Chapter 29

Marsh Silas flipped his M36 to full-automatic and sprayed the undead as they slithered over the cliff's edge. The sheer force of lasbolts some of the shambling creatures tumbling backwards. Undeterred, the remainder kept coming, even when arms were blown off and legs were severed. None seemed to notice the loss of their limbs and continued to moan dreadfully. Even those without both of their legs continued to crawl their way forward. Those missing all extremities but their head gnashed their teeth, writhed in place, and attempted to continue their attack. So many in number, their ghastly, prolonged cries rose above the variety of weapons along the perimeter.

The observation point Marsh, Drummer Boy, and Junior Commissar Carstensen found themselves in was withdrawn from the cliff by about fifteen meters. By the time the platoon sergeant dumped his empty charge pack and reloaded another, the corpses were covering the ground. Still, they came over the cliff and kept assailing their position.

"We need more men up here!" Carstensen yelled. "Give me your sidearm Staff Sergeant, I'll cover you!"

Marsh quickly handed her his autopistol. Holding her Bolt Pistol in her other hand, she unleashed a devastating volley of fire into the line of approaching undead. Autopistol rounds thudded into their torsos but the Bolt-shells blasted open their flesh, tore away their limbs, and cut some in half. In that instant, Marsh turned around, grabbed Drummer Boy's webbing, and dragged him from the parapet. Grabbing him by the collar of his flak armour, he had to scream in his face to be heard. "Get on the Vox and call for reinforcements at OP One! Get First Squad, get Second, get anyone!" He turned to return to the parapet, but stopped and turned halfway around. "And get a fucking Heavy Bolter team here now!"

Drummer Boy knelt and began speaking into the handset. Marsh stepped back onto the parapet, took his autopistol from Carstensen, and slid it back into his holster. Then, he resumed firing. On and on they came, slowly, untiring. In his peripheral vision, Marsh could see more of the monsters clambering and slithering over the lip of the cliff. With the observation post forward of the combat trench, it was soon besieged by undead from not only the front but its flanks as well.

Try as he might to remain collected, Marsh felt himself growing more frantic. He would fire several lasbolts to the front, then would swivel to his left and fire at the undead encroaching on his position. To his right, he could see Carstensen ably discharging her Bolt Pistol at the front before firing the rest on the right flank.

Marsh knew he was running low on his charge pack; the automatic fire was draining it inordinately fast. But he did not dare switch back to semi-automatic fire; there were far too many. Even when he ejected the charge pack and loaded the fourth in, he would not. He felt a hand snatch the collar of his flak armour and turn him to the right. For a brief, terrifying moment he thought one of the undead slipped past Carstensen. But it was her and he recoiled when she shoved her face in his.

"Control your fire, Marsh Silas! Sever the limbs, aim for the head! Semi-automatic fire, that's an order!" At that moment, one of the undead was about to stumble into the barbed wire entanglements. Before Marsh could call out the target, she pointed her Bolt Pistol at it, squeezed the trigger, and shot it in the head. The shell exploded and blew the top of its cranium off. As if what little rigidity remained in its cracking bones was instantly sapped, the beast collapsed into a pile just in front of the barbed wire. Looking back, Carstensen's blue-green eyes gleamed through her gas mask visor asi red, golden, and blue lasgun fire tore through the night. "Understood, Staff Sergeant!?"

"Yes, Junior Commissar!" he yelled back.

His fear quashed, he flipped the switch, and recalled a lifetime of firing drills. He pressed the buttstock of his M36 to his shoulder, focused the sights on the head of an incoming dead man, inhaled, and squeezed the trigger. A beautiful red streak emitted from the barrel and struck the target right in its forehead. The heat seared the hair, matted with fecal matter and sewage, as well as the tight, ghoulish skin of the forehead. The lasbolt itself tunneled through the top of its skull.

Exhaling, he aimed at another target and fired, then at another, and another. For a moment, it felt like he was back on a Kasr garrison range. When he looked at Carstensen for a brief moment, seeing her outline by the laser and tracer fire, she looked back at him.

"Keep firing! The Emperor is with us! Keep firing!"

Although he felt his resolve strengthening, he was still afraid. The undead filled him with horror. In the instances of light permeating the combat trench, he could see their jaws snapping, the yellow, rotted teeth dripping with saliva and blood. As their mouths opened and closed, emitting their awful moans, some of the teeth fell from the blackened gums. Putrid green clouds wafted from their maws. Pus and blood oozed from open wounds, sliding down their exposed flesh and staining their muddied, tattered clothing. Shriveled brown and green skin was so tight upon their bones they looked more like skeletons than any sort of being. What flesh they did have was marked by bulbous pustules, which glimmered with moisture and popped. All the while, they stared upon the Guardsmen with pale, dead eyes, conveying nothing, bearing no emotion.

Revolted and terrified, Marsh kept firing. More of them fell under his M36 barrel but on and on the rest came. The entire ground between the observation post's defenses was covered by heaps of slain undead. More were coming up on the flanks, but accurate, sustained fire from Bloody Platoon continued to cut them down. Even though they tripped over corpses and had to climb over the piles, they came on.

Finally, they were at the barbed wire entanglements lining the ground in front of the combat trench. One after the other became trapped in it. Razors sliced open their skin, which was thinner than parchment. Entire patches were stripped off by single barbs. Others lost eyes or lips, and their faces became scarred in twisted, ragged ways. Losing faces and scalps, the bloody skulls were exposed. But the body kept coming, the teeth chattering and snapping. Crawling and clawing their way over the bloody heaps of dead, they closed in on the observation post from the left flank, then the right, and finally from the front. Clumps of bodies covered the barbed wire and became bridges for the undead behind them.

Climbing over, they stumbled down just in front of the combat trench. With a cry, Marsh thrust his bayonet forward and pierced the skull of one just trying to crawl in. Withdrawing it with little difficulty, he jammed it into the knee of one that managed to stand. When it collapsed, he freed the bayonet and fired a lasbolt into its head, which promptly blew apart and scattered blood and bits of skull on the parapet.

Another crawled forward with surprising speed. Marsh thrust upwards and the bayonet spiked through the soft bottom of its jaw. But it stopped at the roof of its mouth. Screaming hoarsely, it attempted to snatch the platoon sergeant by his arms. The bayonet was jammed and his M36 was at an awkward angle. Pulling down would draw the beast in and leaving his weapon was out of the question. As he struggled to level it out, he could see more gathering around it. Slimy arms and bony hands shot out at him, trying to grab him wherever they could.

Suddenly, Carstensen's Bolt Pistol barrel was pressed against its temple. She pulled the trigger and the head seemed to implode. With the body limp, Marsh freed his weapon. "Back up," the Junior Commissar ordered, "on my shoulder, Staff Sergeant! Together!"

Both took a step back; Marsh's right shoulder pressed against her left. Side by side, they fired as quickly and accurately as they could. As they did, they began to back out of the observation post.

"Drummer Boy, get out of here! Move down the line!" Marsh yelled over his shoulder. But the Voxman didn't reply. Instead, he dropped the handset, took up his M36, and came up to Marsh's left.

Suddenly, Marsh's helmet-embedded micro-bead crackled. It was Walmsley Major.

"Marsh Silas, get down!"

"Down, down!" Marsh cried. He shoved Drummer Boy away, grabbed Carstensen by her arm, and jumped back from the observation post. Just as the undead began storming the position, a stream of Heavy Bolter fire from the right flank swept across the top of the post. Mesh netting was blown away, wooden supports chewed away, and the walking corpses were smashed to pieces.

Looking briefly, Marsh could see the muzzle flash of the heavy weapon down the trench. Silhouetted behind the shield was Walmsley Major, the gunner, and Walmsley Minor, who was feeding the belt. At Observation Post Two, the two brothers established an enfilading field of fire. All the undead between the two positions were cut down; the roar of the Heavy Bolter was a glorious sound to Marsh's ears.

But he heard movement to his left and he quickly swiveled around with his M36. In the same instant, he activated the lamp attachment on the side of his barrel. He was relieved to see Lieutenant Hyram rushing down the trench with Babcock, Sergeant Holmwood, and the rest of First Squad, behind him.

The platoon leader took a knee beside Drummer Boy. First, he pointed at Marsh.

"The left flank is holding, we've been reinforced!" Then, he tapped the Voxman on the side of his helmet to get his attention. "Get on the platoon net and have the other squad leaders sound off. I need to know our situation."

"All Bloody Platoon stations, report!" Drummer Boy shouted into the handset. After a moment, he turned to Hyram. "Second and Third squads are holding; Heavy and Special Weapons are with them."

Hyram cradled his M36 against his chest, nodding.

"If they get in this trench we're doomed," he said and took the handset from Drummer Boy. "All stations, all stations, we will advance as one to the cliff's edge. Heavy Weapons, hold. Mount the parapet."

He gave the Voxman his handset back and led him into the observation post. Marsh Silas found himself between Babcock on his left, Yoxall on his right, and Carstensen behind him. From the combat trench parapet, he could see more of the undead climbing over the cliff.

"Stations reporting ready, sir," he heard Drummer Boy say to Hyram. Instead of using the handset, Hyram took the speaker from the other side of the Vox unit and turned on the amplifier.

"Bloody Platoon, advance!" he yelled, his voice carrying above the battle din. Everything unleashed a terrific war cry. Marsh jumped out of the combat trench, his bayonet poised. Beside him, Babcock was screaming at the top of his lungs while Yoxall unleashed a deep, manly shout. He felt Carstensen's hand on his shoulder, ushering him forward.

Just as the undead of the second wave before show their ugly mugs, they covered the short distance and began shooting, bayoneting, kicking, and clubbing them back down. Marsh kicked one away and aimed his M36 after it. He was confronted with a shocking sight: the horde was still thick and the jagged cliff below was covered with undead. They were like a swarm of insects on a mound of dirt, wriggling in every direction while in such close proximity to one another they appeared as a singular, writhing, wriggling entity. For some meters, the channel's edge was illuminated by the camp's high-powered lighting. Flowing like rivers from the dead Kasr's darkness, they joined into two massive groups. One continued to feed into the crowd at the bottom of the cliffs while the other shambled towards the beach. The perimeter was alight with blazing weaponry; in those brief yet multitudinous flashes of fire, Marsh could see their helmets, arms, and gas masks.

Marsh turned back. Babcock used the pointed bottom of the standard to pierce an undead's skull and force it back down. Yoxall lobbed a fragmentation grenade down and it exploded before reaching the bottom. A dull, explosive thud shook the cliff and created a cloud of gray rock dust. Broken bodies and severed limbs fell out of the clouds. More Guardsmen began to roll their grenades down the cliff's edge. Puffs of smoke and dust permeated the cliff face, blowing about dozens of the undead. Grenadiers launched explosives into the gathering crowds below, sending up clots of moist sand. Holes began to appear in the groups of undead where the shells landed. Many stumbled over the corpses of their kind and gaps were steadily filled. Those who managed to reach the top were bayoneted, skewered by combat, trench knives, and the blades of non-commissioned officers, or beaten off with M36 buttsocks and booted heels. Bodies continued to tumble down the cliff face, breaking upon the rock, splattering or disintegrating into grisly flesh and decaying bones at the bottom.

Traversing his fire to the left flank, Marsh gunned down several more of the undead. As he stopped to reload, he felt something clutch his ankle. He looked down and saw one of the monsters about to bite his leg. Crying out, he brought the buttsock of his M36 down on its head multiple times. Despite caving in its skull, its grip remained tight. Eventually, he smashed it entirely, coating the end of his lasgun with mottled blood of red, green, and brown. Brains clung to the olive drab finish of his weapon. The corpse began to fall off but its grip remained. More of them began to climb upon his body, adding to the weight on Marsh's leg. Losing his footing, Marsh turned and tried to grab something. With solid rock beneath him, he couldn't even dig his fingers in.

Feeling his fingernails scrape and break against the surface, Marsh yelled out as he managed to clutch the ledge. Immediately, there was so much weight tugging on his leg it sent a jolt of pain up into his back. Looking over his shoulder, he saw all fall away save for the corpse clinging to his leg. Far below, the horde saw him and they raised their arms skyward. Grasping at air and moaning loudly, it was as if they were begging for him to come down.

Trying to pull himself proved futile. Between the weight of his own wargear and the body on his leg, he did not have the strength. His grip on the ledge was beginning to slip, but then he felt hands on his wrists. He looked up and found The demolition expert was squatting and trying to pull him up. Babcock was fending off two of the undead trying to snatch his feet and Carstensen was firing upon a group about to spill over the top.

Looking back down, Marsh began to kick at the dead weight but the torso was too far beneath him. Instead, he began to stamp on the frozen hand in the hopes of breaking its fingers. It wasn't working and the platoon sergeant was swiftly losing his strength. When he looked back up, he realized Yoxall was beginning to slip. Then, Drummer Boy appeared and nearly dived on top of him. He began to pull on Yoxall's webbing to pull both him and Marsh back up. Without much leverage and stable ground to dig his heels into, he began to slip himself. Babcock had to lean the standard against his shoulder, hold the Voxman's cartridge belt, and continue shooting with his other hand.

With the gaps appearing in their own firing line, undead began to creep up. One latched onto Babcock's leg and he was forced to let go of Drummer Boy to fend it off. Another, fixated on reaching the top, passed Marsh Silas and tried to climb on top of the Voxman. While he kept their jaws off him, the weight began to drag him over the cliff as well. Then, Hyram appeared, shot it off him with his M36, and yanked the Voxman back. Instead of coming to his aid, he ran to Carstensen, shouted something in her ear, and pointed at Marsh. Immediately, she pointed her Bolt Pistol down at him.

Marsh's violet eyes widened behind his gask mask. For a moment, he couldn't think, hear, or speak: all he could was focus on the Junior Commissar. Her face was hidden by her own mask. From Kasr Fortis came gentle, satly, chilly gusts of wind which rippled her sleek coat. His eyes fell on the large, looming barrel of her Bolt Pistol. It seemed pointed directly at his face. Then, it all made sense; there was no pulling him back up and it wasn't worth the risk of losing more men. Hyram and Carstensen would not let him be devoured by these creatures and would provide the Emperor's Mercy. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"My Emperor, to you I give my spirit and soul," he murmured, then opened his eyes, ready. Carstensen fired and he felt the shock of the Bolt shell fly past him. An instant later, the weight was gone from his leg. He looked down and saw the limp body falling away, as well as the arm severed at the elbow, still clutching his leg.

Marsh looked back up as the others began to pull. He let out a few, short gasps and felt involuntary tears run down his cheeks. "Fuck, fuck!" he cried.

Just as Babcock finished off the undead, kicking it back over the cliff, Barlocke appeared behind Yoxall and Drummer Boy. Nearly shoving them aside, he knelt, reached down, and grabbed the platoon sergeant by his flak armour webbing. Crying with effort, he pulled as hard as he could and Marsh suddenly found himself back on top of the cliff in a pile of bodies. He was gas mask to gas mask with Barlocke, who squeezed his shoulder.

"Are you alright!?" he yelled.

"Now I am!" Marsh replied as everyone struggled to their feet. He slid into a sitting position and saw the hand still around his ankle. After kicking it off failed again, he had to pry it off with his hands. Although he was wearing gloves, the sensation of touching the rotted flesh and weak bone disgusted him.

Alongside him, Walmsley Major, Walmsley Minor, and other members of the Heavy Weapons Squads pulled their weapons up. Hyram personally directed each time, showing them exactly where to go. Streams of Heavy Bolter rounds and Autocannon shells began to thin out the herd. Olhouser and Synder had converted the closest observation post into a mortar pit. Every few moments the sound of the mortar's whump could be heard, followed by the whistling shell until it exploded in the channel. Foster and Ledford rolled the Lascannon up and began firing; long, massive, red streaks began to cut swathes in the rivers of undead. Missiles flew from Knaggs and Fletcher's launcher, blowing apart dozens at a time.

A momentum was building up. Bloody Platoon had retaken the initiative and overcome the morale shock of the enemy attack. Now, they were fighting on their terms. Marsh could feel it and his confidence soared. He approached the edge where Drummer Boy tossed him his M36 and began firing again. At the bottom of the cliff, so many bodies were piling up it seemed as though they would make a staircase for the remainder.

Not long after, Drummer Boy was withdrawn by Hyram's order to monitor communications across the regimental network. Marsh's own micro-bead was alive with the members of his platoon. Men were cursing, praying, and barking orders at one another. Beside him, Hyram took great deliberation and fired with wonderful accuracy below. Already, the training was beginning to pay off. Behind him, Junior Commissar Carstensen continued to encourage the men. 'Mark your targets before you fire,' she would shout. 'The Emperor will see us through this night if only you fight!' 'You are the sons of Cadians who fought and died before you! Make them proud!' Barlocke assumed a position on Marsh's right and was holding both of his Ripper Pistols. He controlled the barking weapons ably and cut down many of the undead.

Yoxall's Meltagun blew away many of the beasts as they climbed, its golden streaks hissing through the air. Bullard knelt at the very edge, precisely picking off targets with his Long-Las. His spotter, Derryhouse, fired his Plasma Gun and the blue-white bolts struck creature after creature. Sometimes, the Guardsmen did not have enough time to reload their weapons. As the enemy clambered up, they would let their weapons hang by the strap or drop them entirely so as to draw their sidearms. Autopistols rattled and cut back the encroaching foes.

Then, Hyram was called back. Such sights Marsh saw but only in momentary glances, too focused on the enemy below. Then, he felt someone tap his helmet and found it was Hyram. Stepping back a few meters from the firing line, they knelt down and looked at each other.

"Second Platoon, Third Company's position has been overrun, they had to flee from their trench. Colonel Isaev has called upon every available Guardsmen to plug the gap but too many of the monsters have already entered the camp."

He pointed past the barracks. "The closest installation to the breach is the Medicae! If any get inside, the wounded will be slaughtered. We are not letting that happen!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Agreed, Lieutenant!" Barlocke exclaimed as he marched over. With him came Carstensen and other members of the platoon headquarters. "What do you propose?"

Hyram looked around quickly, thinking.

"I'll take First and Second Squads and one Heavy Bolter Team. Marsh, Carstensen, Babcock, Drummer Boy, and Honeycutt shall come too. Get Queshire and Stainthorpe over here!" This he said to the Voxman who communicated the order across the platoon link. The two squad leaders promptly arrived and he explained the plan to them. "Third Squad and the remainder shall stay here with you two in command; you have the heavy weapons and ammunition. Can you hold?"

"Yes sir, we can for the time being," Stainthrope said, his voice rugged behind his mask.

"If you need reinforcements, I'll dispatch one of the squads. Now, to your stations!" Hyram turned to Barlocke. "Inquisitor, shall you come?"

The Inquisitor nodded. Hyram stood up. "First and Second Squads, with me! Let's move!"

As one, the Guardsmen dashed back, leaped over the combat trench, and sprinted down the slope. Everyone was running as fast as they could, shoulder to shoulder, bumping into one another. But their pace did not break. When they reached level ground, they found the situation frantic. Guardsmen were running towards the line, rallied by officers and sergeants. Colonel Isaev was advancing towards the beach with his personal staff, all of them armed to the teeth with laspistols, Bolt Pistols, chainswords and power swords. Some Guardsmen were fleeing but these men were quickly stopped by Ghent, waving his sword, shoving his weapon in their face, and screaming at them to return to battle. Every single one did as he was ordered, rediscovering his courage. Single enemies were shuffling around the camp, trying to find someone to kill. But these foes were quickly dispatched by a bayonet to the skull or a series of lasbolts blasting them to pieces.

Undead were flowing through the gap, some falling into the trench bordering the beach, others clambering over the others already in it. Some managed to find their feet and came out of the combat trench exits. Some were alone, others began herding together. More and more began to appear, driving back the Guardsmen of the Second Company back again. Artillerymen fended off the creatures attempting to overtake their Basilisks. Once they were clear, they loaded the massive guns and fired on the channel.

Marsh looked away and went to the Medicae with the others. The building was squarish, not quite a rectangle, and only had one level beyond the ground floor. Unlike the majority of the other buildings on base, it did not have the firing ports, reinforced walls, or natural defenses that characterized them. What defenses it did boast was a perimeter of sandbags walls nearly the length of all four walls. The barrier was not continuous and open at the corners.

As they filtered behind the sandbags facing the beachside trench, Hyram personally directed every man to each spot. He placed the Walmsley brothers and their Heavy Bolter at the far corner so they could erect the tripod and have a clear, advantageous field of fire. Foley was placed right beside them to cover them when they needed to reload and ward off any enemies with his shotgun. Logue was the opposite corner with his modified autopistol who would engage enemies at close range. All who carried an M36 and bayonet would form two firing lines; the first would crouch behind the sandbags while the second would stand behind them. Hyram placed Marsh with the gun team, Carstensen at the other end, and crouched in the front rank with Drummer Boy to his right and Babcock, holding the standard, to his left. In the rear, Barlocke stood with his two pistols.

Marsh glanced down at him and the Inquisitor immediately noticed.

We shan't let any of them in. Barlocke's voice was not cold or warm, the sensation was over quickly. It left Marsh Silas feeling stronger and more resolute. He crouched down behind the gunners.

"Ready, men?"

"Yes, Marsh Silas," they answered together. Foley echoed the same. Marsh looked down the line and saw Hyram speaking into the Vox handset.

"All Second Company stations, this is First Platoon, First Company, station one. Clear the beach trench, we are about to let these monsters feel the might of the Emperor."

No sooner was the warning issued that the forward defenders began to peel away from their position. Ushered by their officers, they assumed positions in the communication trenches on the left and right flanks or found cover adjacent to the Medicae. Unabated, the undead horde poured through and began to come towards their position. It was as if they could smell the blood and wounds of the men inside the Medicae. They came on, moaning, wailing, their arms outstretched and their gait stilted.

Then the command Marsh was waiting for came. "Open fiiiiiiire!"

Blue, golden, and red streaks lit up their line. The Heavy Bolter's report nearly deafened Marsh Silas as he picked off targets. Guardsmen were cheering, chanting, praying, screaming, swearing, and hurling taunts and insults at the enemy. In the muzzle flashes, Marsh caught glimpses of their violet eyes through their visors. Each gaze was wide and wild, as if they became manic. Adrenaline coursed through their veins and they were empowered by their faith. Hundreds fell before their barrels, creating a floor of dead leading to their sandbags.

Despite the speed, concentration, and massive weight their concentrated fire offered, the horde did not abate. Closer and closer they came on, the thick front ranks falling away but shield those behind it. Subsequent ranks protected those behind, allowing the crowd to creep forward meter by meter. Even sustained fire by flanking troops thinned them out momentarily. Soon, they were too close to fire and the Guardsmen were thrusting, stabbing, slashing, and skewering them with their bayonets. Broken, bleeding hands grasped, lunged, snatched, and tried to rip the Guardsmen from their place. Everyone was belting out war cries, deep and valorous as they fought off their assailants. Only by cutting away their limbs or severing their heads did they hold them.

Marsh thrust high and low, stopping one in its tracks. Foley stood up, loaded two shells into his shotgun, and pulled the trigger. Both shells struck center mass, blowing away its chest and exposing its ribs. He then flipped his weapon around, clutching it by the barrel like a club, and swung as hard as he could. The blow smashed the rib cage and the creature folded over. Walmsley's Major and Minor fought them off with trench knives and autopistols, but their field of fire was limited by the bodies in front of it. So they dismounted the Heavy Bolter from its tripod, rested it on top of the pile, and began raking the horde with heavy fire. Monty Peck grappled with one of the undead; unable to free himself, he headbutted the beast several times until its facial plate collapsed. But the Guardsmen took a fragmentation grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, and jammed it into the creature's mouth. With a great heave, he sent the corpse back among the crowd. As the Guardsmen ducked, the grenade went off and destroyed nearly two dozen more.

One of the undead tried to lunge across the sandbag barrier, scattering several. Marsh thrust and the bayonet pierced its skull. Another, falling behind, slumped on it and grabbed the M36. Marsh squeezed the trigger and shot through the first's head, killing the one behind it. But as the bodies fell they took his M36 with it. Immediately, drew his Nine-Seventy entrenchment tool and smashed it across the head of another. When the sandbags collapsed, he pushed forward with his autopistol and shovel, cracking and blasting skulls. A hand appeared and wrested his sidearm away, so he was forced to withdraw.

Marsh Silas! Catch!

He turned to Barlocke, standing in the middle of the line. The Inquisitor tossed him one of the Ripper Pistols. Marsh caught and began feathering the trigger so as to fire single shots. The slugs smashed and broke open the undead's skulls. One approached him, its frothy maw poised to bite his neck. He swung the Nine-Seventy, embedding the bladed edge into its cheek. Immediately, he pressed the barrel of the Ripper Pistol against its forehead and shot it.

Everyone was backing up. The Walmsley's were forced to abandon their Heavy Bolter and unslung their M36's. The front rank, which Marsh Silas now found himself in, held them off with melee weapons. Over their shoulders the second rank fired their lasguns. But there was little ground to give and soon the two, short lines found themselves up against the Medicae's wall. Marsh buried his Nine-Seventy into an undead's skull and kicked it away, but was unable to free his tool. Drawing and activating the power sword, wreathed in blue energy, he swiped heads from their shoulders and ran others through so they could be shot. Yet, the wall of undead closed in.

Just as they were about to throw their full weight open them, heavy fire erupted from the right flank. A war cry went up, made up of hundreds of voices. As the enemy ranks thinned out, Marsh could see Captain Murga commanding three ranks of Guardsmen. The first were prone, the second crouched, and the third stood. Volleys of lasbolts cut away the horde like stalks of grass under a blade.

"Fire and advaaaance!" the company commander cried.

"Reform ranks right here!" Lieutenant Hyram shouted, reorganizing the two lines. "Fire and advance! For the Emperor!"

"For the Emperor!" they all roared. The two ranks marched forward; the first knelt and fired a volley. The second then proceeded between them, knelt, fired, and allowed the Guardsmen behind to take the lead. So they went on in tandem with Murga's men, steadily rolling back the undead. On either flank, Guardsmen from Second Company moved in tight groups, moving along communication trenches, on level ground, or proceeding onto the natural banks of the beach. Soon, they pushed the creatures almost back to the combat trench.

"Break ranks, concentrate your fire, advance!" came Murga's order. Everyone began to advance at a steady pace, firing from the hip or taking time to aim. Marsh proceeded forward with his power sword and Ripper pistol. A form appeared on his left and he was unsurprised to see it was Barlocke. The Inquisitor handed him several magazines for the sidearm and then continued shooting. When the advancing troops finally reached the combat trench, Murga waved his sword in the air. "Clear the trench, clear the trench!"

Some Guardsmen just stood at the edge and fired into. But Barlocke leaped into it, decapitating an undead and shooting through the skull of another. With vigor in his heart, Marsh jumped after him. He immediately put his back against Barlocke's, stabbed a walking corpse through it's abdomen, and shot it in the head with the pistol. He kicked it off, severed the head of another, and shot several more. When he raised his weapon to fire again, all he heard was a click.

"Switch!" he yelled. Turning left as Barlocke wheeled right, they traded spots. Reloading as he did, Marsh raised the Ripper Pistol and emptied half the magazine at some targets coming down the trench. One undead lunged at him; the platoon sergeant darted to the right, pivoted, and ran his blade through the monster's skull. The blade pierced the other end and became embedded in the wall of the trench. With enemies approaching, Marsh did not have the time to pull it out. He expended another magazine, reloaded, and then drew his trench knife. Slashing, swiping, driving the blade into their heads, he killed one after the other.

But then the Ripper Pistol ran out of ammunition and he had no more magazines. He whirled around towards Barlocke, who moved away by several meters. "I'm out!" Barlocke forced several of the undead back, turned, and looked around. A slain Guardsmen was at the bottom of the trench and his M36 was still in his hands. Hooking his foot under the weapon, the Inquisitor kicked it into his own hands, and then threw it to Marsh. The platoon sergeant turned around and shot at the small crowd shambling towards him. Before the charge pack ran out, there was a war cry from above. Monty Peck jumped in, driving his bayonet through one's head as he landed. Screaming, Walmsley's Major and Minor leaped in with their trench knives and began stabbing. Foley followed, expending the shells in his shotgun and then using it to bash enemies away.

Overhead, Guardsmen leaped over the trench. One of them was Hyram, who knelt and held his hand to Marsh. He grabbed it and climbed out of the trench. Marsh cast a fleeting glance at Barlocke, who was also climbing out as reinforcements flooded the combat trench. Then, he cast his gaze to the shore and charged ahead. Guardsmen were running full force onto the beach despite the horde still coming along. Captain Murga was at the front, waving his sword by his standard bearer.

"Form a line on me! Form a line here!"

Guardsmen from other companies were gathering on him. He looked brave, clad in his armour, lacking his helmet, and his blonde locks spilling across his visor. To see him delivering orders in a voice so booming that it overcame the carnage of combat was inspiring. When Marsh joined the line, he found himself by the company commander, Barlocke, Hyram, and Carstensen. "Fire at will!" Murga ordered. Lasbolts streaked across the beach, plasma bolts lit up the darkness, and grenades detonated across the shoreline.

"Look!" someone called. "The sea rises!"
Slowly, the water was returning to the channel. First it came as a thin sheen of water across the sediment, then it began to rise higher up to the knees. But the undead came along, undeterred by the incredible fury of fire pouring from the Guardsmen or the water climbing around the legs.

The line held. Squad after squad, platoon by platoon, all three companies formed three great ranks of Guardsmen. It seemed as though the entire regiment was the beach. Earthshaker rounds continued to fall, throwing up water and sand. Several Chimeras rolled onto the beach and the multilasers began to cut down lines of the enemy. Master Sergeant Tindall appeared in the turret of the leading APC, firing the pintle-mounted Heavy Bolter and screaming at the top of his lungs.

Minutes felt like ages and the shooting just didn't stop. Men came around bearing fresh charge packs and grenades in buckets and upended helmets. Marsh would dig his hand in, snatch as many as he could, and continue shooting. Little by little, the sea returned, higher and higher. How long it took Marsh did not know; he was beside himself, looking at himself, performing every action automatically. Finally, the water overtook the greatest part of the horde and they slowly sank or were swept away, pathetically splashing.

"Close ranks and drive them into the sea!" Captain Murga screamed. "Advance and fire!"

All the Guardsmen threw up a terrific cry and began to make their way forward slowly. They fired as they did, killing those remaining on shores. Marching over the piles of dead, they cut down hundreds until the last stragglers were beaten to a pulp, smashed to pieces, or finished off by a shot to the head. When Captain Murga finally issued a halt order, the front rank was up to their knees in water.

Marsh Silas sucked for air underneath his gas mask. He felt Hyram's hand on his shoulder pauldron. The platoon leader was panting so heavily his entire upper body was heaving. After holding his hand there, he nodded and patted him several times. Behind him, Marsh saw Carstensen who lost her hat but retained her gas mask. With the lights of the camp outlining her and her orange locks passed across her mask, she offered a single nod. The platoon sergeant returned it.

Slightly ahead was Barlocke, who turned around and cocked his arm at an angle; his signature. Marsh repeated it, holding his left arm out and his fist up slightly. Captain Murga stepped in front of the regiment and held up his sword.

"For Cadia, for the Imperium, for the Emperor, the 1333rd Regiment stands!"

Everyone raised their fists and weapons and gave a great cheer that seemed to make Cadia rumble.

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