towards them. Just as the Shock Troopers began to shift their fire, they watched as Barlocke darted towards them with his cylinder shotgun. Raising it to his shoulder, he squeezed off several shots. In a matter of moments, the band of disheveled, wailing heretics was torn apart. The shotgun spread ripped their clothes and flesh, tore open their skin, and broke bones.

As soon as he dispatched the hostile group, Barlocke slung his weapon over his shoulder and transitioned to one of his suppressed Ripper pistols. As he approached Marsh Silas and his team, he emptied several magazines into the encroaching heretical hordes.

"We must stay no longer! We are falling back!" he shouted once he was within earshot. "Lieutenant, call for air support! Drummer Boy, get on the Vox-caster and tell these soldiers to gather the wounded and dead. Nobody gets left behind!"

Hyram turned around and took the handheld off the Vox-caster to call for fire. Drummer Boy took another handheld off, turned a knob on the device, then brought the handheld to his mouth.

"I got orders here from Inquisitor Barlocke!" he shouted into the speaker. His voice carried well above the battle-din. "Gather up the wounded and dead and get the hell out of here!"

In an instant, a surge of Guardsmen rushed forward. Dozens hefted the dead over their shoulders, turned, and ran. Others snatched the webbing on wounded Guardsmen's flak armour and began dragging them. Some who were too wounded to be dragged were picked up by one or two of their comrades. Guardsmen and Heavy Weapons Squads situated in the rocks removed themselves and began retreating.

None of the troopers who were only carrying their arms, like Marsh Silas, could not simply turn around and run. The heretics were still coming out of the black depths of the cave and if their volume of fire dropped, they would be overrun.

Marsh Silas slowly backed away with Yoxall, Drummer Boy, and Hyram. Babcock took the flag out of the sand and began walking backwards too. Barlocke was beside him, transitioning to his lasgun and blasting away charging heretics. Nearby grenadiers, like Fleming, were bombarding the gap and ramparts, preventing the enemy from mounting heavy weapons.

The lasbolts emitting from his M36 began to grow dimmer, thinner, and weaker. Marsh knew his charge pack was nearly depleted. Ejecting the pack, he quickly picked it up and stuffed it into his kit bag. Reaching into his bandoleer, he retrieved another pack and slid it in. Standing back up, he was about to resume firing when he saw Junior Commissar Carstensen holding her position. She cut down several heretics with her Bolt pistol, blowing them apart with the explosive shells. A heretic charged her and tried to slash her with his sword. Carstensen immediately ducked, reared her arm back, and struck the heretic in the gut with her power fist. The impact was so great the heretic keeled over and vomited in his sack hood. Grisly brown chunks trickled out of the mouthpiece.

Standing up, she struck him in the back of the head with her Bolt pistol then hit him in the side of the head with her power fist. Part of his skull caved in while the shock caused it to crack. The scalp burst and bloody brains oozed out as he fell over.

Instead of rejoining the Guardsmen, she held her ground and kept firing. Marsh did not wait any longer and ran out to get her. He heard cries from Barlocke to come back but he ignored them. Sliding into a crouch next to her, he peppered an approaching group of heretics with his lasgun. The renewed power saw them blown apart and singed by powerful, bright red lasbolts.

"Let us go, Junior Commissar!"

"Retreat!?" She shouted at him before gunning down another enemy. "Commissars must never retreat!"

"No ma'am, we're not retreating!" Marsh Silas yelled, thinking quickly. "We're regrouping at a more advantageous position!"

For a brief moment, she looked at him bemused. Despite whizzing lead, sizzling lasbots, heated explosions, and flying sand, Marsh Silas thought she saw her laugh. Instead, she let him take her by the arm and walk her back towards the others. It was not long before they were back with Barlocke, Hyram, and the growing numbers of Bloody Platoon.

Grenadiers and Heavy Weapons troopers began targeting the huts. Due to their flimsy construct, some did not explode, they were simply blown over. Others caught fire or disappeared in clouds of broken timbers and fractured metal. Blood, severed limbs, and mangled bodies were everywhere. Everyone was shooting and screaming; officers and sergeants issued commands, troopers called out targets, some hurled insults at the enemy, and others still just roared at the top of their lungs, adding to the bedlam.

Marsh felt water sloshing as his ankles. He and his team were backing up through the water now. Heretics were trying to swarm them, but they managed to keep them back. Some of the hostile combatants ignored the troops and began slogging through the lagoon. Marsh focused his fire on the ones trying to assault him and his comrades.

"Boats! They're going to the boats!" Yoxall shouted. "To the boats, to the boats!"

"Quickly now!"

As the demolition expert began charging for them, Marsh, Carstensen, and several others joined him. Other Guardsmen followed as well. Heretics clambered into their rickety rowboats and tried to paddle away. Marsh got to one of the empty boats first, primed a grenade, and tossed it in.

"Fire in the hole!" he shouted and jogged back. The detonation broke the boat in two and sent planks of wood flying into the air. Corporal Tatum, howling like a beast, squeezed the triggers of his Flamer and set one of the boats alight. Half a dozen heretics were already on board and tumbled off, screaming. Doused by the salt water, they came back up, hissing and snarling. Tatum set these men on fire as well while other Guardsmen gunned them down.

Yoxall tossed a grenade into another boat and destroyed it. Splinters flew everywhere. Marsh felt them digging into his heavy coat and pricking his flesh. More heretics joined the fray, trying to defend the boats. Charge packs were losing energy and troopers were running out of autopistol magazines. Men began relying on their bayonets or drew trench knives or grabbed the entrenchment tools. Despite their weight of numbers, the heretics were not a match for well-trained, veteran Guardsmen.

Babcock planted the standard into the sediment and began fighting. As the flag whipped in the breeze, he fought beside it. Marsh saw him catch the wrist of a knife-armed heretic, twist it so badly the enemy dropped the knife, and then turn him over. Growling, Babcock forced the enemy's head beneath the water and drowned the flailing enemy. Derryhouse lined up targets with his plasma gun and fired. White-blue bolts hissed across the top of the water, leaving a spraying wake behind them. When it struck an enemy or the water, a great plume of salt spray would shoot in all directions. So many bullets, plasma bolts, lasbolts, and grenades were going off in the water, it seemed like it was raining. Monty Peck parried a sword blow with his M36's bayonet, then thrust it so hard into an enemy's belly it came out the other side. As the heretic died on the blade, he turned the body around at another charging enemy and squeezed the trigger. The dead heretic's back blew open as a red streak cut through and killed the hostile man behind him.

Bodies, debris, and wreckage floated in the water. It seemed like there was no end to the heretics. Only one boat remained and the occupants were beginning to row away. Out of grenades and exhausting their ammunition, Marsh waved over Yoxall, Carstensen, Tatum, and other troopers. "Form two lines, form two lines!"

Two rows of Guardsmen prepared to attack the boat. The first line crouched, while the second stood over them with their bayonets forward, like a shield. "Advaaaance!" Marsh ordered.

Marching through the water, steadily chanting, 'hurrah, hurrah, hurrah,' as they did, they approached the boat. The defenders tried to yank the bayonets from their comrades' hands or hit them with clubs, but the second line held. Along with the first line, Marsh grabbed the edge of the boat, rocked it, and then pushed it over. All the heretics came spilling into the water. Bellowing war cries, the two lines broke and threw themselves upon the sputtering, thrashing heretics. In moments, they were all beaten, stabbed, or drowned. Tatum then set the boat on fire with his Flamer.

Carstensen rallied them.

"Rally on the standard!" she cried, standing by Babcock and throwing her fist into the air. "Rally on the standard!"

The Guardsmen gathered around her and the flag. Babcock took it in hand and Marsh stood right beside the Junior Commissar. Her cap was gone and her red hair was loose from its bun. Hair swaying, teeth bared, eyes wide, coat waving in the surf, Marsh found courage in her resolve.

She pointed at the color-bearer. "Ready!?"

"Ready!"

Carstensen whirled around, tapped Marsh on the shoulder.

"Ready!?"

"Ready!" he cried.

Raising her voice, she called on all the men.

"Ready!?"

"We're ready!" they all shouted.

"Return to command!"

As one unit, the team doubled back and rejoined Barlocke and Hyram. Their contingent was holding position at the edge of the lagoon. Many were still in the water. Captain Giles was with them, firing his lasgun at the enemy. Lieutenant Eastoft's helmet was missing and blood was running down half of her face from a head wound.

"Why aren't we moving!?" Marsh hollered as he approached Hyram.

"The entrance is too small, we're backed up!" he shouted back and pointed towards the bulk of the troops. Marsh saw that dozens of troopers were trying to squeeze through the gap in between the rocky barriers. Some Guardsmen were resorting to climbing over them. Officers and sergeants were trying to direct the flow, but everything was in disarray. Senior officers were stuck on the other side.

Barlocke ran over and grabbed Hyram by the collar.

"How long until air support arrives!?"

"Less than five minutes!"

"Damn it all!" Barlocke swore. He surveyed the area and Marsh followed his gaze. Guardsmen were still struggling to get out of the cove. Heretics were streaming out of the cave, firing autoguns and brandishing melee weapons. Ammunition was running low and many were drawing their own hand weapons.

A look of frustration crossed the Inquisitor's face. Eventually, he turned back around. "Giles, Eastoft, Hyram!" The three assembled in front of him, bent over as rounds passed by. "Get to the head of the column and get them out. Carstensen, take Babcock and get the rearguard falling back."

"What about you!?" Hyram shouted. Barlocke smiled.

"I'll cover you, Sean."

A wave of inspiration flowed over Marsh Silas. At that moment, without his hat, wet, and covered with sand, Barlocke never looked more heroic than in all the combat they shared in the past weeks.

Resolve filled Marsh's chest. Standing up, he walked up beside Barlocke.

"As will I."

Hyram was about to argue but Barlocke held up his hand.

"There is no time. We shall cover the retreat. Now go!"

Members of Bloody Platoon began peeling away. Giles and Eastoft fired their last shots and ran alongside the body of Guardsmen. Hyram and Carstensen looked from Barlocke to Marsh Silas.

For a moment, a heartbroken expression crossed Hyram's face. It was as if he was asked to leave his boy behind. Then, he gritted his teeth and nodded. Reaching out, he grabbed and shook Marsh by the collar of his flak armour.

"You better be right behind us!" he yelled, then followed the others. Carstensen grimaced and began following.

"That's an order, Staff Sergeant!" she added.

Marsh watched them jog up the line. He turned to look at Barlocke. The Inquisitor grinned at him.

"I told you."

Not wishing to dignify his snide remark with a reply, Marsh walked forward, pressing deeper into the lagoon. There was a lull in the combat as smoke as thick smoke rolled from burning buildings, covering the lagoons in a gray mist. Smells of bitter saltwater, acrd gunpowder, and rank, burned flesh filled the air. Up to his knees in water, Marsh pressed his back into Barlocke's, knowing the heretics could from any direction.

It was quiet, save for the errant gunshot or lasbolt. Shouted commands rang out, but strangely, they sounded much farther off than they actually were.

Marsh felt Barlocke's back pressed into his more firmly. "Focus, Silvanus. Breathe deeply. Are you ready?"

Marsh was not sure what he meant. Ready to fight? Yes, he was. He was prepared to battle the heretics with his bare hands if necessary to protect his comrades. To die? Oddly enough, Marsh Silas felt cold at the thought. He did not feel ready even though he was so close to death. Mulling it over, he accepted it. But he murmured another prayer for protection.

"By the Emperor of Mankind, I am," he said.

Barlocke chuckled confidently.

"What's your kill count at?"

Marsh snorted and smiled.

"About to rise."

As Barlocke's laughter rippled through the air, the battle resumed. Heretics darted out of the mist, brandishing machetes and long knives. Exhausting his last charge pack, Marsh shot some down, then shouldered his weapon and pulled out his autopistol. He only squeezed off a few shots before having to reload.

"On your right!" Barlocke shouted over his shoulder. In one motion, the pair turned around. Barlocke used his last Ripper pistol magazine to kill the marauding heretic.

"I'm jammed," Marsh said, trying to clear his sidearm.

"No time!"

More came out of the mist. Drawing his power sword and activating it, coating the blade in blue energy, Marsh ran a heretic through. Withdrawing the blade, he slashed another heretic diagonally across his unarmoured chest before cutting his throat with the edge.

Marsh looked over his shoulder. Barlocke was holding an enemy warrior with one hand and jamming his sword through his gut. Two more were running at him.

"Switch!" Marsh shouted. Turning again, the platoon sergeant took his place. He raised his sword and caught the two machetes of two heretics. Kicking one in the gut, he forced the other one back. He stumbled in a way that exposed the back of his knee, and Marsh quickly swiped the edge of his sword across it. Crying out, the heretic fell over. The other was already on their feet and tried to ruh him. Marsh hit him with the pommel of his sword, turned, and ran him through. He then beheaded the wounded heretic, who was unable to get up.

"Duck!"

Marsh crouched as low as he could. He saw Barlocke's sword fly above his head and cut into an enemy who he hadn't seen approaching on his right. "Switch!"

Staying low as they traded positions once again, Marsh cut off an enemy's lower while Barlocke decapitated another.

"Switch!" they yelled together, simultaneously swapping positions and stabbing heretics.

"Is the regiment through yet!?" Marsh asked. He was facing the cove and watching shadows move in the mist.

"Almost. Let's start falling back ourselves."

"Right. Here, take my sword," Marsh said, handing it over.

"What about you?" Barlocke asked.

Marsh reached down to the scabbard taped to his boot and drew his trench knife. He slid his fingers into the metal loops that formed the steel knuckles attached to the grip. Then, he reached behind and yanked his Type Nine-Seventy entrenchment tool from his rucksack.

"I've got these," he said with a cavalier grin. Barlocke just smiled.

As they began to back up, the heretics pressed their attacks. Using one sword to block and the other to attack, Barlocke stopped heretics in their tracks and swiftly dispatched them. One enemy came rushing at Marsh Silas. Swinging the flat side of his entrenchment tool, he hit his opponent in the face. Knocking him to the ground, he turned his knife over and sliced his throat open. Just as he stood up, he punched with the knuckled guard of his trench knife; on impact, he could hear the heretic's jaw breaking. Teeth flew out of the mouth slit cut into his sack hood. Another came at him, swinging with a club. Marsh caught the club with the handle of his nine-seventy, brought it down hard so it took the club from the enemy's hand, and flipped it in his hand. One side of the tool had a sharpened edge and he brought this down in between the corrupted man's neck and shoulder. The blow was so severe his shoulder became slightly separated from the rest of the body.

Marsh kicked him off. There was no time to finish him, as another heretic was running at him. This one lacked a weapon entirely. Although he wore a sack hood, the mouth opening was wider than others. He could see the twisted being's jagged, bared teeth and blackened, wiggling tongue. Saliva ran down underneath the opening. Lowering himself and scrambling across the sand like a beast, he lunged at Marsh Silas. Still holding his knife, he held the entrenchment tool with both hands and blocked the heretic. So wild was his opponent, he bit on the handle of the tool and snarled at him.

Shaking him off did not work. Struggling for control, Marsh finally lowered it somewhat and headbutted the heretic. His helmet absorbed the shock but his head still shook terrible. Dazed, the heretic let go and stumble. Rotating, Marsh swiped him off his feet with the tool and the corrupted one landed on his belly. Turning his knife over, Marsh brought the point down into the back of its head and twisted.

"Come on!" Marsh Silas screamed, baring his teeth.

"Silvanus and Barlocke!" the Inquisitor screamed defiantly as he gored another heretic.

"Barlocke and Silvanus!" Marsh cried.

Just as they prepared for another wave, rockets pummeled the area. Marsh looked behind him and saw a pair of Vulture gunships glide towards the cove. He felt the urge to cheer, but it was caught short as both fired volleys of missiles. Falling one after another, the barrage crept closer towards the pair. Just as they turned to flee, an explosion sent them reeling.

When Marsh came too, he could hardly see anything. Gray smoke and sand clouds whirled around him. Both ears were ringing and he felt a burning sensation in his side. As he tried to sit up, pain shot through his core. Pressing his hand to the epicenter of the shock, he felt some hot and hard. Looking down, he saw a thin piece of shrapnel the size of his palm embedded in his side. Some blood stained the tan fatigues around it.

Groaning, he fought the agony as best he could and tried to get up. As he did, he saw another form nearby. Barlocke was on his side, nearly curled up into a ball.

At first, Marsh Silas's heart froze. He thought the Inquisitor was dead. Terrified, he began to crawl over to him and assess his condition. By the Emperor's blessing, Barlocke stirred when he was halfway over. Marsh uttered a quick prayer of thanks and stopped.

Barlocke rolled over so he was on his hands and knees. Rising up, his face tightened as he felt his torso. He too sustained a shrapnel wound and there was blood running from his left ear. When he was able to sustain it, he opened his eyes and gazed at Marsh Silas. Oddly, the platoon sergeant found himself smiling. Grinning back, Barlocke sat back down and gave a slovenly salute. After catching his breath, he reached over and grabbed the two power swords. Both were deactivated. Marsh felt around and found his trench knife and entrenchment tool. Out of the mist in front of them, they could see shadowy forms moving.

Marsh knew it was only wishful thinking the Vultures completely wiped out the enemy garrison. He felt oddly calm despite the numerous heretics approaching him through the smoke. With his entrenchment tool and trench knife ready, he was prepared to fight.

Just as the first insane enemy combatant came charging into a view, a series of red lasbolts struck him. Others were cut down as well. Bolt shells struck another and tore his midsection into bloody pulp.

Hyram came into view, along with Carstensen, Giles, Eastoft, and seemingly the rest of Bloody Platoon.

The platoon leader grabbed Babcock, pulled him close, and began waving his arm.

"Form a line on the standard!" he hollered, waving and cupping his other hand around his mouth. "Form a line on the standard!"

Bloody Platoon quickly assembled. Heretics were still coming at them, brandishing makeshift spears and wooden clubs. Their howling filled the air, combating the prayers, orders, and war cries of the Shock Troopers.

A single rank of troopers formed, with Hyram, Carstensen, and Babcock in the center. Hyram raised one arm high into the air. "Mark your targets before you fire! Ready, my command, fire!"

The line erupted into a dazzling lightshow of red, blue, and gold. Marsh could have laughed; Bloody Platoon was resupplied!

Hyram came back from the firing line and ordered several troopers to help Barlocke. As soon as they came over, he pushed them away and rose to his feet. Sheathing his power sword, he took a laspistol from Sergeant Holmswood and joined the fray. Ignoring the Inquisitor, Hyram ran over to Marsh and assessed his wound. Without another word, he let his lasgun hang by the strap, went around Marsh Silas, hooked his arms under his, and began dragging him. As he did, he called, "Bloody Platoon, fall back in order!"
Slowly, the firing line began to withdraw. Holding ranks, they fired as they did. When Guardsmen reloaded charge packs, they crouched before they resumed firing. Heretics charged forward with more zeal than they possessed during the entire battle. In their greatest number, they came storming out of the mist. Bloody Platoon fended them off, but some bypassed engaged troopers and tried to rush Marsh and Hyram. Each time this occurred, Hyram would drop the platoon sergeant and quickly dispatch the enemy with his lasgun. After the second time, he took out his laspistol and handed it to Marsh.

More broke through. Struggling to am as he was dragged, Marsh Silas was able to pick a few off. Blue lasbolts blew off arms at the shoulder, ripped open bellies, and blew knee caps open.

Bloody Platoon's single rank was holding, but it was beginning to bow backwards into a semicircle.

Carstensen stepped off the line, dragging Drummer Boy with her.

"Tell those Vultures to circle around and finish the job!" she screamed in his face. Drummer Boy shouldered his lasgun, grabbed the handheld, and began calling them back. Minutes later, one of the gunships hovered above and began raking the ground in front of them with Heavy Bolter fire. Spent shell casings rained down on the troopers below.

After ordering Drummer Boy to fall back and direct their fire, Carstensen ran over to Hyram. While he took one of Marsh's arms, she took the other, and they began dragging him backwards faster.

"Bloody Platoon, fall back, double-time, quickly now!" Hyram shouted. One by one, troopers tapped each other on the shoulder, retreated several meters, then held position to cover the other Guardsmen. Although they were giving ground as a group, the lack of a firing line was allowing the heretics to close in. Heretics broke through, trying to pierce the center of the platoon. Just as several charged to overtake Marsh, Hyram, and Carstensen, Giles and Eastoft killed them with lasguns. The pair stood in front and added their firepower to the withdrawal.

Marsh was aiming his laspistol, waiting for a heretic to come into his sights, when he saw Arnold Yoxall fall. The demolition expert clutched his thigh and let out a short shout. Looking up, he pointed.

"Enemies on the rocks! We're flanked!"

Marsh looked up and saw them. Heretics were scrambling up the jagged rocks. Some leaped off, only to be shot in midair or to fall on bayonets. Others embedded themselves in cracks and crevices, firing autoguns.

Knowing he could not get his friend himself, Marsh reached up and grabbed Hyram by the collar of his flak armour.

"Get him, sir!" he screamed. "Get Arnold, get him!"

Immediately, the platoon leader let go and grabbed Yoxall. Instead of dragging him, he stood him up, threw him over his shoulders, and carried him out of sight. Heretics jumped down and tried to rush Marsh. Before he could bring his sidearm to bear, Giles and Eastoft threw themselves on him, covering him with their bodies, and shot the encroaching enemies. More came down, wielding stub pistols and slapdash autoguns. Rounds bounced off of flak armour and made troopers fall. Experience and training saved their lives as they returned fire and attacked with bayonets. Blood splashed on the churned up sand, wounded heretics writhed and screamed, Guardsmen shouted.

Giles and Eastoft got off of Marsh Silas. There were few Guardsmen in front of them now, forming up on Carstensen and the wounded platoon sergeant. Ordering them to return to him, Giles cleared their field of fire. Forming a staggered line, they withdrew slowly.

Suddenly, a war cry rent the air that sent a chill down Marsh's spine. It was not so much a bellow as it was a series of demented blathering, insane cackling, and shrill, inhuman screaming. Out of the mist came a wall of enemies. Carrying an assortment of weapons ranging from barely functional autoguns to axes, clubs, and swords, they came barreling along.

"Prepare yourselves, Guardsmen!" Carstensen yelled. "Today is the day we shall achieve victory or our souls meet the God-Emperor of Mankind's!"

Marsh sat up, raising his laspistol. He looked up. Carstensen looked at him and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly with her hand before grabbing her Bolt pistol. On his other side, Captain Giles patted his shoulder pauldron. Eastoft just offered a respectful nod, though her vivid violet eyes sparkled with comradeship.

As the horde closed the gap, Marsh closed his eyes and took one deep breath. With the enemy's thundering feet and deafening roaring ringing in his ears, he thought of his mother, alone on Macharia, and then his father, walking down the Kasr road on winter nights. As their faces settled in his mind and he echoed their sweet voices, he thought of the Emperor. How he wanted so badly to live, to continue serving Him, and repay His grace with good works. But if the Emperor needed him now, he could not deny Him.

Marsh opened his eyes. Just as he did, a crimson uniform shot past. It was Commissar Ghent. He snatched Carstensen's Bolt pistol; holding his own in his other hand, he stood in front and began raking the enemy forward line with fire. Shells exploded, obliterating heretics, tearing off their limbs, blowing up heads, chests, and bellies. Guts, limbs, blood, and corpses fell in droves.

As he fired, he walked backwards. When he stopped to reload, he turned and face them.

"I have not given any of you permission to die!" he screamed. "Now fall back on the quick-time!"

Ghent stood in front of Marsh Silas and kept firing. Other Guardsmen crept back, shooting as they did.

Suddenly, the arms under his own went away. Marsh looked up and found Captain Murga standing over him. The company commander clutched his webbing and stood Marsh up. Once they were face-to-face, he slapped him on the side of his helmet.

"Let's get you out of here, Staff Sergeant!" he yelled before picking him and throwing him across his shoulders.

Murga began walking backwards, firing into the enemy ranks with his own laspistol. Ghent fell in beside him, slid a fresh magazine into Carstensen's Bolt pistol, and threw it back to her. She began firing. Barlocke, Hyram, Giles, and Eastoft grouped around them, shooting as fast as they could. Bloody Platoon trickled through the gap in the rocks, pouring relentless fire into the enemy. Almost everyone was dragging, carrying, or supporting a wounded Guardsman. Collections of heretics fell in such frequency they became piles. Soon, the corrupted began to claw and run over their own dead to try and overrun the Guardsmen.

When everyone came through the entrance to the cove, they quickly turned and ran. Marsh quickly understood why. Assembled in a line were scores of Heavy Weapons Squads armed with Heavy Bolters and Autocannons. Behind them were two ranks of Guardsmen; the first rank was crouching while the second stood. Lieutenant Comstock of Second Platoon was holding his sword in the air and gazing grimly at the gap.

Marsh, atop Murga's shoulders, was the last to clear the field of fire. Barely a moment later, Comstock lowered his sword sharply.

"Fiiiiiire!" he hollered. Both firing lines and the Heavy Weapons Squads blasted the gap with automatic fire. Scores of heretics fell as they tried to burst from the breach. Soon, it became clogged with their dead. A grisly bulwark appeared, oozing with blood and exposed intestines. But the heretics kept coming, climbing over the top of the organic barricade. Corpses tumbled down the front or fell backwards. Little by little, it grew as tall as two Guardsmen standing on each other's shoulders. Only then did the attack stop.

Vulture gunships made another gun run and began peppering the cove with Heavy Bolter fire again. Comstock quickly ordered the Heavy Weapons Squads to disassemble their mounts and fell back. Once they were clear, Comstock broke the two ranks and ordered them down the beach.

Marsh gazed back at the cove, watching the yellow tracer rounds stream behind the natural walls. Waves crashed and broke on the beach and seawall, sending white spray into the air. Looking forward, he watched as the 1333th Regiment retreated up the beach. It looked like a river of olive drab armour and tan winter fatigues. Around him, he could see Hyram and Barlockee the former was supporting the other. Carstensen jogged alongside Drummer Boy, Babcock, Giles, and Eastoft. Members of Bloody Platoon were all around as well. Everyone was wet and coated with sand. Many of their faces were covered in black or gray soot. Nobody spoke, save for the occasional order from a sergeant or officer for the troops to keep moving. Panting filled the air, accompanied by rustling rucksacks, squeaking leather boots, and thudding feet in the packed sand. Some of the troopers were smiling, others shed tears as they ran.

Marsh just let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

Word Count: 6,281

Pages (Google Docs): 16

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