"The Loyalist lines are failing, Evocatae. The Storm Kohorts have broken through in several locations." The Kohortus spoke, personally delighted he was able to bring the Evocatae Praefectus better news than the last man to hold his rank. He hadn't survived long enough to reach the Clawed Fiend after the Evocatae's slaves were done. "We have breached the line in the northern quadrant with Storm Kohorts and are punching through with little resistance. Imperial units there are in full retreat. The city landing fields are again in our hands. The defenders there were lightly armed drop troops and have been annihilated."

The Evocatae Praefectus nodded, his helmet moving just enough to be perceptible. "Good. And what of the area around the cathedral? The warehouses there?"

"We have encountered fierce resistance there, lord, but even that is crumbling. Storm Kohorts are breaking them, though it is costing us greatly in cultists and Legionaries," The kohortus replied.

"I don't care, just finish them off. We only need to pin them here long enough for our other forces to arrive." The Legion general rasped through his mouth grill.

"There is one factor in their favour, lord," The kohortus risked.

"Yes?"

"Their air cover. They are surviving through its use. We need to be able to take it out somehow. Some ritual perhaps, summon something that can…"

There's was a hard 'clunk' as the haft of the general's scythe battered into the kohortus' own helmet, knocking him down.

"We do not make demands of the empyrean. We serve them and if they decide we require aid, they will send some. You wish to know how to limit their air power? Get so close to them that they cannot risk using it. Grab them by the belt buckle and hold them so close that they cannot flee far enough to be safe from their own bombs."

"Yes..my…lord," the officer stammered as he breathed deeply.

"I am sending in some senturies of Praefectus and auxillia. They will spearhead your attacks and break the last resistance. Have cultists ready to chase the imperial degenerates down once they rout and harry them all the way to the main spine."

"Yes, lord," The kohortus regained his feet, before making the ritual salute and striding away.

The Evocatae Praefectus issued some commands to the nearest officer and several Praefectii juniors hurried away towards the rear. The plan was working, the Imperial forces were in disarray and his elevation to yet higher rank was assured.

"Keep steady. Hold," Captain Mk'Neroy whispered to the men of the Light Company. They were spread amongst piled rubble and debris on the regiments left flank, amidst what had been some sort of construction yard beginning work on new habs or maybe some warehouses. Rockcrete and plasteel girders lay everywhere, building foundations now just bombed out shells. Scattered about in small groups, no longer a cogent fighting force, his men had fallen back. A dedicated attack would roll right over them.

More legionaries filed into the debris field. Not as many as those storming the main Garrowan positions a few hundred yards along, but still a good sized force. They did not advance carefully or cautiously. They had seen the thin line of crimson Garrowans with their odd green shoulder stripe break and disperse, and knew they had taken the flank. They pursued a ragged group who fled in the open, sprinting for cover on the far side of the building zone.

"Wait for it," Mk'Neroy hissed. Still no armour pressed this way, only infantry. He waited until another twenty or so had gone past his leading psotions.

"Take them.

Garrowan Light troops broke from hiding, standing from their cover and taking shots they had been sighting for several minutes, each shot dropping an enemy before he could react.

The three hundred and twenty two remaining men of his company made their presence felt. Even as they fired, Mk'Neroy's men were displacing. Several were down already, but they reaped a fearsome toll from the Legion troops. The chaos infantry fired back, shocked by the sudden swing in fortune, but their shots were wild and the Light troops well concealed. Within moments, none were left alive in the wide construction yard, maybe three hundred more bodies adding to the hundreds already there. More were beginning to attack, having seen their comrade's fates and were not walking blindly into it. But that was fine, as the heavy bolters sited slightly higher up opened up in return, giving the Coy enough time to reposition themselves to defend against this new attack.

Mk'Neroy smiled grimly – his company's job on the field of battle was to skirmish forward ahead of the main Garrowan lines, whittle down the enemy, before joining the line. His troopers were not the biggest and strongest, like Mk'Shae's Grenadiers, but they prided themselves on being the smartest. They were more trained in small unit tactics and skirmishing than the battalion companies of Heavy Infantry regiments, and Mk'Neroy was skilled in their use from decades as a Light officer.

"Push forward ad form up, give them a few minutes of firefight, then scatter into the yard again," he voxed his troopers. "Let's see if we can manage this a fourth time."

"Ease!" Trooper Glorn shouted. The missile shrieked towards the dirty-cream hull of the traitor battle tank. Explosive fire blossomed as the shell pierced the thinner armour where the turret met the ring, and struck the magazine. Debris showered all around, pieces of white hot metal whirring like hornets. It was the third tank he had killed in the last half hour.

The thirty tanks originally spotted had only been the start, as light APCs like the Taurox, Chimeras, Leman Russ of all variants and locally produced MBTs seemed to spawn from all the dark recesses nearby.

Most of the heavy weapons teams wielding missile launchers or lascannons had made several kills, and the hulls of over thirty vehicles lay smoking and choking up the streets. But more still pressed in as raptured cultists and silent Legionaries came pressing on behind, filing round the wrecks and throwing themselves at the Imperials.

Glorn banged another rocket into a rusting halftrack which crumpled under the detonation.

Despite the smoke, the explosions, the death, the 5th were fighting a withdrawal and acting as rearguard for the brigade. No longer could they hold the line against the forces arrayed against them. Macara's ad hoc formation was in full flight, ordered to withdraw at last by main spine command. Even the Commissars couldn't do anything about this one. This brigade one was one of the last to pull back, many others already safely regrouped in the 'safe' zones. Amidst the ruined habs, in the streets and around the wrecks the troopers of the 5th were battling the foot troops of the archenemy. Macara was in the thick of it with his Battalion Companies, and it was up to the heavy weapons platoons under Lieutenant Robirsen to keep the armour as far back as possible.

"Ease!" Glorn hollered once more. This missile struck a Leman Russ square in the side armour, just to the side of the sponson. There was a jet of flame, but the tank rumbled on unfazed. The heavy bolter mount spat up at his position, but Glorn had already displaced to another broken windowsill.

"Dennan, get another shot on that tank!" the trooper screamed out the window to another Garrowan maybe ten yards from his position, much closer to the tank. A thickset man carrying a chunky meltagun nodded briskly and dashed forward a couple of steps. As soon as he was close enough as he could risk, he pulled the trigger and a beam of superheated energy flared towards the Russ, scorching the very air around it.

Paint sloughed off the armour like water before the metal itself began to warp and buckled, bubbling like soup on a fire. A bright glow lit the front facing of the tank for a moment, and as it died a large, perfect hole had been melted in the front. The tank wasn't moving and steam rose from inside. Of the crew there was no sight or sound. The other men of Dennan's section cheered and Glorn's own group grinned too, when Glorn noticed another MBT traversing directly at them, barrel point right at the window he was at.

"Thorne! Get out now!" Glorn screamed as he moved to throw himself out the window. The tank shell was faster and the trooper could actually see it hitting the ceiling and detonating a millisecond before the whole scene erupted in a cloud of dust, heat and shrapnel as the blast set off every unused missile in the room and vaporising every man inside, the shockwave covering the men directly outside in tons of rubble.

"What the hell was that?" Macara yelled over the noise of the explosion. Bits of masonry rubble had reached even his position.

"No idea, Nate," Cairns replied, firing his bolt pistol into a crowd of Legionnaires. "But it wasn't good!"

"Sir, that was Third battery. They're all gone," Mk'Hellin called over, face aghast.

"Damn it. We've no one else on that flank. Can we get Fifth battery to displace and make for that area?" the colonel thought quickly.

"Fifth battery are pinned down and having to spike their guns and missile tubes," The corporal answered quickly.

A section from Second Coy dashed past the colonel, scything through some cultists and pushing back a group of Legionnaires trying to take advantage of cover. Macara was thinking hard on what to do now, the best way to extricate the battalion without it getting wiped out.

Captain Mc'Veigh's Second Company was bearing the brunt of the current attack, and were coping admirably. Fourth and Seventh had their flanks and were resisting hard with every yard they gave up. Mk'Neroy was holding up well to the battalion's right, using the cover to their benefit and pulling Legionnaires out of position before slaughtering them amidst the rubble.

Another enemy tank broke through the side of a hab unit and its cannon roared. Somewhere behind the colonel, more Garrowan lives ended.

"Break away and withdraw. Weapons teams first, then start moving the companies back. I want to get Thir…"

Macara was thrown to his face as a las-round smacked audibly into his shoulder guard. The colonel's head hit the ground hard as he went down. Las rounds filled the space above his headquarters platoon and the men of Second Coy as yet another hab blocked seemed to birth cultists and legionaries.

The command section scattered into the nearest cover, Macara lying prone on the ground.

Several sections swung round almost instantly and returned fire, chewing up the front of the building but the chaos had the drop on them. They had made their way into one of the multi-storied hab blocks and were now enfilading the Garrowans. Red-and-grey bodies began falling under the fusillade.

"Get me some grenade launchers, now!" Cairns bellowed. Several troopers moved his way, ducking and dodging between cover. Troopers Faire, Mk'Vega and Mc'Grithiss crashed down beside him, burrowing behind stacks of rubble as traitor guns tried to pick them out.

"See that hab block? I want you to empty your clips through the windows. Go with hi-ex. We need to silence those flankers or they'll pin us down." The major ordered. The three men nodded and moved to positions were they could unload accurately.

Cairns called to the sections nearest him. "Ok, I want you to open fire on those windows and kept their heads down! Pick your shots and let loose!"

As the Garrowans opened up, the three troopers with launchers stood from cover and, judging their shots almost to perfection, began thunking shots through the window of the hab block.

Smoke billowed from windows, occasionally a body or limb flew out and the rate of fire dramatically decreased.

Cairns looked around and saw the enemy slacking off in their efforts, presumably waiting for their armour to manage the assault course of wreckage.

"Captain Mc'Veigh, pull your men back now. Make use of the lull. Go!" Cairns ordered quickly.

Mc'Veigh replied quickly. "What about the colonel?"

Cairns looked back to where Macara was, unmoving. "I've got it in hand. Move out, captain!"

"Yes, sir."

Cairns turned to the dispersed members of Macara's headquarters.

"Mk'Askill, Miskelly, go and grab the colonel, quickly!" he ordered. The two NCOs nodded, but even as they tried to move, more lasfire from the enemy positions was starting to bracket them again.

All the while, Macara lay unmoving on the broken road.

"Bring in some aircover in this grid, a full bombing run. Hold the Legion at bay long enough for our troops to fall back to the pre-established positions," Faulin was rattling out orders. The general staff, and the other Guard commanders, were all working together to try and get their men out of a dire situation. If nothing else could be said for Faulin, he was a good administrator and was a veteran commander, if an arrogant one. So far his desperate organisation of airstrikes and Valkyrie lifts were working well to evacuate men, and almost making up for the fact the entire situation was his fault.

Almost.

"Maruader squadrons to bomb the area. Try to keep blue-on-blue to a minimum, but it is imperative to halt the enemies advance long enough for the majority of forces to regroup," The Lord General spoke quickly but firmly to an adjutant.

"Yes my Lord."

At the other side of the room, Mk'Fedan had been given, to his surprise, operational command of the ground forces. He would have loved to think this was solely down to his proficiency at troop command, but he couldn't help but feel he would end up as a scapegoat if everything went wrong.

"He's certainly putting in the effort now," Misade spoke quietly. Mk'Fedan hadn't even noticed the stocky general approaching."

"Covering his arse, I'll bet. Now he can say he orchestrated the miraculous escape of his ambushed crusade force," Mk'Fedan stated cynically. The Thoran commander nodded.

"We could do with some of our Airborne here. Those Elysian boys are alright, but the Thoran Dragoons are tough as ork hide. Imagine a Braver crazy enough to jump out of Valkyries." Misade stated with more than a little bias.

Mk'Fedan took a moment and rubbed a hand over his head, breathing out. His head was full of tactical dispositions and rally points, but right now there wasn't much more he could achieve at his tactical station. He indulged his curiosity.

"Why 'Bravers', General?"

Misade smiled thinly "It was a derogatory term for us. The majority of our troopers jump out of aircraft into enemy territory whilst the infantry advance as normal, behind waves of armour. So the Airborne took to mocking the infantry – they must be so much braver fighting behind the big battle tanks and trenches. Completely sarcastic."

"You said 'was'?" Mk'Fedan asked, already guessing it wasn't any more.

"Well, after one particular battle versus the greenskin menace, our Dragoons had been overrun and their light equipment unable to stem the enemy. They retreated en mass towards some infantry positions. The infantry advanced into the attack and drove the orks back, acting as a spearhead for other Guard forces. They received it as an honour on their standard, and when they did the regiments all decided to take the name 'Bravers' under their regimental number, to remember the day they were braver than the Dragoons," Misade finished. He smiled at that thought, and Mk'Fedan gave a chuckle.

"Sounds like we could do with more of those blokes, never mind the Dragoons."

Both men turned as they heard Faulin snap at an aide.

"What do you mean, he wants me now?" the general said before remembering where he was. He looked around the suddenly quiet strategium, before speaking again. "Gentlemen, I have a matter to attend to. I will return shortly."

With nothing more, he strode from the room, two Kasrkin guards outside falling in behind him and following him along.

"What do you think that was all about?" Misade asked, his dark skin creased in a sneer.

"When you gotta go, you gotta go?" Mk'Fedan shrugged in response.

The metal warrior stood frozen before Macara on the duty plain once more. It's eyes glowed eerily but it made no movements.

Help us help us help us

The voices pierced his head once more. Macara looked around to try and find a source, but again only shadows danced around his vision.

"Enough games, tell me what you want from me!" he bellowed. There was genuine fury in his voice.

The shadows stopped prancing, going stock tried to look at them but still they vanished as soon as his eyes hit their location.

As he faced his front again, he started. A pure white face, leering in a demented smile, was inches from his own.

"Stop him" it said, before vanishing in a heartbeat.

Macara was face to face with the frozen metal warrior again. Still, those eyes glowed eerily as…

The thing's arm shot up, hand clamping around Macara's throat and twisting in a brutal snap…

"We need to get the colonel!" Cairns called again. Macara moved slightly as the major shouted. The enemy lasfire intensified as they saw the moement.

Kallum dashed from behind a ruined chimera, ducking twice as his great frame became a new target, as he sped for his colonel. The giant corporal slid into cover feet away from the stricken colonel, waiting a moment as he heard Cairns screaming for some covering fire. Hellgun rounds snapped at the windows and Kallum saw the gap he needed. He stood once more, stepped into the open and dragged Macara's struggling form next to the major piece of cover he could find.

"Sir, are you alright? Sir?" he barked, inches from Macara's face.

Macara looked at him, though his eyes were unfocussed. It took a second or two, and then the colonel's pupils came to the correct size and he recognised the NCO.

"Stop shouting in my face, Kallum, and if you'd kindly stop cradling me like a bairn that would be good."

"Yes sir, of course sir," Kallum said quickly, hiding a genuine glint of relief from his face. He dropped Macara, who thudded to the floor.

"I didn't say drop me you idiot," Macara croaked. Sitting up, he felt his head for any wound. All Kallum could see was a small bruise – not enough to have knocked him cold, yet that made no sense as the colonel had fairly whacked the roadway and gone limp.

His CO also didn't have a single serious open wound. Sure, the odd scrape or graze, but as normal, the colonel's luck had seen him go uninjured.

"We should get back to the men, sir."

"Absolutely, corporal. Let's go," Macara nodded. He staggered to his feet, adopting that awkward crouch soldiers have known for millennia as the "I wish I wasn't this tall", and then followed the corporal as they sprinted for Cairns' position.

Behind them, more Legionnaires were flooding past the vehicle wrecks. They were all heavily armoured, almost on a par with the Garrowans, and were coming in bigger and bigger numbers. Macara had already identified these as some sort of shock troop, like veterans or grenadiers. They had been seen in squads here and there, but now were contributing the majority of enemy forces. Macara reached his major, and a command group that all looked relieved to see he was ok. With a gesture, Macara had them moving swiftly back alongside 2 Coy.

"Daine, we're pulling back now as per your order. Enemy armour is flanking us, they've massed more troops than we can handle, and ammo is running low," Cairns spoke from his side, gesturing at the withdrawing men. They were moving in good order, sections covering each other as they moved, making sure there was constant firing at the Legion's shock troopers.

Macara nodded slowly. The headquarters group was moving back with some section of Mc'Veigh's company, and Macara looked around him. Well-disciplined and well organised even as they pulled back, the 5th were showing their mettle.

"How are the other units fairing?" he asked Cairns, who had spent the last few minutes on the vox, the black-garbed form of Klousour standing with him as they pulled back. Evidently making sure any withdrawal orders were from high command.

"The 92nd are suffering badly but have disengaged safely. The Cadians have managed to move most of their troops away, and only their reaguard units are still engaged. The Thorans are under contact as heavy as ours. It's bloody over there. Chief medic Darada has gotten our wounded out with the Dramarians and is escorting them back. We have air cover incoming though, next ten minutes."

The colonel nodded again. "Good. Keep the withdrawal going. Tell the men to get small when the air comes in."

"Yes, sir."

"Sir! Sir, we have an urgent message for you!" Mk'Hellin was shouting, suddenly. "Encrypted vox from command!" he called as he ran over. He flinched as an enemy tank round went off fifty yards away.

"So you think it's wise to yell that out, running across the street?" Macara yelled back.

"Ah, no, sir. Sorry, sir." The corporal looked sheepishly.

"Alright, go ahead," Macara relented.

Mk'Hellin looked at the data-slate he'd transcribed onto. "Transmission reads; 'Colonel Macara, make best time with available forces to the Cathedral situated near the Warehouse sector at three four niner alpha. Orders await you there. Do not contact anyone in high command, other than the Lord General regarding these orders.' Message ends. That's all, sir. But it's fully authenticated from Faulin."

"Damn and curse that idiot! Why the gak are we to head there? We have enough problems as it is!" Macara raged. He pulled a chart from his pack and Cairns and the commissar approached to look at it with him. Miskelly snapped off a speculative shot at some Legionnaires hiding behind a tank hull.

"It's a little off to the southwest of here, no?" Klousour asked

"Yes, about that direction," Macara pointed "but I don't know how…"

He was interrupted as las shots bracketed their position and his men moved again to find more cover. Mk'Askill organised some return fire from a section of 2 coy and some of Macara's own corporals as the officers spoke.

Macara continued a moment later "I don't know how we can get there, the way the enemy is positioned. It won't be easy."

"You have to do it none the less. It is orders from command," Klousour snapped.

"I know my duty, commissar. It's to fight and kill the Emperor's enemies. And I can't do that if I'm dead. I will handle this and complete my orders, you do your duty and inspire my men."

Klousour glared at him, but nodded and strode away. Within moments Macara could hear him bellowing 'inspiring' speeches from the uplifting primer.

Cairns pointed to the chart, "I'll get Mk'Shae's Grenadiers to spearhead the lateral movement, sir. Becyver's Thorans are in that direction anyway, so he can be the vanguard. We'll force our way through as soon as the Marauders drop their loads."

"Get Mk'Neroy to support him. They always work well in tandem. I trust Mk'Neroy more than I trust myself." Macara said, which was high praise given that he had formally commanded the Light Company, many years ago.

Both men looked up suddenly as a new noise overcame the enemy. A low, rumbling murmur, almost like the noise an ork horde made before attacking. Growls and barked insults and even gnashing of teeth. A foul odour filled the air. A clink of chains and a heavy shuffling could be made out, too.

"What the Hell is going on?"

"No idea, Faolan. But I don't want to be here to find out."

Several battered apc's, stripped of weapons, broke through hab units and barged by the vehicles strewn around. The heaviest armoured Legionaries he had seen so far deployed out, taking up positions but no engaging. Rough carapace armour covered them head to toe, and gleaming metal helmets hid their faces. They seemed to be waiting on something.

It only took a moment for Macara to see what. The shuffling was dozens of lumbering, thickset abhumans. Chains bound them together, and on their backs' were large chem-inhalers. Hoods covered their faces.

"Ogryns." Cairns breathed. All firing had stopped from both sides, almost as if a ceasefire had been agreed. The near-silence was odd after so many hours of straight fighting.

At the head of each line of abhumans, one of the heavily armoured Legionnaires shot off the manacles and broke the chains. Piles of crude clubs and massive blades lay in the APCs, and the ogryns picked them up as their chains were removed. Already the Garrowans could hear the rough gurgling as the chem-inhaler's kicked in.

"Open fire. Now," Macara stated. When no one moved he bellowed it, and Mk'Askill echoed the call. Hellguns opened fire and the abhumans began taking hits. Precious few of them fell as they began linging up and fillin the streets in front of the Garrowan positions.

"Aircraft incoming!" someone called from further back, causing a general gaze upwards. The noise from the Marauder engines drowned out the ogryns as they drew closer.

"Okay, Condor flight, bring them in nice and tight." Squadron leader Mahona spoke into his mic. His Marauder group, 12 aircraft strong, was approaching the marked frontlines he had been told to saturate. The Guardsmen below should have withdrawn far enough by now, and the archenemy forces in the leading edge would be annihilated. Mahona tweaked his controls and his Marauder started dropping slightly as he manoeuvred into an attack run. His flight followed him, and bomb doors flapped open.

"Marauder flights first, then to mop up, I want the Marauder Destroyers. Here we go Condor flight."

The large aircraft dived towards the city and the fighting below.

"Sir, they look like they're coming in very close," Mk'Askill hissed to Macara.

"They do indeed."

"They're coming right over our positions," Cairns breathed. "They're going to hit us too."

"Mk'Hellin, call the bastards off. Now," Macara pointed at his corporal.

The vox man was already desperately garbling down his handset. But it was too late. The first Marauders had dropped their bombs and were winging away. Explosions hit the ogryns first, throwing large bodies in the air and dismembering dozens of men, both human and abhuman. And the bombs came closer and closer.

Mk'Hellin screamed into the vox, and the three Marauder Destroyers pulled up before opening fire, but the corridor of explosions from the regular bombers drew closer.

"Get small! Now!" Mk'Askill screamed as the bombs hit.

"What was that?" Avre asked, looking round. Plumes of smoke, and towering clouds of debris scattered above the arched roof tops of the habs, as the distant forms of Marauder Destroyers could be picked out. "Those airstrikes were a little close."

"They looked like they were right on the Garrowans," his adjutant stated.

"Yes, I think so. Sergeant, pass the word, I want a company to drop out the line of march and come with me," Avre spoke to one of his command squad. The NCO nodded and spoke to the vox man.

The Cadian Major turned about and started walking back up the broken roadway. "Captain Derrin is in command until I return. Keep moving for the rally point."

Macara was first back onto his feet. All around, fresh rubble piled on the older. Fires burned in new craters. Bodies lay everywhere. Crimson armoured Garrowans were spread out everywhere, unmoving, many blackened and charred. Many weren't in one place. Some screamed, some cried, a lot were silent. The airstrike had done its job well, as all along the Garrowan leading edge, members of Grenadier, 2 and Light Coy lay dead amidst the Marauder strike. No doubt the Thoran line was the same.

More men were lifting themselves from the ground, dusting down, or treating injuries and grabbing weapons.

"Stand to! Garrowans, stand to!" Macara bellowed, sword in hand, powerfield lit.

The traitor abhumans were jogging towards them now, tramping over their dead and wounded alike in an effort to get at the Imperials, seeing only enemies through their drug-induced rage.

Garrowans were firing now, trying to stop the enemy charge, but there was nothing they could do, with their formation and order broken by the blue-on-blue.

The ogryns crashed home as the Garrowans desperately rallied to fend them off.

Macara swung his sabre in a mighty ark, scything through an ogryn's throat before turning and ramming his blade hilt deep in the next's chest. Simultaneously he blasted the thing's face off with his boltgun.

Next second, he was flying through the air, chest on fire as the first ogryn he'd attack clubbed him. Macara had foolishly assumed it was dead. He raised his bolt pistol arm, only to realise it was on the ground ten feet away.

The ogryn smashed down with his club and the colonel rolled to side before leaping to his feet. He brought his sabre down on the thing's right bicep, slicing hideously easily even through its broad muscles and bones. The heavy limb flopped to the ground, along with the makeshift cudgel. Roaring in either pain or anger, it swiped at the colonel, dealing him a glancing blow to the shoulder that felt like a sledgehammer and just connected.

Three hellgun shots rocked its meaty flank, creating crimson, wet craters in its torso. Even as it turned to face this new attack, three Garrowans moved in, rapid firing and filling it with so many las holes even its chem enhanced strength could handle. Macara nodded at the lead trooper, Mc'Dayde, before retrieving his bolt pistol.

All around, knots of men fought individual abhumans, trying to drag them down with numbers. But it was costing them hard.

The colonel saw Captain Mc'Veigh lead a charge on a group of three hooded brutes, a score of crimson men stabbing and hacking with long bayonets. Mc'Veigh cut one from collarbone to gut with his chainsword, but still the thing swung its crude falchion, severing limbs and opening bellies. The smell of blood seemed to make the creatures go even more berserk. One of the three went down to a plasma gun on full auto, limbs and torso vaporising. Mc'Veigh's victim finally fell, even as it crushed Mk'Dinnan's head between its meaty hands. Macara swore, unable to help the trooper who had already saved his life more than once.

He blasted away with his bolt pistol, expertly reloading with a new mag even as he ejected the spent clip. Another ogryn freak thumped to the ground, its face and chest a mess of broken bones and bloody tissue.

A scream made him turn to see Mc'Dayde getting bisected from neck to groin from a massive stroke of a huge billhook. It was not a clean cut, more broken in half than sliced. His innards spilled onto the ground, causing the trooper who had been beside him slip and fall. Even as the man struggled to rise from the offal that had been Mc'Dayde, the killer stopped on his head and smashed it like over-ripe fruit. Even as that abhuman was brought low by volume of fire, Macara watched another pick a Garrowan up and literally snap his spine in two, throwing the corpse away like a ragdoll.

"Hold! For Garrowa! For the Blade!" Mk'Askill roared, swiping round with his chainsword and disembowelling one of the beasts.

Macara looked for Kallum, and saw the corporal standing over an injured Miskelly. An ogryn had a falchion in one hand and was forcing in down, Kallum standing with two hands gripping the huge wrist and forcing up with all his strength. Dillin had dropped his spontoon and was trying to drag Miskelly and colours out from under the ogryn's stamping feet. Now Kallum was one of the biggest, strongest men in the regiment – indeed, Macara knew no one stronger – but even he couldn't beat the ogryn's brutality. It was a wonder the dumb brute hadn't simply brought its second-hand round to crush Kallum's skull.

Macara charged the abhumn, sabre point forward and skewered the best right through. Macara received a back-hand for his efforts as the ogryn turned on him. He hit the floor once again, losing breath. His sabre was stuck in the ogryn's side, flesh sizzling. With a roar it kicked Kallum so the big man landed on Miskelly, causing the sergeant to groan in pain, and then turned to bring its own blade down on Macara.

The colonel threw his arms around and felt the long haft of Dillin's weapon. Swinging it round and bracing the butt on the ground, he held the spontoon level as the abhuman literally walked face first onto it. The thing gurgled in surprise, but Macara simply stood again, twisting the wide blade and causing horrific damage that even this ogryn couldn't survive. With a loud thud in hit the ground.

"I am getting sick of being knocked down," Macara hissed. Kallum stood unsteadily as Dillin got Miskelly to his feet. The sergeant had a nasty laceration to his arm, but refused to give up the colours. He held them proud and looked for a target.

Macara shot glances around, taking in the whole situation. Behind the brawling mass, the Legion troops in full armour and gleaming steel helmets were advancing, hot-shot lasguns in their hands and already cutting down unsuspecting Garrowans. Many shots hit the towering abhumans, but they were fodder and the Legionary veterans didn't care. They had broken the Imperial line, and were about to turn it into a charnal house.

"Fall back. All Companies, fall back now," Macara said. He grabbed Mk'Hellin's vox mic from the startled corporal. "All Companies, break and fall back. We are about to be overrun. Break and head for the rally point."

Garrowans looked around, unsure of what they had heard. That was not an order they were used to. Already, Macara could see Klousour striding towards him, plasma pistol in hand.

"All units fall back. Any men who are able, make an orderly withdrawal and head for the cathedral at three four niner alpha. Orders are to rally there if possible. Becyver, this is an authentic transmission – get out of here and head for the warehouses. We can't hold," he finished. Retrieving his sword from the ogryn, he saw Klousour scowl at him, but turned his attention to directing Garrowans in as orderly a manner as possible. The colonel realised he had just saved his own life.

But the Garrowans were broken.

Mk'Fedan listened to the comms with amazement.

"Since when was the cathedral so important? Why is Macara trying to rally there?" he murmured to himself. He looked round at the men sitting in exhaustion. Unable to stand high command a moment longer he had to gone to rally point Beta to meet some of his own men coming in from the front.

The general had been chatting to troopers for the last fifteen minutes, talking to those he recognised, making sure he made those he didn't feel as valued and remembered as their colleagues. Despite the blood and grime and horrific forty-eight hours most had endured, they grinned like young lads at his jokes, and appreciated his reassuring words.

But now he had a bad feeling in his gut. He strode over to a tired vox-man who's kit lay on the staircase the NCO had slumped down on. The rockcrete stairs weren't comfortable, but they were a seat and by damn, that man was claiming this one. Mk'Fedan lifted the mic and started adjusting the dials.

"Sir, let me," the tired man stretched his arm over to help, groaning as he moved.

"At your ease son, I can still remember how to use a long-gain vox. Here, have some water and leave me to it."

"Th..thank you, sir," the corporal took the proffered flask.

Mk'Fedan adjusted the dial again, and spoke.

"Major Mk'Rae, this is Major General Mk'Fedan, come in," he let the words hang for a moment, before repeating. Mk'Rae replied quickly.

"Go ahead, sir."

"I need you to grab as many vehicles as you can and force a way to the cathedral in three four niner alpha, before it gets completely cut off."

"Sir? The warehouse sector?" Mk'Rae's response was obviously a question.

"I'm not accustomed to explaining myself, major," Mk'Fedan said roughly. He may love his men, but he didn't brook insubordination. But he relented quickly as he realised all the men were suffering through idiot orders, and he was also not accustomed to his men being so reluctant. "Look, Merc, Macara's boys received a crypted vox even my magenta couldn't open, and then suddenly they were using that crappy workers basilica as a rally point rather than here. I doubt Daine would run off for no good reason. I want you to assist him in any way needed. Clear?"

"Of course, General. I'll head out ASAP," Mk'Rae sounded less taken aback now.

"Good hunting. Mk'Fedan out."

The general passed the mic to the corporal. "What's your name son?"

"Corporal Belle, sir. I was in your battalion at Ichar IV, sir. I shared a flask with you after the main swarm was broken," the trooper seemed a little disappointed.

Mk'Fedan started – he did know this man. Despite the blood and dirt crusting his jawline and cheeks, he should have recognised him. Damn Faulin and his incompetence messing with his thoughts.

"Sorry corporal. With all that enemy filth splattered over your armour, I didn't recognise you!" he smiled as genuinely as he could. Belle smiled back, not sensing the regret and white lie in Mk'Fedan's voice. The general clapped him on the shoulder and walked across the broken square a little more, looking around. Men from nine different regiments were here, mostly Garrowan, but some Cadians and a devastated company of Elysians who'd escaped the landing fields. This square had once been a manufactorum worker's meeting area, statues of Imperial heroes and saints erected around its edges. A small chapel sat on one corner, a couple of bakeries and food markets, even a bar or two, filling up the other ground floor spaces. All were blasted and ruined. They hadn't been luxurious or fancy before, and now they were barely a shadow of that. The habbers didn't have much, and even this had been cruelly taken away. The statues had been broken down and left littering the ground. A dozen Garrowan Heavies sat on Rogal Dorn, and there some Fusiliers, their chimera left behind on the retreat, smoked lho sticks on the legs of Saint Sabbat.

The buildings here were only a few dozen metres high, to let as much natural light in as possible, and the square was wide. Mk'Fedan was glad to get some real sunlight on him, although it did little to lighten his mood.

All he could think of was Macara and his boys, and how the hell even the 5th were going to get through this one.