The cacophony of noise filled the air alongside gun smoke and misted blood. The crack of bolters, the thud of ballistics and the whine of rail guns. Vision was permanently scarred by blue streaks and muzzle flash. The high pitched whine of las guns flickered into the fray, slicing neat, smouldering holes into plastech armour and bubbling the blue flesh beneath. The Thunderhawk had become somewhat of a rally point for the scattered elements of the 130th Athenian Rifles, who used its vast bulk to shield their firing positions from the Crisis Suits weaving between the heavy weapons fire. Private Hesiod squeezed the firing stud of the auto rifle in his hands, sending kickbacks of death into whatever targets presented itself. The non-com to his left was screaming something into the fire fight, the waves of ash and grit muffling the words beneath the constant sound of war. Hesiod ran empty, his finger drawing the stud until it clicked, slamming the breach home empty. He promptly threw himself flat in the trench and thrust his hand into his flak jacket to retrieve another magazine. It took two attempts but he slotted the mag home in the gun fix and slapped it to lock it in place. He tugged on the load rod before rising once more to sight a target.
The non-com was screaming again. Hesiod narrowed his eyes and pushed his eye to the sight, the plastic of his protective visor thunking upon the steel of his rifle. His breathe came hard and ragged in his re-breather, sucking down barely purified air. A thunder crack split the heavens and something lanced down on a torrent of fire into the enemy trench lines. He couldn't tell, nor did he care what it was that caused the discord amongst the Tau, all he cared about was sighting a Tau and squeezing the trigger. The trooper to his right spun away from the firing step, a hole punched through his chest in a welter of bone fragments and sizzled flesh. The gap in the line was filled by another, a man who'd lost his re-breather mask and fought with a ragged strip of fabric tied about his face. A shout from his left caused him to break his line of sight, it wasn't the words shouted because the haze of noise obscured the orders, it was the tone of it. Hesiod felt his bowels loosen, his stomach tight for a moment before letting loose a wash of fear into his system. One of the remaining enemy battle suits that hadn't been shredded by heavy weapons fire descended into the trench on contrails of flaming plasma. It's cloven struts slammed into the blood soaked slurry of ash and innards. Las bolts scoured its armour black and bullets ringed and sparked against it's frame. It silently turned its guns to face down the trench and there was a terrible moment where Hesiod could see nothing but the heat ringed muzzle of the enemies repeater lasers. Then it opened fire.
The non-com fell apart. The laser fire shredded him with such ferocity his body literally crumbled into misted, charred flesh. Three men stationed around the non-com were riddled by the sweep of punishing fire. The comm. trooper went up in a ball of flame as the laser streams punched through the minuscule power pack in his vox unit. The Imperial charge had retaken the forward trenches the Tau had claimed. The Astartes and his contingent of Scouts had broken the pathfinder line and descended underground, now the Imperial men and women of the Athenian Rifles fought to hold the trench the shrine was located in. The crisis suit had come to test their strength. It spurted unceasing sheets of laser death into the ranks of men and women, punching and cutting holes through faces, arms, legs and chests. Hesiod flung himself down, the man to his left coming apart like wet paper to gush watery steaming blood down Hesiod's visor. His heart was thundering between his ears, the sound threatening to overwhelm him. Another noise penetrated the screams of his soul, a high pitched whine. He knew that sound, it was a particular whine, it was the start up sequence of a nuclear cell. Hesiod flung his head around to see the Trooper who'd stepped up to his right before the suit entered the trench. The man casually stood, feet planted apart in the centre of the trench and checked the read out display bolted to the side of the long body of his melta gun. The suit seemed to be more intent with picking off fleeing guardsmen and hadn't reacted to the threat before it, the thing twisted gracefully upon its axis to face away from Hesiod and the other trooper. It began punishing the other half of the trench line. The trooper hefted the weapon, braced himself and fired. There was almost no sound from the gun but it still gave the impression that it was deafening, rupturing blood vessels in the air with frequencies you could not detect. The gun nozzle suddenly glowed cherry red and then a vibrant beam of white radiation erupted from the weapon, it cut, like a straight line into the crisis suits unprotected flank and flashed the armour to steam and particles. The giant suit seemed to shudder before it capsized into the trench wall, sending up a plume of smoke and dirt.
Hesiod instantly felt sick. Being exposed to the radiation levels from such an intense beam was hazardous to his genetic makeup. He could taste metal in his throat as he pushed himself up to his feet. The trooper who'd fired adjusted something on the side of the weapons dials before turning to fire a strafing beam out over the trench top. The beam cut its way in a staggered line, scything down plastech armoured Tau warriors who'd used the distraction of the suit to advance upon the trench, or so Hesiod presumed. The first of the two Devil-Fish transports that had brought the Tau towards the trench was nose down, obscuring the enemies line from sight, it puffed huge plumes of oily black smoke into the sky. The second was strafing the line with its beam weapons, disgorging troops as it passed by on its hover bed. The fire warriors would step from the hatches in the side of the transport to land in crouched firing positions. The cutting beam of the melta found the flank of the transport and focused upon the upper left grav-engine. It erupted in a reactive chemical explosion, sending the transport veering off course. Hesiod raised his auto rifle and began to fire bursts at the fire warriors.
The Tau broke and ran. Directly at the Imperial line.
Hesiod was a hit by confusion. Why would the warriors with superior firing range give up their advantage? Unknown to Hesiod, due to their non-com and their vox trooper having been obliterated, a new foe had joined the fight. The streaks of flame that had descended upon the Tau lines were not another barrage of artillery as he had first expected. A high bass note filled the air from behind him and a ragged cheer erupted from the line of troopers, the Thunderhawk was back online. It fired it's retro thrusters upon it's bow, sending it rocking backwards out of the pit it had created with it's crash. Soil rained down upon the men as the massive gunship lurched to the right before slamming back into the earth. Upright this time, lights flickered on down its length and exhaust ports flushed clouds of gas and steam down its flanks. Then someone cried out in terror. Hesiod snapped his head back to see something lumber from behind the down Devil-Fish and almost lazily hack a fire warrior in half, the torso spiralling away in a spray of gore. The beast gripped the side of the transport and thrust it forward, the entire vehicle rolling and giving the Imperial line full view of what awaited them.
The tide of beasts strode forward, huge calibre guns kicking in their meaty fists, their bellows heralding their savage advance as they hacked and bludgeoned into the routed Tau. The trooper to Hesiod's right opened fire again, cutting down the first of the huge green brutes in a welter of super heated flesh. It roared as it died, as if it was offended by being killed at such range. The remaining men of Hesiod's unit all gripped their terror and shoved it under the years of rigorous training. Sheet fire began to lash out like viper strikes at the approaching brutes, las fire and auto guns strafing and streaking surface wounds, leading the stubbers and grenade launchers to targets. There was a thunder crack and the ground shook. A great gout of flame spread across the advancing Orks, igniting a number of them in bright pillars of chemical fire. Then heavy red lances of light punched into the first lumbering vehicles that crested the opposite trench, causing them to shatter and explode.
Another set of explosions tore into the ranks of green monsters, a sonic boom cutting through everyone's hearing. Missiles rained from the heavens and spread their wash of death amongst the Ork. Lance fire peppered the ground, connecting the second gunship with the floor in bursts of red death. The grind of rotary cannons flared up and the buzz of thousands of bullets streaking the ground was a beautiful sight to Hesiod. In the brutal alpha strike from the Thunderhawks, Hesiod and the others of the first gun trench failed to notice the steady retreat of the Imperial forces, the rest of the lines had bled backwards to the artillery positions, the command echelon deciding the fate of Hesiod's unit. They were ordered to die honourable deaths to slow the horde, even though they didn't know it.
The airborne gunship came back for another pass while the grounded one spat chemical death into the earth. The remaining Fire Warriors had been obliterated between the trench and the advancing Orks, who were now the target of the punishing onslaught. Yet, it seemed to do little to slow the tide of green racing forwards.
"Bastards!"
The trooper to his right snarled through his ragged face scarf. Hesiod turned his head to where the man was looking. They had been abandoned.
The thick shapes of Leman Russ assault tanks disappeared through the wash of smoke and dust towards the huge Mechanicum bastion in the distance. The Athenian Rifles had withdrawn in the face of the horde to the protective walls of the bastion to re arm and dig in, leaving their front rank for dead. Hesiod realized his life was worth nothing more than for some young officer to retreat all that much quicker while he paid for yards in blood. Anger bubbled inside him, rage and hatred. The firing line stopped, only random beams of las fire and tracer rounds cutting into the Ork. Most troopers were rooted to the spot, fear, real fear and terror swallowing their tactical minds. They had been left to die, to be butchered by the xenos. Hesiod was having none of it.
"Right, you slack jawed fraks! Form firing line, spread Teuton!"
The sudden shock of orders where there had been none for a long time snapped soldiers from their personal dooms. They rushed forwards, the Thunderhawks war cries rallying their courage. They formed into two ragged lines upon the firing step, guns poised and braced. Hesiod stamped forward down the line, he thrust his rifle at a weapon less trooper and shoved the man onto the step. He wasn't going to die like a dog for some Athenian highborn. No, he was going to die like a frak damned hero of the Imperium. He went to drawn his side arm, but his boot clashed against something in the mud. He stooped to discover a bolter. The weapon, obviously having belonged to the regiments commissar lay discarded. Hesiod snatched it up and checked the breach, then the ammo count. He grinned savagely and took to the firing step beside the trooper with the melta.
"First fire, ready!"
The whine of las guns charged to full capacity filled the ears. The Orks were close enough now that Hesiod could see the bulging veins in the foremost creatures neck. He smiled viciously.
"FIRE!"
The sheet of red and orange beams, inter cut by green washed into the Orks. Beasts went down, trumpeting and roaring as they died. Smaller creatures that loped between the Orkish advance were pitched off their feet.
"Second fire, ready!"
The second line picked targets and the first line dropped down to re charge their las weapons.
"FIRE!"
Hesiod screamed into the air as the Thunderhawks opened up again, the second gunship having strafed one last time before coming to land behind the trench, its guns still ablaze. The assault ramp began to grind open.
The second torrent of fire from the Teuton firing position was where the effectiveness came from. The sheet of las fire that proceeded this burst of destruction was merely a distraction and a buffer, now the real slaughter work began. At once, the heavy stubbers to either side of the trench spun into action, every auto rifle spat lead death in continuous fire, melta beams speared out, cutting like surgeons. Two flamers roared and spat boiling promethium into the killing ground, setting Orks alight.
He braced the bolter in his hands and pulled the trigger. The kick back of the weapon winded him, but he felt elation none the less. It was a battle craze, the content humour of a man who knew death was inescapable. They would make the enemy pay for their deaths. The bolter kicked again, the crack of the bolts adding to the wave of fire.
"First fire, fire at will!"
The re armed troopers of the first gun line sprang up to pump beam after beam into the enemy. The world became filled with shredding death and Hesiod knew that when the Orks reached their line, the frustration at being denied their killing thus far, would send the xenos into berserk rage.
The assault ramp was down.
"Squad Tacticus! Compliment the Guardsmen!"
The voice sent a cold creep up Hesiod's spine. The voice was clipped, distorted and clinical. Cold, helmet bound. He half turned to see armoured giants striding into the trench. Some of the soldiers stopped firing, simply too shocked by the arrival of Astartes. Coming to terms with potential salvation. Hesiod wandered why these brave angels would seek the same fate that awaited the guardsmen, then realized he'd stopped firing. He renewed his assault of the enemy with vigour, as did the rest of the troopers. Their blanket of fire became all that more intense as the fury of eight bolters, a plasma rifle and a heavy bolter were added to the fray. The plasma gun spat sizzling bolts of lightning into the faces of Orks, toppling them as their faces bubbled to gas. The heavy bolter began its chattering report of fire, thrusting the mini rockets out on their firing paths and into Ork flesh at double the rate of the standard bolters. The Ork advance faltered for a moment, shredded in the sheer volume of weapons fire from the small Imperial force. The Thunderhawks close range heavy bolters joined the battle, auto targeting servitors spraying lines of stuttered fire across the killing field.
Then the Orks charged. The Astartes stopped firing, only the heavy bolter continuing his punishing barrage. Each armoured giant stowed their ranged weapons by mag-locking them to their belted waists. The sound that followed was like a whisper in the rage around them. Blades were bared, short fighting blades, superior for close quarters combat. Combat shields were unhooked from where they hung upon power packs and suddenly at the lip of the trench was a shield wall. The Astartes, their ceramite armour decked in chain mail tabards, their heads helmed with portcullis fronts all faced the enemy. Then the Orks hit the trench and the butcher work began.
Screams and grunts filled the air. The Astartes stepped back just as the first berserker's met them, robbing the Orks of their initial power, their momentum drained.
"STEP!"
The Space Marines moved as one, smashing their shields into tusked faces and stabbing and hacking with their short blades. The xeno's fell. Orks bellowed as they dropped into the trench to be met with defiance. Fear and terror had vanished and now a fury only human kind possessed was born. Mortal men were battering Orks about the face with rifle butts or plunging combat blades into groins and knees. The huge brutes would crush and cleave into the humans but they would not break. The Orks seemed to intensify their assault.
Hesiod dodged a cleaver, the huge weapon, as big as him, slammed into the soil. He fired the bolter point blank into the leering face of the brutish Ork and watched it's head blow out in chunks. The creature toppled backwards to reveal a gaggle of small green creatures, the height of Hesiod's shoulder, advancing in a pack upon the closest troopers. He was about to engage when the sergeant from the Astartes squad waded amongst them, kicking and slamming with his shield, his power axe cleaving steaming wounds into their gretchin creatures. A furious minute passed, a minute of death and hacking. Then it was over. The Orks lay dead. Hesiod was smashed with a sudden fatigue and stumbled, gripping the wall of the trench for balance. He took in the scene. The dead were everywhere, guts and innards, gore, bones and jellied brains coated everything and standing in the sea of cloven corpses was a line of Astartes, blood smeared and undaunted.
Less than half of Hesiod's unit remained. Sixty five men and women had been slaughtered in less than a minute. He turned his weary eyes to stare blankly across the killing field past the trench. The Ork advance had stopped when the Teuton firing pattern had pummelled the vanguard to nothing. Leaving the remaining rabble of the vanguard to crash into the Imperial trench. Hesiod fixed his eyes upon a towering figure in the centre of the green sea before him. The attack they had just weathered was insignificant to what was coming towards them. He yawned. Utterly uncaring at the death that was swiftly approaching in the shape of the Ork horde. That was when he noticed the Astartes begin the retreat back to the grounded Thunderhawks. Hesiod frowned and followed a flurry of movement to his right.
Appearing from the curve of the trench line was another armoured giant, followed by four tabarded scouts. One was unconscious and carried upon the shoulders of his brother, two carried between them a huge metal crate, the strain on their super human features evident. The new sergeant seemed to regard the Ork horde for a moment before laughing and shaking his head. He swept past Hesiod, the sound of clinking chain following in his wake. The small contingent climbed from the trench and approached the other Space Marines. The two sergeants clasped gauntlets, the scouts slammed fists against their carapace armour in echo of the larger Astartes. Hesiod found himself climbing from the trench and approaching the Astartes. Gunfire had picked up once more from the remains of the Imperial Guard, complimented by the Thunderhawks.
"Sergeant Tiberius, praise the Emperor you are unscathed."
"Praise him well, Haethe, for I bring history to our Chapter. "
"Acknowledged, let us return to the Errant before this xenos invasion draws closer. Presae is lost, Chapter orders are to withdraw and bolster the fleet. Achilles and Tybalt intend to meet the Ork hulk and destroy it."
"I need transport back to Armacia once we have docked with the Errant. I want to see this one personally to the Chaplaincy, brother."
"I shall inform Tybalt when we are within communiqué range to have a rapid transport ready for you, brother. Come, let us leave this place."
"But, what about us?"
Both Astartes turned as one, looking down upon this blood stained and ragged human soldier who dared interrupt their words. The Trooper stared at them with wide eyes through his visor, his voice heavy through his re-breather.
"You can't just abandon us to die like our officers! You're Space Marines!"
Sergeant Haethe furrowed his brow beneath his helm and opened a closed vox to Tiberius.
Hesiod could feel a muscle in his leg spasm as an odd mix of fear and adrenaline rushed inside him. Confronting the Orks in close combat hadn't raised as much trepidation in him as talking to the faceless giants before him did. They seemed silent for a moment before they both nodded. The new contingent of Astartes filed up into the first Thunderhawk, the second unit marching into the second. The sergeant of the tactical squad spoke once to Hesiod before boarding the Thunderhawk himself.
The Hesiod was screaming at his men, shouting and kicking at them.
"Into the bastard Thunderhawks now! Move it you dogs, move it!"
They didn't need to be told twice. Men scrambled for the haven offered by the troop holds of the Thunderhawks that still poured fire into the advancing Ork horde. Hesiod raced up the open ramp of the nearest gunship and all but flung himself into the grav bench between the unmasked melta gunner and a towering, muscle bound Scout who regarded Hesiod with crimson red eyes. The men of the Athenian Rifles had stood their ground, ready to die, accepting their death and making it glorious and worthy of fighting for the Emperor of Mankind. Yet, now salvation reared its head and their valiant stand was forgotten, reality crashed back into their souls and so, shaken and wretched, they pulled at each other to get inside.
The two gunships shuddered into life, their engines roaring and blackening the earth behind them as they began to lift off. Rockets and beam weapons stabbed out at the craft as they rose above the Ork swarm. The first Thunderhawk sputtered smoke from a ragged tear in its fuselage, the second releasing one last torrent of fire into the greenskins before both gunships roared up into the sky and towards the waiting fleet beyond.
Hesiod sank into the grav bench, hugging the harness about him as his world shuddered violently and he was deafened by the roar of the engines. The guardsmen grinned stupidly and cheered each other and their saviours, unaware of the fate the Astartes of the Knights Vermillion had in store for the Troopers of the 130th Athenian Rifles.