Mc'Larvin's team had been loosing shells for a good three minutes now and had received no further reports from second squad. The last thing they'd received over the vox network had been Sergeant Grenn roaring a string of co-ordinates for a fire mission.
"Next round is fire mission complete." Mc'Larvin said.
The men each let off another round and their street went quiet again. They turned and in unison and looked at him expectantly.
"We're being overwhe-" The radio message cut out quickly.
"Wow." Willems snorted. "Not ten minutes into this battle and already they're being overwhelmed. I'm so glad we were sent here to die with these incompetent fools."
Mc'Larvin couldn't argue. They had originally been told they would be helping with the push in the East and instead had been lent to this skeleton crew of a company that held this useless city. Even after his lecture to them the other day about stopping the Orks from building up forces to their rear he still resented the fact that he had to be one of the ones that were left behind to clean up their flank.
Five minutes of nothing passed, the streets echoed and cracked with the sounds of battle and they waited.
The city truly was a barren mess. Mc'larvin hadn't been here long yet he saw much of the same. Skeletal buildings with rubble and wireframe infesting the innards and constant signs of decay everywhere. One street he had come upon on a toilet venture was stained black and charred.
"Gunnery Sergeant Phelps requesting fire mission from mortar teams" The voice over the radio broke the silence. All the men looked up at Mc'Larvin. He sat back down and picked up the vox piece.
"Proceed with co-ordinates" He replied.
The voice answered again a moment later with a string of co-ordinates and the men were already setting the mortars to mark.
"Loose rounds, one set" Mc'Larvin barked.
The mortars each loosed off a single shell, each one sending off a small puff of smoke from the barrels.
"Loose another"
Once again they all fired and sent the rounds screaming away.
"Fin-" Mc'Larvin began as a sudden gunshot rang out.
The shot hit the ground just next to him and sent a spark dashing away from the impact mark.
Mc'Larvin turned and to his horror saw seven burly Orks in masks and camouflage advancing on them with pistols and blades drawn.
"Orks!" He yelled, as if he had to.
All of the advancing Orks fired as they walked. The barks of their pistols illuminated their masked faces and sent chilling snap like echoes around the street.
Willems took a round to the face and fell backwards with a muted cry. The rest of the team scrabbled for their rifles. More shots pinged all around them and Mc'Larvin grabbed up the vox piece again.
"Orks our posit-" He was once again interrupted as a round struck him in the side. He groaned and coughed before falling over to his side.
He held a hand over his wound and winced in pain. The bullet had entered his body but never left.
"F-fuck" He spluttered and closed his eyes.
The gunfire continued causing him to open his eyes suddenly. Two of the Orks had run over to the CP building and stood either side of the door with their blades drawn. The rest were engaging his team. One of the Orks he noticed had fallen under his squad's fire and lay face down ahead.
A foot suddenly stamped on him and he rolled onto his back with a gasp of pain.
His squad was fighting the masked Orks with the bayonets on their rifles to little avail.
He spotted one of his youngest members, a lad named Rory, catch an axe in his throat, which damn near beheaded him. The lad fell to the floor spluttering up blood and crying.
The rest of the Guardsmen fared little better. Two of them had managed to take down one of the Orks; their bayonets still were twisting in the beast as it fell.
But alas the two were gunned down by another Ork from behind and fell all the same.
Mc'Larvin's vision was beginning to fade now; he rolled back over and lay in the fetal position.
His gaze fell to the Orks that stood either side of the CP door and he watched them through bleary eyes.
The door opened and a Guardsman who he could not make out came out with his pistol raised. The moment he took a step from the door he was viciously stabbed from both sides. His body was thrown forward into the street and landed with a thump. The man was alive but judging by the pained look on his face, he didn't wish to be.
The two Orks then forced their way through the door and disappeared inside.
Mc'larvin tried to get up but found his legs unresponsive. He coughed again and immediately regretted it.
Something buried itself in his back and burnt tremendously. His eyes widened and a moment later began to force themselves closed. His head dropped and he saw the twisted blade protruding from his chest. A cruel chuckle came from behind him.
His eyes finally closed and the life fled from him.
"Commissar!" Remi's voice rang out from down the stairs.
Yoren leapt to his feet and ran down the flight of stairs outside his office with his bolt pistol drawn.
He looked down and saw Remi firing his plasma-gun into the belly of an Ork. The beast fell to its knees and yelped as the plasma ate through it.
Another Ork was following in its steps but reached Remi in time.
It swung its heavy blade down at Remi and struck the Plasma-gun from the Guardsman's hands.
Remi stepped back and reached for his sidearm.
Yoren fired his pistol down at the Ork twice. The heavy rounds penetrated the Ork's flesh and detonated within, sending gore and its arm flying.
Remi drew his sidearm and finished the masked beast off with two shots to the head. He turned back and looked up at Yoren.
"Orks. Here"
"Aye I can see that, Sergeant." Yoren growled back. "Where's Jonn?"
"They killed him 'moment he opened the door, sir." Remi said with regret. He picked up his plasma-gun and inspected it. "Thing's busted, sir."
"We need to put a word out. Cromwell!"
Cromwell appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Sir?"
Before the Commissar could speak Cromwell cried out and un-slung his lasgun from his shoulder and hastily aimed it down the stairs.
Yoren turned and saw another two Orks same as the others clad in camouflage and wearing masks charging towards Remi.
"Sergeant get out!" Yoren ordered but it was too late.
Remi managed to get off two shots at the first charging Ork, only one met its mark and the Ork did not slow.
Remi was sent sprawling back as the Ork shoulder barged him. His laspistol was sent sliding away and he cried out.
Cromwell opened fire from above and hit the Ork several times in the chest. The creature swung its axe down at Remi and struck him in the chest as it took the hits. It fell back tipsily and Yoren fired another shot from his bolt pistol. The round detonated within the Ork's stomach and sent a spray of intestines and gore splattering over Remi's prone body.
By now the Other Ork was a right behind its fallen comrade, it fired three shots from its pistol up at the Commissar.
Yoren winced and fell over on the stairway as he took a hit to the stomach.
"No" He growled. Not here. Not like this.
"Commissar Yoren!" Cromwell cried out as he ran down to assist him.
"Kill the Ork you idiot!" Yoren yelled but it was too late.
The Ork had reached the stairway and fired another four shots up at the two Guardsmen. Two met their mark on Cromwell and caused the man to fall over Yoren and down towards the Ork with a cry while the other two ricocheted off the wall behind him.
Yoren picked up his bolt pistol and aimed it at the incoming Ork. The damned beast was fast, by the time he was ready to fire the Ork had already buried its axe in Cromwell's face.
Yoren fired and struck the Ork directly in the face. Its head exploded in a shower of gore, some of which splattered over Yoren.
Yoren leant back and winced. His body armour had absorbed the brunt of the shot but it had still gotten through to an extent, the blood confirmed that.
"Frastus!" Yoren croaked. "Doc!"
A set of hurried footsteps rang out from above and a moment later Frastus appeared at the top of the stairway.
"Commissar" He said gravely as he descended the stairway.
"Get me up." Yoren ordered. "Get me up"
Frastus heaved the Commissar to his feet and helped him up the stairway. Yoren's legs felt numb and he could barely move them by himself.
"Haradal!" Frastus yelled. "Preacher I need a hand here!"
The frail form of Haradal appeared from within Yoren's office. The old man looked down and began to mutter a prayer.
"I'm not dead yet, old man" Yoren growled. "Help Frastus get me in the infirmary."
"I will do all I can, Commissar. Though I fear I may not be much help" Haradal moved over and took up one of the commissar's arms over his shoulder.
Frastus and Haradal successfully carried the injured Commissar to the infirmary. The room was brightly lit and the stench of blood and sweat hung in the air. There were five wireframe beds with stained mattresses upon them. The walls were cracked and in several places you could see the brickwork where the wall plastering had gone. Sandbags and wooden planks blocked all but a few slivers of light from coming in through the windows.
Riddling the beds were the forms of the unit's wounded.
Lying in the bed closest to the door was Debra Keeli. Bandages covered her face apart from her closed eyes and also her arms. The bed along from her held another burn victim from seventh squad. This man had lost both of his legs below the knee and bandages covered a large percentage of his body.
The bed next to him was vacant and Commissar Yoren was quickly placed there. Haradal stepped back and wheezed and stretched his arms out as the strain was lifted.
Frastus immediately began unclipping the Commissar's coat and rooting around for the wound. Yoren winced as the Doc' found it. He began to cut away the last of the fabric that barred him from seeing the wound clearly and grimaced.
"It's nicked your liver it looks like."
"I can bloody well feel that." Yoren said through gritted teeth. Frastus had put pressure on the wound and it was excruciating.
"Commissar Yoren" Haradal warbled.
"Yes, Preacher." Yoren replied with great strain in his voice.
"Might I be permitted to go and read the young men downstairs a blessing for their passing?"
"Gah" Yoren yelped as Frastus injected him with a numbing sedative. "Of course, Haradal, but be sure to be back for my own."
"You carry out the work of the Emperor and therefore have his blessing. You will surpass this," Haradal spoke with a smile. He then gave a curt nod and exited the room.
"Doesn't feel like it." Yoren muttered. Frastus set to work with his scalpel.
"Are we sure there aren't anymore of the beasts out there?" Frastus said as he worked.
"Between us we killed four of them. Surely the specialists outside dispatched a few of their own."
"Depends on how many of them there were." Frastus' face was balled up with concentration.
"Aye a good point." Yoren nodded. "Call Haradal back, we'll call over third squad to defend this point."
Phelps stood waiting. His sword raised and his eyes locked with the lumbering monster ahead of him.
"Gah!" A familiar voice rang out behind him.
The Warboss nodded at something behind Phelps.
With no other choice Phelps turned. He saw the majority of his men lying injured and dying. Petyr lay closest with his stomach leaking out onto the street, his handsome face pale and bloodied and his eyes heavy. Behind him Barak had lost his plasma-gun and was holding the Ork's swing back with his augmented arm and with the other he was ramming a knife into the beast's left forearm. The two of them were locked in a hold that neither seemed to be winning. The man who had cried out had been Dariel; the highborn lad was lying on the ground with a bloody cut across his forehead and had a gory gash upon his chest. Behind the engagement five men stood aiming their lasguns, too afraid to fire in case they hit the men fighting hand to hand.
The Ork was not without injury though, its heavy armour was dented and singed as well as its flesh bloodied and punctured from several stabs from bayonets.
"Assist him!" Phelps ordered he then quickly turned back and raised his sword higher preemptively, but the towering Ork before him had not moved. It chuckled cruelly and watched the fight going on behind them. Phelps once again turned to watch.
Barak was starting to be pushed back.
The Ork's two-handed push was ultimately overpowering him and Phelps swore he could see the augment bending.
"Cyrus!" Phelps roared. Where are those specialists?
The plasma-gunner broke the hold and twisted his knife as he retracted it from the Ork's flesh. The Ork's mighty weapon came down revving as it tried to catch him but he quickly dodged back.
He held his knife up and balled his augmented hand into a fist.
"You'z a dead man, oomie." The Ork laughed as it raised its axe for another swing.
Barak didn't step down. Phelps grimaced as the Ork raised its blade and leapt into the air. The axehead came at a sickening speed as the Ork's momentum plunged it down.
In a final act of defiance Barak raised his augment's middle finger at the Ork and stabbed forward with his bloody combat knife. The knife bent on the rusted steel armour and the axe buried itself into Barak's skull.
Blood and viscera exploded from where Barak's head had previously been. The Axe had gone straight through and had finally stopped halfway through Barak's chest.
Ruined nervous systems caused his body to twitch and spasm for a few moments more before falling limp and sliding off of the Ork's blade to the ground.
Blood trickled off of the axe-head and the Ork sneered at Phelps.
Phelps turned back to the sneering Warboss and cried out in rage. He charged forth with his sword in two hands.
"E're we go." The Warboss said with glee. It raised its power klaw up to meet him. It crackled with power as it opened and closed.
Phelps swung high aiming for the Orks large head. The Warboss jutted its jaw up and the sword instead struck the jagged jaw piece that hung just under its head.
Using the momentum from the first strike, Phelps sliced downwards and aimed for the Ork's left arm joint. The heated sword struck true and sent a spray of sparks off the arm joint. The Ork grunted out and went to shoulder barge him.
Phelps stepped back and held his sword up to defend from what came next.
The Warboss swung the powerklaw round with all its might, the three pronged device open and ready. His sword caught the klaw and for a moment he thought he might be able to hold it.
A moment later he was corrected. The power klaw tensed and snapped his sword in two as if it were just a toy. The Ork went into a barge and sent Phelps sprawling back.
Phelps landed on his back and discarded his broken sword handle. He pushed himself backwards and reached around for another weapon, the Warboss advancing all the while.
"Stand up an' fight ya git!" The Warboss ordered. "Stand up and die by the klaw of Hug-Rab git-stomp"
Phelps had no wish to die at the hand of this Ork today. He turned onto his front and looked around.
Dariel laid just ahead of him limp and moaning softly. In his hand was his lasgun and in the other a bandage that the lad had gotten out and given up with.
"Get 'op!" Hug-Rab yelled angrily. "Get 'op and die!"
"You would kill me while I am unarmed?" Phelps looked over his shoulder at the Ork with a glare.
"Unarmed, armed, oomies squish all the same" The Warboss sneered and reached down towards him. The klaw caught him around the waist and he was hoisted up.
Hag-Rub didn't kill him however. Instead it had just helped him to his feet.
"Now den. Where were we?"
Phelps turned back and smiled as he saw the other Ork fall down crying out. The five men who had been over watching had killed it under weight of their bayonets.
The aged Gunnery Sergeant turned back to the warboss and smiled.
From his jacket he drew a combat knife and held it up. "Barak met his end like this, why not me?" He thought. Death was close.
"HAR HAR" The warboss laughed heartily. "Dat's da spirit der, oomie"
Phelps charged once again with his knife held tight. "If I can get a strike in the bastard's eye…"
He raised his knife and leapt up at the lumbering giant. The warboss swiveled on the spot and attempted to dodge but it was too late.
Phelps landed on the warboss and grabbed onto the jagged jawpiece with his left hand. The juts dug deep into his hand and he winced.
But with the other hand he drove his knife down towards Hag-Rub's face.
The warboss jolted to the side again and caused his strike to instead dig into the side of the monster's jaw.
It let out a mighty roar and Phelps could see he had pierced its gumline. It wasn't enough. He quickly retracted his knife and went in for another strike but he had missed his window.
He was suddenly grabbed from the side and yanked violently off of the Warboss. The klaw that held him tensed and shoved him back and let him go.
Before he could react, the klaw flew towards him.
Two of the prongs cut two deep grooves horizontally across his face, one of which sliced into his eye.
It felt as though his face was aflame. He cried out in agony and fell boneless to the floor.
Before Hag-Rub could finish the job, five yells of denial rang out. It looked up and saw the five Guardsmen who had taken down one of its retinue aiming their rifles.
They all fired a controlled burst off from their rifles. The las rounds pinged and richocheted off of its mega armour and Hag-Rub laughed.
It lowered its built in twin-linked shoota and fired at them. From this range the shots were mostly accurate and the men cried out as the solid projectiles tore their armour and flesh asunder.
Hag-Rub looked down at the disfigured Sergeant. His face seeped blood and one of his legs twitched every now and again.
"Leave you fer the buzza'ds" Hag-Rub chuckled. "And if not dem then me when 'I get back."
Hag-Rub stomped back towards his transport and left Phelps bleeding out.
Only one of his eyes would open and even that one was getting covered in blood. His world spun and blood leaked all down his front.
"Ba-Pet-someone" His voice was a whisper and he coughed out a splutter of blood.
The Ork transport sped past him a moment later and headed down the street with haste, the Warboss' laughter audible all the way. Sounds started to blur and distort like akin to his vision. He heard the radio crackle the words; "Third squad come in" but the rest hazed.
"Damn you, Cyrus." He spluttered with the last of his strength.
Nathaniel and his rag tag squad made up of members of his own third squad, second squad and seventh made their way down the backstreets parallel to the company CP. His head throbbed from the injuries he'd sustained and every now and again he would bother at the purple bruise forming on his forehead.
"Third squad come in, this is Commissar Yoren." Nathaniel turned and saw that Ramsay's radio pack was now on the back of Gregor. Gregor turned and grabbed for the piece on the wrong side. He changed sides and finally handed the piece to Nathaniel.
"Sergeant Nathaniel, awaiting direction." Nathaniel did not stop and walked alongside Gregor as he spoke.
"Company CP has been attacked, mortar team have been eliminated and three members of my command squad along with them. We need third squad to come and hold the CP, abandon your position and get here ASAP"
"At once, sir. Third out." Nathaniel replied. He handed the piece back to Gregor. "Luciano."
Luciano jogged through the other men and arrived alongside Nathaniel.
"Sergeant?"
"You know where third squad is posted?"
"I think so, when I get to the Chimera holding area I go right and follow the road along-"
"-To the park and head through there. Yes. Go there and rally the men we left behind and tell them what the Commissar has ordered. After that lead them to the CP and we'll see you there."
"Aye Sergeant." Luciano nodded and sprinted ahead of them.
The street they were currently in had alleyways leading through to the street opposite and soon one of them would be aligned with the CP building.
Heading through the dingy alleyway Nathaniel tensed up. He drew his chainsword and flicked the safety off of his laspistol. He cautiously edged around the corner and looked left and right.
Guardsman and Ork bodies were littered around the deployed mortars. Blood splattered the concrete and the stench of death hung heavy in the air.
"Move up, secure the CP" Nathaniel hissed back to the man behind him, who then relayed the message along.
Nathaniel jogged out of the alleyway and pressed on towards the bodies.
When he reached them he grimaced.
Most of the Guardsmen bodies had slit throats or fatal wounds centered in their faces. All of them were specialists and men Nathaniel did not know; yet he still shuddered and was full of remorse.
The Ork bodies were fewer in number and clad in camouflage and masks. Nathaniel remembered his own encounters with the Kommando Orks that had struck earlier in the week and grimaced. He just took solace in the fact that the Guardsmen hadn't been taken unaware and had managed to put up a fight.
"Sergeant!"
Nathaniel turned and saw one of his men knelt by a body that lay just outside the CP building. He ran over quickly and to his surprise the man on the floor was alive.
"Jonn" Nathaniel knelt down and looked the man in the eyes.
"Se-Sergeant" Jonn spluttered blood and saliva as he spoke. Looking down, Nathaniel could see two large bloodstains in his clothes.
"We'll get Frastus" Nathaniel assured him. He turned to the man who had called him over. "Solomon, go inside and get the Doc"
Solomon left them and ran inside. An echoed shout of; "Doc!" Soon following.
"Sergeant" Jonn coughed. "Forget Doc, you've gotta listen to me"
"Go on, Jonn"
"They didn't kill all of them," Jonn said. "One of them went off" He nodded in the direction they'd come from. "That way. It's still out there."
Nathaniel looked around warily but saw nothing.
"Squad, form up!" He bellowed.
The men ran up and around the two of them.
"Be on the look out for any more of these camouflaged Orks, Sergeant here says there is still one around."
Murmurs of "Roger" and "Aye Sergeant" answered and the men began to aim their weapons around.
"Sergea-" The terrified scream cried out from inside the CP.
Nathaniel turned with wide eyes. The cry had come from inside the CP building. "Solomon!"
Nathaniel got up and ordered four of the men to stay with the dying Sergeant. He then turned and ran into the CP building.
Upon entering he saw the dead and bloody bodies of Gunnery Sergeant Remi and Sergeant Cromwell. Remi had bled out from multiple wounds and the most distinguishing injury visible on Cromwell was the oozing crater that had been his face.
"Gah!" Solomon's voice rang out again from upstairs.
"Kill the beast!" Commissar Yoren's voice echoed.
Nathaniel sprinted up the stairs, he faintly heard other Guardsmen entering the CP building but he did not wait for them.
He turned the corner into the infirmary and saw Solomon.
Their missing camouflaged Ork pressed Solomon up against the wall. Its axe was inches away from Solomon's face; the only thing stopping it was Solomon's desperate grip around its wrist, his other hand around its throat.
"Sergeant!" Yoren was sat on a bed a little way into the Infirmary. He had a bandage over his stomach with a bright bloodstain marking it. Frastus lay unconscious on the floor in front of the Commissar's bed, his hands bloody and a gash upon his forehead.
The Ork had turned its head to look at him now, its eyes narrowed with contempt under its gasmask. Nathaniel wasted no time, he charged forward, his chainsword screaming.
As he swung for the Ork's arm, the beast turned and parried the blow with its axe, which let the strain off of Solomon. Solomon went to rugby tackle the Ork but he had not the strength. He shoved the Ork enough for Nathaniel to act though.
His chainsword went in with another swing and with the Ork distracted with Solomon it landed a hit on its forearm.
The Ork roared a muffled cry and out of instinct recoiled his arm away. Nathaniel had him. He stabbed at the Ork's belly with his chainsword and landed another hit. The teeth ground through the camouflaged leather and through its tough green skin.
Blood sprayed from the wound and the Ork reeled over. Nathaniel flipped his blade over and quickly aligned it to the Ork's throat. It fell right onto the revving blade and with an effort Nathaniel kept the blade in place under its weight. The Ork's head spasmed and jerked until finally the teeth of the blade tore through its thick neck and it fell to the ground with a wet thump.
Nathaniel was covered in splattered blood and he sighed out in relief as the Ork's body fell.
Turning back to the Commissar, he now noticed another body beyond Frastus'.
Preist Haradal was lying on the floor wheezing, a dark stain visible down the front of his robe.
"Sergeant" Commissar Yoren said.
"Commissar" Nathaniel strode over to him. "Are you hurt?"
"More than you know" Yoren growled back and winced. "You didn't take very long arriving." He coughed loudly.
"We were closer than we had meant to be, sir" Nathaniel said. "Myself and the men downstairs went to assist Second squad."
Yoren glared.
"You disobeyed a direct command and abandoned your position."
"Yes, sir." Nathaniel admitted.
"You know the punishment for that I trust."
"Yes, sir. But with all due respect I think my execution can wait until after this battle is done."
Yoren smiled softly.
"I believe it can. How many men are with you and how fares second squad?"
"I have seven of the men who came from my squad, four from fourth squad and two wounded from second squad. One of which have gone to get the rest of my squad. Second squad's position fell. Sergeant Grenn and all but the six I mentioned were killed. We cleared the area of all the remaining Orks and were on our way back to our position when we heard your call."
Yoren nodded as he listened and winced as he rolled over to reach for something under the bed. When he rolled back up he had his ornate bolt pistol in his hand. He held it out to Nathaniel.
"Take this." He commanded. "I'm in no shape to fight, I've got shrapnel from one of the Ork's damn bullets tearing its way through my stomach. Take this and defend the CP. If first squad have fallen then the remaining Ork force will be heading for us."
Nathaniel took the bolt pistol from the Commissar. It was heavy as it was beautiful. This was the weapon of Astarte's, they hold these things in one hand with ease and deal with the recoil as if it were a laspistol. Yoren handed him another two bulky magazines for the weapon and leant back.
"Move the wounded into the bu-building across" Yoren ordered between coughs. "Leave myself, Frastus and Haradal."
Nathaniel surveyed the infirmary. He recognised the bandaged form of Debra Keeli but the other four beds held men he did not know.
"Solomon, go grab some of the guys from downstairs to help."
Solomon nodded and hurried out of the room and down the stairs.
Haradal lay wheezing and praying quietly under his breath when Nathaniel walked over to him.
"Preacher Haradal, are you able to move?"
"N-No, lad." The injured preacher replied with effort. "Help me up onto a bed."
Nathaniel lifted the man with relative ease and helped him onto a bed. Haradal groaned and shifted awkwardly to get comfortable. Nathaniel then knelt beside Frastus and shook him.
"Doc?"
Frastus did not stir. After another two shakes Nathaniel heaved Frastus' unconscious body onto another bed. The gash in the medic's head was not deep but already a large purple bruise was forming around the seeping blood.
"Damned Ork came in through the window." Yoren coughed bitterly. "Struck Haradal in the stomach and bulled through Frastus. If it hadn't been for your man Solomon, damn thing woulda killed us all, I'll see that that lad gets a commendation for that, even if he did drop his bloody rifle."
"Guess it was lucky we were nearby, sir." Nathaniel said with a smile that Yoren did not see. Yoren also smiled.
"Got me there, lad."
A moment later the multiple sounds of footsteps started banging up the stairs and Solomon returned with five others, Jacob and Gregor included.
"Thought you might want the radioman up here, sir." Solomon said to Yoren.
"Good thinking, lad. But I fear there is no one left to call. Bring it here."
Solomon beckoned Gregor forward and he did just that. Gregor knelt next to Yoren and handed him the vox piece.
"First squad, first squad come in, this is Commissar Yoren."
No reply.
"Worth a try." Yoren growled, "I suppose I'll try the other Specialist team." He once again raised the piece to his mouth. "Staff Sergeant Cyrus come in, this is Commissar Yoren." Once again there was no reply. He looked around at them all. "Get on with it you lot! Move these wounded and get that bloody Ork out of here."
Those present mobilised immediately. Solomon and Gregor began to prepare Debra Keeli for moving and the rest went to pick up two of the others.
Nathaniel strode down the stairs, his chainsword and his new bolt pistol hanging from his belt. The pistol was proving to be quite cumbersome and he had to put an effort into balancing himself properly as he walked.
At the bottom of the stairs Arashi waited for him. "Sergeant." He said, "What happened up there?"
"An Ork almost killed the Commissar. Preacher Haradal is going to die." Nathaniel said sadly. He had only spoken and prayed with Haradal as few times, but the man had always been kind and had offered counsel when he needed to.
Arashi gave a grimace. "Jonn died, Remi and Cromwell are well and truly dead also."
"Never woulda guessed." Nathaniel said as he looked down at the maimed forms of the two men. Four camouflaged Ork corpses lay around them with different injuries and the hallway air was rank with blood and gunpowder.
"We're moving the wounded to the building across." Nathaniel announced. "So get the guys to bring those two from second over there, we'll handle this lot."
"Aye Sergeant" Arashi nodded. "What's the plan for defending this place? Even with the rest of our team on their way, I feel we're going to be very outnumbered."
"As ever." Nathaniel said with mirth. The sounds of shooting and alien roars were still echoing with the wind every now and again. "But we'll be ready."