Chapter 31
Ebba was nothing like the kasrs of Cadia. On the fabled world that stood against the Eye of Terror, each city was a true citadel. Double curtain-walls divided by moats, barbicans, castles, fortresses, sub-fortresses, subterranean garrisons, flak towers, and enough Interior Guardsmen to rival the planetary defense forces of other Imperial worlds. Each and every structure was fortified and designed to become a bunker. Even the streets themselves were jagged and interlocking to hinder enemy movement. Not one road was without razor wire entanglements, redoubts, pillboxes, and defensive walls.
Other than the single, thick wall that circled Ebba, its creators had never truly envisioned defense in depth. The paved marble roads were wide, open avenues that lacked any bulwarks or barriers. Many led to wide, oval roundabouts with a grassy island and ornate statue. Only lamp posts lined the sidewalks. None of the buildings were built of reinforced rockcrete and crumbled after a few hits from tank shells. Those that managed to stand were hollowed out by fire or had gaping holes in their walls. There were few spires and none of them were equipped with heavy weapons like that of the Cadian bastions. The Cathedral of Grand Prospect was the tallest structure in Ebba and its triangular, gold-plated rooftop was holed many times over by artillery shells.
"This place must've been awfully pretty when it wasn't a damned war zone," said Marsh as he walked behind Triage's tank. Hyram, his bandaged face covered with white marble dust and black soot, nodded in agreement. Bullets ripped across the hull and skittered across the pavement, but neither of them paid any mind.
"These houses seem quite quaint," added Hyram. "Simple, but homely. These pale rockcrete stones are lovely." Knock-Knock's main gun fired, rocking the Leman Russ. The shell struck an ork gun wagon as it grinded around the corner of an upcoming intersection "I'll take it over Hydraphur, and Cypra Mundi," he shouted, "that's for sure!"
"It sure would be nice to see it when it's rebuilt and not fuckin' exploding," said Marsh. He then activated his laud-hailer and turned back to face the column. "That's it Bloody Platoon, hold your pace! We're earning our pay, today!"
For five days, Marsh Silas and the small strike force had advanced deeper into Ebba. Street by street, house by house, they harried the orks. Other Imperial forces carved their way through on adjacent roadway or fought along the walls, attempting to seize the gatehouses to prevent a breakout. Cadian troops fought for factories and road hubs, creating avenues for reinforcements and supply convoys to move up. Word had come that the Phantine Skybrone drop troops had relieved one of the surviving Vellania Guard regiments in the city garrison.
Grog-Rod's orks fought stubbornly, making stands on the ruins and turning houses into redoubts. Roadblocks of rubble and scrap barriers slowed Imperial forces. Guardsmen died in droves on the streets while tanks fought run-and-gun battles with ork vehicles. Dozer blades plowed through obstacles and walls of bayonet men swarmed over the ruins. Even as casualties mounted, the Imperial onslaught continued. Dogged though they were, the orks were steadily squeezed between the advance of the relief army and the defenses of the capitol sector.
The long, meandering avenue Marsh Silas and his companions were on led directly to the capitol. It was situated on the western edge of the city, with the downtown area in the center and its industries to the east. Despite the haze, smoke, fire, and ork host between them and their target, the grand white palace was still visible. A shimmering void shield protected the bastion against ork rockets and gunfire. Beleaguered PDF troops positioned in cordons outside the capitol grounds were savagely assaulted by armored attacks and waves of orks.
A burst of gunfire sent Marsh behind the Leman Russ again. He recovered, leaned out, and fired to his left. Orks appeared on the mountains of rubble to their left. Rounds struck his chestplate, staggering him. Autocannons rattled behind him and swept the orks from the piles as if they were stuck by a gust of wind. Yates' Chimerax rolled up to his left, its quad-mount suppressing enemy infantry. One of the Taurox Primes equipped with twin gatling cannons and the heavy stream of automatic fire ripped across the mounds to their right. The Rhino APC that bore the blue, gray, and white of the Knights Revenant was just behind them, creating a diamond formation. One of the Astartes fired at targets of opportunity with the transport's storm bolter. With them too were Hoover's Scout Sentinels, racing along at a breakneck pace and their lascannons blaring.
The other tanks and APCs were staggered behind the lead formation. Every gun fired as they moved down the road. Squads of Kasrkin jogged behind each vehicle, shooting as they ran. Others sat behind pintle-mounted weapons and provided additional cover with heavy stubbers and storm bolters. Yates' infantry complement returned earlier in the morning and the large platoon swept through the buildings on their left flank. Osmund and his Knights leaped through the ruins on the right side of the road, dropping grenades and cleaving orks apart with chainswords. Tanzer and her breachers found the close quarters of the ruins quite agreeable, and the frequency of their shotgun blasts created a rippling hammer-like pounding.
As buildings collapsed, artillery shells fell. Chunks of marble and rockcrete flew skyward and then plummeted like heavy rain. Muzzle flashes glimmered, lasbolts of red and blue arced against the bright blue sky. On the adjacent roadways, other Imperial armored and infantry thrusts plowed along. Lux Cadia was on one of Ebba's boulevards just to their left, and its Vulcan mega-bolter screamed with the fury of one thousand carnodon lions.
The orks' fire grew heavier and more blockading positions appeared. Marsh watched as mechanized troopers fell and Kasrkin drew back with wounds. More and more fell, staggered by shrapnel from airbursting munitions or by rounds striking their armor. Comrades dragged the injured to cover under the protective fire from the vehicles. Rockets and grenades exploded among them. One glanced off Gypsy Wagon's slanted turret armor and whizzed right in front of Wulff's squad. It exploded in a building behind them, breaking it apart.
As it collapsed on top of some of the Maccabian troops, Marsh felt something fall within himself. A piece was suddenly missing; a sureness of the moment was gone. It was as if his heart had stopped beating. Where was his threshold? Was it so easily broken? He felt thin, bare, his legs shook, and he hated such a feeling. Why now, he thought, where is your courage going?
Marsh tapped Hyram, exchanged places with him, then ran from vehicle to vehicle. He needed to check on Bloody Platoon. Bullets dinged his armor, kicked up dust at his feet, and flew by his face. With the Banner of Carstensen attached to his armor, he was an appealing target for the orks firing at him. Silvanus, this seems especially risky! The Fragment of Barlocke's voice was excited and anxious. It created a cold prickling that rattled his skull. "I need to check on these troops!" Yes but the orks are shooting at us! They might not have the best aim but they have plenty of ammunition!
He ignored the fragment and slid in behind the command Taurox. Drummer Boy breathed heavily, clearly labored by some wound. "You hit!?" Marsh reached for him but the squad leader shook his head.
"Those rounds my plate took during the raid broke some of my ribs," he wheezed, "but I ain't going back, sir."
"This isn't the time for heroics, get yourself in one of these trucks!"
"I respectfully refuse, sir!"
There was no use in arguing; Drummer Boy was far too brave and too loyal. Biting his lip, Marsh Silas left for another team. Metcalfe walked stoically behind one of Yates' APCs, charged his plasma pistol, and fired a heavy bolt that tore off an ork's head. A slug had pierced the armor plate on his leg and another had entered his side. Yet the squad leader flashed him a thumbs-up and continued fighting.
Going from squad to squad, finding walking wounded still in the fight, he eventually ran back to the utility Taurox. This had become an impromptu ambulance and was filled with the worst of the wounded. Ruo was behind it and she opened the rear hatch to help Hawthorne of 3rd Squad, hit in the lower back by a large piece of shrapnel, crawl inside. The hospitaller had removed her damaged shoulder plate, exposing her shoulder and the bloody bandages wrapped around it. Having been in constant combat for several days, and treating many injured personnel within and outside their units, Ruo had little time to attend her own wound.
Marsh helped her push Hawthorne in. Holzmann and Lynwood straddled the Kasrkin already within, busily applying pressure dressings and extracting rounds. Ruo shoved the hatch but Marsh Silas caught it with one hand and held her chestplate collar with the other.
"You should be getting in there yourself," he said. "I'll detach a squad to escort this truck back to the aid station."
"I will not be removed from this battlefield," said Ruo. "All within would refuse you also."
"Those men needed to be treated! I won't lose any of them!" He exclaimed, looking feverishly between her and the casualties. Suddenly and surprisingly, his heart felt as though it were in his throat. An image flashed through his mind of limp bodies on the shores of Army's Meadow or slumped in trenches outside Kasr Sonnen.
"I assure you, they are safe with Holzmann." The hospitaller motioned to the interior. Holzmann's hands moved deftly and his violet eyes were steely. None of the bullets or shrapnel striking the Taurox's hull caused him to flinch or stumble. Gone was the uncertain, pressured man who joined them before; only the platoon's leading medic remained.
Ruo took Marsh's hand away from the hatch and closed it. She then drew her revolver and braced against the back of the moving APC. "We have not come all this way to be turned back when we are on the cusp of liberation. The only way I am departing the battle is if I am killed."
Marsh Silas watched her for a moment. If he had been further dumbfounded, he would have halted in his tracks, lost his cover, and become an ork's next target. He walked on behind the Taurox, suddenly ignorant of the bloody swathe their strike force cut through the orks. Looking to the hospitaller, bleeding, her teeth gritted in pain, her face determined instead of beleaguered, struck something within him.
Large forms moved to his right. Wit and the other Ogryn marched fearlessly up the road, blasting at targets with ripper guns. Hack leveled an autocannon and slammed away at the second-story window of a dilapidated building. The shells broke away what remained of the wall and caused the top of the house to collapse. On they walked, ignoring the rounds that struck their exposed forearms and flattened against their armor.
"Sergeant Wit!" shouted Marsh, making the Ogryn turn. "Where are you going, man!?"
"To dah big house!" said Wit with a big, toothy smile. He pointed down the road at the capitol. "Dat's da place where da people need some help! We'z gonna help'em!"
Before Marsh could speak, Commissar Seegar came up behind them. She did not run but walk, just as the Ogryn did. Even when a bullet took off her high-peaked cap, exposing her brown locks, she did not falter. Spotting Marsh's incredulous gaze, she pointed to the Ogryn.
"Captain, you just can't stop them!" she yelled. Then, she raised her chainsword over her head. "Hold true, sons and daughters of Cadia! The God-Emperor guides us!"
"Glory to the Emperor!" cried Cornelius. "For Terra's Golden Throne!"
All the soldiers around them, from Gabler's platoon to Maccabians and Vitrians, bellowed the same war cry. Marsh Silas felt an electricity flow through him then. There was a thumping in his chest, strong and fast. He gripped the hellgun rightly, gritted his teeth, and charged back out.
"That's the style!" he yelled. "Keep it up, Bloody Platoon! For Emperor and Imperium!"
He fired at orks standing on rooftops, appearing in windows, crouching on exposed second or third story floors, and ones who embedded themselves among the rubble. Overhead, Vulture gunships flew by, smashing occupied buildings with rocket pods or cutting down orks with heavy bolters.
Marsh took cover behind another of the Tauroxes, finding Tolly and the Ratlings moving with it. Fenton the Lag remained very close to the rear hatch and glanced up at Marsh.
"Sir, it's one ting tah fight'em on our terms, but I'll tell ya, they're awfully frightening out here! I wish I were as big n' strong as tose' Ogryn!"
"I tink I'd rather be home with a spot of recaf and an iced bun!" added Cary.
"Aw, and miss all tis'!?" laughed Tolly. "I'd only miss tis' if a Saint had risen from ta dead!"
"You'd rather be fighting greenskins than playing cards and chewing fat behind the lines?" asked Marsh, unable to hold back a smile. Tolly, still aiming down her long-las scope, took a shot and duked back. Tapping him on the front of his helmet, she winked and grinned.
"Fighting xenos on half-wages with no extra combat pay?" she said. "No sleep, no food, no water? Absolutely! Tis' is what I've been waitin' for Marsh Silas: tis' is my fight!"
Marsh Silas was not sure what expression he wore, but he heard himself laughing as he stood up once more. As he ran back to the head of the column, he felt no fear. Even as tracer rounds soared by him, he was undaunted. This is who I am, he thought, this is the Cadian who faced daemons and Heretic Astartes. The wounds of the past would not toy with him this day.
He returned to Triage's tank just as the Ogryn started to walk by it. Commissar Fremantle holstered his plasma pistol and walked in front of them, shaking his head.
"No, no, no," he scolded, his tone the same of a tired drill abbot. "Stay out of the tank's line of fire."
"But da orks is dat way!" complained Hack.
"We will strike them soon enough, now get back into cover." As the Ogryn complied, Rowley handed Marsh her handse. Static briefly stabbed at his ear and he flinched. Enfilade fire barraged them; as the Kasrkin returned fire, Rowley instead adjusted the modules on her Clarion vox-array. Rounds skipped by her feet, but she was blind to them. Merriweather approached the squad with her flowing psychic aegis, providing cover as Aralyn lobbed bolts of warp-ice at the foes.
"Avalanche Red Six, this is Watchman," came the transmission, finally. Marsh recognized the voice of Romilly the naval intelligence officer. "You're approaching the last roundabout before the capitol district. Hold fast, you have fast attack vehicles led by the Ironskull approaching!"
"Did he just say that fucking greenskinned, metal-headed son of a bitch who shot me is coming at us!?" shouted Hyram. He climbed up on Knock-Knock, forced Triage back into the turret, then took his place behind the heavy stubber. "I dare him to try it again!"
Marsh Silas waved his hand as he peered around the tank. A large, circular, metal-walled redoubt stood on the knoll in the center of the wide roundabout. Ork gun towers focused their fire on the convoy and trucks equipped with mortars or cannons saturated the area with explosives. Guardsmen found cover amid debris, buildings, and vehicles. The convoy halted, forming a cordon to pay the orks back in kind. Behind the enemy's walls, dust billowed from war-tracks, buggies, and flamer-equipped wagons.
"Roger, Watchman, I have eyes on," said Marsh. In the corner of his eye, Rowley lifted two fingers. They exchanged handsets. "This is Red Six, send traffic."
"Red Six, this is Gold Six." It was Prince Osgood. The typical sneer of his voice was replaced by the cool, Cadian concentration. "My platoon is mounted and we're on our way to your position. We'll be there in three or four minutes, over."
"They might hit us before then, Gold Six," said Marsh.
Mortars bracketed Knock-Knock, forcing everyone down. Hyram fired an angry burst at the ork fortifications. Little Mac, taking cover nearby and inspected the tank for damage. As the dust settled, a nearby sewer grate was thrown open. With a cry of, 'WAAAGH!' several orks climbed out. One pulled two stick-bombs from his leather harness and pulled the pins. But a revolver round pierced his skull and he crumpled to the ground. Both grenades exploded, killing or wounding the rest of his squad. Marsh Silas and his nearby Kasrkin finished off the rest.
Lada joined the squad and Marsh tapped her on the shoulder approvingly. Little Mac jumped down for the tank, walked by the Dialogus, paused, then glanced back at her.
"Battle is more stimulating than paperwork, is it not, Sister?"
"I would rather bear wounds than your comments, heathen," snapped Lada, venomously. "Quit my side!" Without a chuckle or another word, the enginseer crouched beside Marsh and observed the incoming orks. He then pointed to several large metal plates in the pavement just before the roundabout.
"Road barriers," he said. "Adamantium. Very sturdy."
"Sturdy enough to stop a speeding scrap-heap?" asked Marsh.
"We will soon find out. Even the smallest of the Omnissiah's creations have their use," said Mac, then rushed around the tank. Marsh called for covering fire and the convoy's weapons ripped down the street. They hammered the steel barricades and drove encroaching orks back. The xenos answered with burping autorifles, chattering machine guns, and barking cannons. Colorful tracers and lasbolts passed by each other.
Little Mac ran at a crouch. Bullets tore through his crimson robe and sparked against his power armor. The enemy buggies drew closer, rocking from side to side as squads of orks clung to the cockpit cages. Looming above them was the rolling battlefortress of Nalk the Ironhead. His banner flew high from the small castle on the stern of the massive vehicle. The nob himself stood in the forward turret and fired its recently captured twin-link storm bolters. Even though he was far out of range, the exploding bolt-shells tore through the air and created a kind of crackling that sent Kasrkin back into cover.
Marsh crouched and shield his face as metal fragments bounced on the street. When the barrage passed, he looked back out. Little Mac lied flat on his stomach in front of the overturned control box for the barriers. His servo-tendrils spliced wires and inserted into ports. The enginseer crawled behind a chunk of fallen wall as the orks targeted him. The fastest buggies and war-trikes drew nearer, their maws wide as they screamed. Even then, the rounds that struck his armor and hit the pavement on either side of him did not deter him. It was as if he did not notice, or even care, for the enemy's fire.
"What's he waitin' for!?" cried Walmsley Major in between bursts from his volley gun. "He's going to get far more metal in him if he lingers!"
"He must be unable to fix it," said Lada. "Why does he not return!?"
"Brace yourselves!" yelled Commissar Fremantle. "The orks are upon us!"
The buggies surged down the road, their engines shrieking and wheels rattling. Some exploded from tank shells, others were ripped apart into careening masses of wreckage by autocannon hits. Little Mac then pressed a switch, his servo-tendril twitched, and the thick, high barriers snapped upwards. All the buggies and trikes in the first ranks smashed into them at once. Vehicles flattened against the stoppers, drivers were crushed, and riders were flung through the air. Those in the second rank, too close to brake in time, crashed into the wrecks. Tires, headlights, rods, and all manner of pieces soared with the bodies.
The Imperials cheered and whooped as the surviving ork vehicles, including Nalk's battlefortress, were forced to stop. Vulture gunships closed in and bombarded both their vehicles and the fortifications with rockets. As the Ironhead retreated, much to Hyram's shouting frustration, an Avenger flew by and dropped two five hundred kilogram bombs. The small ork fortress erupted into a huge column of black smoke. When it settled, there was hardly anything left but a deep crater and layers of wreckage.
Ork reinforcements appeared, but Lux Cadia rolled from the western side of the roundabout. All its bolters and lascannons fired at once, reducing the orks to heaps of bone and flesh. The massive Stormlord, with a convoy of tanks behind it, turned onto the boulevard and advanced on the capitol. Tanks and infantry of the 412th Cadian Shock Troops followed; Major Overton, leading from a Salamander Command vehicle, led proudly from the front. With the orks in retreat, Little Mac lowered the barriers and returned to the command squad. Marsh Silas laughed and grabbed the enginseer by his shoulder.
"Outstanding!" he exclaimed. "I'm putting a medal on your chest for that one!"
"Colorful ribbons are of no interest."
"I don't give a bloody damn what you think, you sour bastard, you're getting a medal."
"Looks like you don't need our help after all, Cross!" Osgood's Taurox Prime nudged its way forward and he waved from the turret. Marsh thought to say something sarcastic but waved instead.
"You're here now, that's what counts. Stay with us and fight the good fight," he said and held up his fist. The noble officer above him, his face covered in soot, offered a soldiery smile and returned the gesture. Marsh Silas activated his laud-hailer and faced the column again. "Take a drink of water, pop a stim, smoke a lho-cig, and fall in beyond Lux Cadia. We're taking this—" Rowley tapped his shoulder plate and gave him the handset. "—Red Six here."
"This is Avalanche Six. I've got orders from the top: you're to proceed to the southeastern manufactorum and cattle processing district. Secure it and protect it from any ork attacks."
Marsh Silas glanced at Rowley, then Hyram and Walmsley Major. Each one listened through their own vox-sets and mirrored his confusion. Even Fremantle looked stunned.
"Interrogative. Sir, I thought liberating the capitol district was our number priority, over."
"Sandstorm is boots-on-the-ground for this one, Red Six, he'll lead the main host to the capitol." Sandstorm—von Bracken was coming to the frontline. Marsh was wise enough to know that it was appropriate for a general to spend most of his time behind the lines, for he had many regiments, ordos, and other concerns to organize. But to know it was on the cusp of victory that he finally decided to make his presence known on the battlefield left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"Solid copy, Avalanche, we're on our way," replied Marsh, his face sagging and his chest deflating. He shoved the handset back to Rowley, checked his slate-monitron, then waved over his squad leaders and the other officers. "Listen up. We're taking this next right and moving to secure the industrial district."
"Typical," spat Monty Peck. "He gets all the glory while we guard meatpacking plants."
"It's not about glory," stressed Arnold Yoxall. "There's civilians in the capitol and there's not much left of the PDF garrison."
"Who knows how many more civilians are in the parts of the cities the orks haven't already flattened?" asked Foley grimly, balancing his shotgun on his shoulder and pointed to the downtown area. "Throne, we dawdle any longer, there won't be many to save."
"You know what this is, sir," said Walmsley Minor, angrily. "Von Bracken doesn't like that you forced the attack. He knows he can't sick that dog he calls a Commissar on you, no offense Fremantle, sir. But he takes it out on you this way."
"Perhaps, perhaps not, but let's waste no further time on it. I'm not hearing the aggression I like out of Bloody Platoon. Is this lodge not best? C'mon, follow me."
The orders were relayed between the drivers and the other platoons. Macar, Gabler, and the mechanized shock troopers fell in with the convoy. Knock-Knock, Gypsy Wagon, and Gristmill, all equipped with dozer blades, plowed through the wreckage. The column entered the roundabout and hooked right. Instead of coming under fire from ork guns, they found the demolished roadway to be quiet. Dubious, Marsh glanced at his surroundings, then ventured in front of the tank. Just as he checked his slate-monitron again, there was a crash and a shower of white dust in front of him. Looking up, he was confronted by the towering form of Sergeant Osmund. The Space Marine gazed down at him, looking even more ghostly from the pale dust.
"You have changed direction when the battle is to the north," he said in his deep, grating, graveled voice. "What reason do you give for this cowardice?"
"Cowardice?" said Marsh, indignantly. "We have been given orders from the commanding general to secure the industrial district. But if you think these damned soldiers cowardly, you are free to fight somewhere else, sir."
He had not realized how harsh he sounded until the last words left his mouth. To be so belligerent to an Astartes such as this would surely result in his death. Despite his chapter's name, Osmund was not akin to the knights he knew. Thule, Galen, Janus, and Evander were noble warriors out of legend. This one seemed as ready to cut down a Guardsman as much as an ork. But Osmund's helmet tilted and it was a movement so slight no one but Marsh could have seen it.
"Lead on," was all the sergeant said. He and his squad of Assault Marines split into two sections of five and fell in on either flank. Marsh Silas blinked, then slowly and furtively released a breath. The column continued, journeying between burned out houses and ruins. Steadily, the streets showed less signs of battle. Buildings were only partially damaged, the pavement bore fewer shell craters. Here and there, a lone ork showed himself and was killed, but there were no ambushes or vehicles. The sounds of battle in the west grew fainter.
Their trot slowed to a tense, deliberate walk. Hellguns lingered on windows and doorways. Each squad took turns clearing a house and each time, they returned without having fired a shot or finding an enemy.
"Keep those scanners up," ordered Marsh Silas, himself gazing warily at their surroundings. Each of the platoon's recon-troopers held up their surveyors and in short order, assured there were no hostels nearby. "This isn't right," he said. "Rowley, get me Romilly." It was only a moment before he was back on his handset. "Watchman, Red Six. Can you do a fly-by over the manufactorum district, see if you detect any movement, over."
"Sure can, Red Six. Wait one." Marsh Silas shut one eye as he gazed up at the sky. The dark form of a Marauder Vigilant, an aerial reconnaissance variant of the standard bomber, circled overhead. The thrum of its engines buzzed in the air, and its slow turning reminded Marsh of a carrion bird searching for prey. "Red Six, our augurs aren't picking up much activity. What movement we can see is most likely from civilians seeking shelter. The orks have been too busy fighting and chasing civilians to deal with Ebba's infrastructure, over."
"Many thanks, Watchman, out," said Marsh, who slammed the handset back onto Rowley's array so hard she nearly fell over. "There's nothing fucking there! Von Bracken's wasting our time."
"He'll have our skins if we turn back and join the main host," said Hyram as he climbed down from Knock-Knock. He glanced up the road, where the cranes and smokestacks of the processing and packing plants stood. Then he looked back at Bloody Platoon. "You've taken some casualties, Silas. I know sitting out a fight is not the Cadian fashion, but they've earned a rest."
Marsh unclipped his chinstrap, allowing them to hang beside his bearded, bandaged cheeks. He put one hand on his hip, faced the soldiers behind him, and gestured up the road.
"Bloody Platoon, you feel like sitting this one out!?"
"Sir, no, sir!" came the reply.
"That's what I bloody thought," said Marsh, failing to hide his grin. "Good thing I'm in charge. Alright, we'll send a couple of the trucks there with the worst-off to secure the area. Rowley, put in a call back to Romilly, see if he can connect us to any unit in need of aid. Von Bracken will chew us out, but it'll be hard to punish a man for helping fellow soldiers."
"Ah, the old dog has chewed us out aplenty," said Walmsley Major. "But he might get you for forcing the action, sir."
"He's right, Silas," said Hyram. "We have the love of the regiment and our medals are shields, but direct defiance of his orders, that will be harder to beat."
"One worry at a time, old friend," said Marsh. "Let's finish this fight with the orks first, we've hardly liberated half the city. Then we can see how you and Major Rosenfeld will get my arse out of this one." Rowley tapped the back of his helmet and gave him the handset. "Yes, Romilly?"
"There's a lot of junk in the airwaves, but I doubt it is ork interference. But, I was able to clear up a distress call coming from the downtown area. The remnants of some PDF units have been escorting civilians to safer regions, but they're cut off and trapped. Sending coordinates now."
Marsh's slate-monitron pinged and he raised his left arm. He opened the notification and was tabbed over to his copy of the city map. A series of red circles surrounded a large, green dot. Another field opened on the screen with projected mortality readings. Intervention, light casualties; rejection, severe casualties. For his unit to accept, their estimated rates were moderate to high. He looked back up at the platoon. Tired, dirty, yet brimming with confidence. If given a choice, he knew what their response would be: there was no choice to make. He pressed the select key and sent the coordinates to the platoon's slate-monitrons.
"Roger, Watchman, Red Six confirms. We're good to go and on the move, out." Marsh Silas pointed at Drummer Boy. "Take two trucks and the wounded, head to the manufactorum district, and hold up. And no arguing, you're hurt enough as it is. The rest of you, fall in with me."
"You go to protect the feeble?" asked Macar, standing before her ranks of stalwart Macabbians. "They are weak in will and faith, knight-captain; they have abandoned their own church which my regiment now goes to cleanse of xenos touch. The Emperor and His Saints require our arms more than the faithless."
"What use does the house of the God-Emperor have when there are no souls to fill the pews?" asked Marsh, vehemently.
"Da lil'uns need our help," said Wit, grumpily. "We'z gonna help'em, simple as. How come ya don't get dat?"
"You would let this monstrosity speak to a superior officer in such a manner? I would have him shot!" stated Macar. She turned to Ruo and Lada. "You are of the Adepta Sororitas. No one holds the faith more true than Sisters of the cloth. Surely, you agree with me."
"This big fellow speaks simply but candidly," said Ruo, her tone surprisingly glib. She walked beside him and put a hand on his arm. "And he speaks truly. The Sisters cure the sick, feed the hungry, and protect the weak. It is our vow to help all mankind, which is shared by these Ogryn. I shall fight beside them instead of you, ma'am."
"Every stone of the cathedral, great or small, is precious," said Lada, devotedly. "But if Suster Ruo believes the soul of a subject is more important, I am in agreement." The Kasrkin of Bloody Platoon as well as that of Gabler's clustered around the Sisters and the Abhumans. Their grim, determined expressions were all they needed to convey their own decision.
"Go rejoin your regiment," said Dragović, marching forward with his Vitrian Dragoons. "Every moment we waste in deliberation, the more lives are lost."
"And that's the fucking truth. Let's go, Bloody Platoon, mount up!"
Leaving the Maccabian Janissaries behind them, the Kasrkin jumped onto the footplates of their Taurox Primes. Dragoons and mechanized troopers boarded Yates' APCs, and the convoy changed direction back to the north. Marsh himself jumped onto Namgun's Taurox Prime and take control of the pintle-mounted storm bolters. The vehicle came abreast of Osgood's APC and the weapons platoon leader, standing in his own hatch, activated his micro-bead.
"You have a habit of making friends and detractors wherever you go, Cross."
"Aye, and where should I place you, you irritable nobleman?"
"I'll give you this, you bothersome radical; your bedraggled band of misfits surely can fight."
That was enough to make Marsh laugh proudly. His smile still remained as they approached Ebba's familiar devastation. Orks had shattered the city in their weeks-long rampage. Entire blocks and neighborhoods had become mountains of rubble. Few buildings were left standing as they approached the edge of the city centers.
Marsh's micro-bead crackled again. He expected Gabler or Dragović to call in to organize a plan. Instead, his eyes widened when he heard a familiar, perturbed voice.
"Red Six, this is Sandstorm." It was von Bracken.
"I copy, Sandstorm."
"Were my orders to occupy the industrial district unclear, over?"
"Negative, all clear. I have posted units there as you commanded, over."
"Then why am I receiving reports of your strike force vacating the area?"
"There's some folks that need our help, General."
"It has not been a week yet and you disobey my orders again!? I ought to put you up against a wall for this!" Marsh Silas shook his head. There was a feeling in him now. A greater will, something altogether stronger and more defiant. Looking from face to face of the men and women clinging to the vehicles or riding on their backs, he knew where this steel was forged.
"Apologies, sir," said Marsh. "But I'm going downtown."
Whatever tirade von Bracken wished to vent upon Marsh Silas, he did not have a chance to. The knight-captain keyed back to local force vox-network, leaving the general with nothing but static. It was not much longer before the familiar crackling of ork gunfire returned. The orks attacked in droves, with elements remaining on top of the great rubble embankments on either side of the road to provide cover while others charged onto the road. Greenskins armed with tankhammers—staves tipped with rockets—ran ahead of the others. The net lit up with voices calling out their targets. "Prioritize the tankbusters!" ordered Marsh. Every gun on every vehicle fired into the orks. Marsh racked the charged handling of the storm bolter and cut down orks as they drew onto the road.
Many fell but a few got through. One ork slammed his tankhammer against the starboard sponson on Gypsy Wagon, knocking out the heavy bolter. Another managed to strike a Chimera which only survived due to its track pads. Kasrkin dismounted even as the vehicles kept rolling. Adding the weight of their hellguns to the crash of heavy weapons was enough to drive them back.
Marsh checked his slate-monitron; it was one hundred meters to the target. He looked through his magnoculars and saw the four-way intersection ahead. Orks had seized it and parked their gun wagons directly on each road. In the northeastern corner was a market pavilion, where the few PDF troopers and the civilians held out. But orks continued to flow from the western road and onto the north and eastern paths, surrounding it.
Marsh Silas put a finger to his micro-bead and held it close to his mouth to ensure he'd be heard over the sound of the engines. "Triage, Osgood, when we hit that intersection, form a cordon to cut off ork reinforcements. Gabler, Yates, take the north road, Bloody Platoon, Hoover, Dragović, we're going right. Sync?"
"Sync!"
Weaving between the layers of debris, Triage's tanks fired a salvo. The armor-piercing shells ripped through the gun wagons. One's ammunition cooked off and blew its turret high into the air. Barreling onto the intersection, all their weapons firing, cleared the orks attempting to break through the entrance of the massive pavilion. It was a triangular-shaped building, four stories high. Its marble walls and grand plate windows were heavily damaged; every pane of glass was shattered and gaping, crumbling holes exposed the depots and stores within.
Osgood's Kasrkin, armed with heavy weapons, quickly dismounted and took positions among craters, wrecked vehicles, and rubble. Orks were crushed beneath the tracks of APCs or perished from the hundreds of guns that laid into them. Gabler's platoon and Yates' dismounted troops stormed up the north road. Grenades were flung between the opposing forces, flamers flared and meltarifles destroyed ork buggies. Axes fell upon Guardsmen, who in turn answered with poised bayonets. Kasrkin came to their aid, blasting with hellguns and hacking with axes.
Marsh's contingent turned right onto the eastern road. Two of the Tauroxes pulled ahead, becoming a mobile barricade. Kasrkin and Vitrians walked behind them, shooting on either and in between the vehicles. Others trailed alongside Marsh's vehicle, shooting up at the bordering mounds or the buildings overlooking the intersection. "Keep it up!" shouted Marsh over his laud-hailer. "Keep going, Bloody Platoon!"
Orks attempted to push in their midst. But they were stopped by Wit and his squad. Ogryn flayed them with ripper shells and battered them with their autocannons. It was a brawl! Wit held his ripper gun by the barrel and caved in an ork's skull with the club. Hack jammed an autocannon barrel into an ork's stomach so hard it protruded from the other side. Holding the trigger, he cut down the xenos running up behind it. Tolly and her squad left the road and, under fire, ventured up a downspout on the pavilion. Leaping from ledge to window sill, they eventually reached an open part of the floor. As long, red lasbolt streaks flew over the column, the five snipers quickly picked off targets on their right flank.
Yet before them was a river of orks pushing back against them. Tanzer's shotgunners were up front with the Kasrkin, splattering mobs with las-volleys. Over to their right, gun wagons appeared and rolled down the embankments. Missiles launchers, and meltarifles destroyed some, but it was Hoover's Sentinels that kept them at bay. Just as one tank came grinding over the top, it briefly exposed its underside. In that singular moment, Hoover struck it perfectly with a lascannon strike. The huge lasbolt tore through it and exited through its engine, detonating it.
Marsh covered his platoon, raking windows and alleys with the storm bolter. When the canister ran dry, he keyed his micro-bead. "Avalanche Red Six to Watchman, can you vector air support my AO?"
"Affirmative. Rerouting Sky Sharks to provide gun runs." What a comfort! That was Foxley and his special operations Valkyrie wing, attached to the 10th.
"Bloody Platoon, hold!" shouted Marsh over the laud-hailer. He reloaded the storm bolter and sprayed the orkish horde in long bursts. They came from everywhere; sewers and gutters, alleyways, houses, craters, and collapsed buildings. It felt as though all of Grog-Rod's army was upon them. Yet the Cadians and their comrades stood firm, becoming a wall of fire. Not a single warrior released his trigger except to reload. Psykers struck the orks with their terrible powers; Jacinto setting dozens alight, Aralyn and Merriweather tearing them apart with tempests. Cornelius sang hymns as he burned orks alive. Ruo and Lada fought back to back, and when an ork charged them, the latter tossed her sidearm to the hospitaller. As Ruo cut down an enemy squad, Lada smashed in the ork's knee with her staff, deflected its ax with the haft, then drove the golden, quill-shaped head into its eye.
"Silas!" Marsh turned to see Hyram throwing Carstensen's Justice to him. He caught the pistol just as an ork crawled up the side of the Taurox. Dodging a dagger thrust, he jammed the barrel against the ork's face and shot. As the corpse fell away, there was a buzz overhead. Valkyries flying just over the buildings bombarded the orks with rockets and missiles. Orks disappeared in explosions of fire and dust, and broken buildings collapsed upon them.
"That's it!" cried Marsh. "Follow me!"
He leaped from the Taurox and led his men to the nearest entrance to the pavilion. Wit got there first and smashed the door off its hinges. Marsh was in next, his bolt pistol up. Staring back at him were many hundreds of civilians. They huddled together briefly, braced for the end, then stood with wide, hopeful eyes. Expecting a plethora of orks, Marsh's overwhelming relief left him just as stunned as them.
He holstered his weapon and held up his hand. "Cadia's calling!" he yelled. "You are liberated!" This resulted in an uproar of sobbing, cheering, and praying. People ran up to Bloody Platoon to grasp their hands and touch their uniforms. Many were kissed and embraced. One man clutched Marsh's hands in his own and squeezed them.
"Thank the Emperor you heard our message!" he exclaimed. "The courage it must have taken to get here! Thank you, sir!"
"Thank my comrades, for it was not my valor alone that brought us here. They had a thing or two to teach me about bravery." Marsh turned around as Bloody Platoon clustered around him, battered, bruised, bloodied, and beautiful. "And for that, they deserve all our thanks."