Chapter 5
"Emperors' fire!"
Ursus grabbed his lasrifle. He darted back towards the tower. 40 yards. 30 yards. Bang. The tower exploded. He dived for cover behind the nearest sandbags, landing on top of a wounded guardsman. Lasrifle buried into his shoulder, he aimed down the sights and pulled the trigger. Click. As he flipped over his gun he found a piece of metal buried into the magazine. He screamed for a medic as he unslung his vox and tapped away at his data slate. He grabbed the handset and brought it to his mouth to speak. The vox was ripped away from his hands as he was hurled back by the blast, the noise left a ringing in his ears as he struggled to free himself from the collapsed sandbags. As the dust cleared from his eyes, he saw a robed person advancing on him. Ursus scrambled for the knife in his boot as the heretic was almost on him. Ursus stared into the eyes of the chaos worshipper as it raised its weapon and aimed at him. The mouth beneath the robe broke into a grin a spilt second before the whole head disappeared in a red mist. As the corpse hit the floor a larger shape filled its place and lifted Ursus to his feet. Relief washed over the Fleet Officer as he recognised the big hand belonged to Grox the Ogryn. Grunting, Grox turned and lifted another cultist off its feet with a swing of his rippa gun. Ursus looked towards the front line where hordes of cultists were climbing over the barricades. Hand to hand fighting was raging around as he dug through the sandbags for the vox. Krychec tackled Ursus out the way as a Chaos brought down a spiked club where Ursus had been knelt. Before the cultist could lift its weapon, Sgt Bors thrust his bayonet through its back, pinning it to the floor before firing two rounds into the struggling corpse. Krychec spat mud from his mouth and drew his knife as he launched himself into another enemy. Ursus scrambled back to the pile of sandbags and dug out the vox.
"Emperors' fire!" screamed Ursus into the vox "Emperors fire! We are being overrun!"
"Roger that" crackled the reply
Ursus grabbed a grenade from his belt and launched as far as he could into the mass of enemy.
"Drop everything you have on the green smoke" said Ursus before hurled the vox to one side and reached for the cultist rifle by his feet. The defaced Imperial eagle burnt his hand; he ignored the pain and began pumping rounds into the enemy mass.
Jet engines screamed over head as the rockets streaked through the air. 4 warheads struck the ground meters from the swirling green smoke. The force of the explosion ripped through cultists and guardsmen alike, throwing limbs and debris into the air. The ensuing blast wave hurled Ursus and the guardsmen around him to the ground. Before the dust settled basilisk rounds whistled over head and slammed into the ground. As the surviving guardsmen clambered over the rest of the sandbags to take up new defensive positions, more cultists surged through the artillery round explosions. Krychec bellowed at the survivors to open fire. For every cultist felled by las and bolter fire and the scores ripped to pieces by the falling shells more kept coming. Clambering over their own dead and dying, Ursus couldn't believe his eyes. How could there be so many.
The Chaos worshippers making it trough the fire storm began taking up positions and firing at the guardsmen. A guardsman yelled out and collapsed at Ursus's feet. He grabbed him by his armour collar and began to drag the wounded soldier across the bridge. A medic joined Ursus to help pull the wounded man across the bridge. Halfway across Ursus was dropped; a round had caught him in the back of the leg, just above a knee. Ursus looked up; both the medic and the wounded guardsmen lay motionless. He dragged himself over to the side of the bridge and used the hand rail to clamber to his feet. He felt the rumble through the floor of the bridge as he tried to staunch the flow of blood from his leg. He smelt the promethium before he noticed the hellhound rumbling across the bridge. As the tank groaned to a stop behind the beleaguered defenders its cannon erupted with a streak of flame, incinerating everything its fiery tongue touched. A second Hellhound arrived next to the first, adding its own inferno into the fray. The wall of fire started to beat back the cultist attack, trapped between the fire and the shelling the enemy were soon wiped out. As the promethium stream and basilisk shelling halted, a surge of blue uniforms surged past the battered and bleeding Truskans. A young Mordian officer approached Krychec and handed him a data slate before disappearing into the crowed.
The surviving truskans trudged of the bridge and back towards the landing zone. Huddling together into the ditches they waited for their transport. A single drop ship landed, climbing into the hold, the troopers occupied just over two thirds of the space. Krychec used an old scarf to wipe the sweat and grime from his face; he stared out over his Company, well what was left of it. He wondered what would happen with them. As he looked around, he caught the eye of Ursus, the poor lad looked knackered. He nodded towards the Fleet Officer and closed his eyes.
Ursus returned the nod from Capt Krychec, he tried closing his eyes but sleep wouldn't find him despite how his tired body ached. He called a medic over. After a whispered conversation the medic pulled an auto injector from his pack and jabbed Ursus in his good leg. It didn't take long for the medical induced slumber to overtake his body as he drifted off, head propped up on the Ogryn next to him.
Ursus bolted up as the pilot screamed over the intercom
"Brace, Brace, Brace! Incoming!"