Was rereading and got caught up in a minor thought:
Lieutenant Katra Cycinge of the USA leapt from the watchtower, landing on the ground below. She wasn't entirely sure whether it was the advanced carapace armor she had been issued, the blessings of Khorne, or the Liberator's training regimen, but despite the nearly twenty foot drop, all she needed was to let her knees flex and she was moving forward.
The Valhallan soldiers reacted to her approach, forming a sudden human wall between her and her target, but rather than force her way through, she simply raised her voice. "Sergeant Mattice, get the gates open and open up the armory." She didn't have to yell, they both had comm-beads, but it should and did confuse the Valhallan prisoners.
The senior officer pushed his way through the mass of unarmed soldiers. "What's going on, Lieutenant?" he asked, though there was just a hint of a pause before the rank as there always had been. As she was the only officer amongst the guards and the only one who dealt with the prisoners, she couldn't tell if it was because she was a woman, former PDF, or a follower of the Lord of Battle. But it hardly mattered.
"Orks," she said bluntly. A ripple of concern and hatred ran through the soldiers around her. "Their fleet was destroyed in orbit, but a lot are making it planet-side. We've got at least three thousand heading this way."
He blinked at her, "You only have eighty-nine guards."
She wasn't thrilled that he knew that, but there was nothing to do about it. The gates to the bunker where her guards lived was grinding open. "By order of the Liberator, you are to be armed so that you may defend yourselves against this enemy. He..." her teeth ground together so loud it was actually audible to someone besides her, "apologizes that we cannot defend you as we swore to do when you surrendered and that we must ask your aid in this matter."
The major stared at her for a moment, then nodded sharply. "We'll need weapons, a lot more than your armory has."
Lieutenant Cycinge did not ask how he knew what weapons their armory had. "The Liberator has ordered an entire weapons shipment diverted here. It will be here in twenty-three minutes. The Orks will be here in fifty-three minutes, unless we can delay them." As she spoke, Sergeant Kreel, who she had just given orders to over the vox finished pulling all the off duty troopers into their armor and was quick-marching them towards her, as the ones on duty likewise formed up on the walls.
The senior officer's eyes flickered over her troops. "Eighty-nine soldiers can't stop three thousand orks."
"No. But we can delay them. We'll set up strong-points on the hills and-"
"Die," the one who spoke this time wasn't the major, but rather a veteran sergeant from one of the other regiments (as almost no one survived Chenkov long enough to truly become a veteran). "They'll overrun ya in seconds. You want to delay them, strike from the sides and get 'em to chase ya. You're fast, you'll keep ahead for a lot longer than if you stand still. You aren't too shit on snow and ice. Be better if you had some crawlers or walkers, but it's the best you can do. If you split your forces up, some might survive 'til we can come rescue your asses, as they'll likely focus on one group at a time."
She paused for a moment, then swallowed her pride. None of her people had ever faced Orks, and everyone knew they were the blood-enemies of the Valhallans, it stood to reason they knew about the beasts. The Liberator's creed was clear, you used the tactics needed to accomplish your mission and bring your people back alive, in that order. Khorne's song might scream at her to rush the mob, but she was an officer, she would do what was needed to succeed. That was what made battle glorious.
"Any other advice?"
"Try to take down the big ones if you can. Keep your distance. That armor of yours probably won't stop a Nob's guns, but anything else you should be good against, but if they get close, those axes will go right through you. And it takes a lot more fire to down them then you think, just because they're on the ground, don't think they're dead."
She nodded slightly, then turned around. Her troops were neatly arrayed in front of her. "Soldiers of the United Slawkenburg Army, of the 36th Regiment, we fight today against those who have invaded our world. Their fleet burns in orbit and we face the remnants of the force which thought to conquer our world. And yet it is enough that we will not survive it. That is not our goal. For the Liberator swore that these men behind me would not be harmed if they surrendered and acted as honorable prisoners. And they have done so. We will see to it that his word is honored, in full, regardless of the cost to ourselves. But I am no tyrant, if any wish to remain behind and fight alongside the Valhallans, rather than to uphold the Liberator's oath, all they need do is cross over and join them."
There was a moment in which no one moved. She smiled and grabbed the helmet from her belt, lifting it above her head. "Well then, sisters, let's show the greenskins what it means to fight the 36th!" as she lowered the helmet over her head she heard the roar of approval from her command and she advanced out the main gate, fifty women at her back as the remainder followed her lead from earlier and simply leapt from the wall, landing in the snow outside and advancing.
She wished they had the numbers to hold the wall, but against the numbers they faced, they simply didn't and arming the Valhallans would take time, far more than the half-hour or so they had. So she would simply need to give them more time. Her troops spread out by squads, most jogging to the sides. They'd take the Valhallan's advice and attack both flanks, then retreat, attempting to pull the Orks away from the prison. Three squads were detailed out front, one to act as scouts and the others to dig themselves under the snow and wait. Once the Orks were past, they'd attack from behind. It was insane to split her already outnumbered forces so, but the goal wasn't to win, it was to draw the wildly aggressive Orks into pursuit and use that to delay them, or even pull them out of position altogether so they missed the prison. Unfortunately, it was the only visible man-made structure, so they were unlikely to miss it.
It was pretty likely the Orks would come after her. Given that her banner-bearer stood behind her, holding the banner of her platoon snapping in the wind, she guessed they'd target that. As she glanced around at her command squad, they hefted their lasguns and Jani gave her a grunt and a glare, "Told you I should have kept the grenade launcher," she muttered.
"Not exactly a precision weapon, which was what we needed for the guard job," Katra noted absently. She trusted Jani, the woman had been with her since before they enlisted, back when they were just a couple of girls on the run from the Gorbias' goons for having the good taste to say 'no' once too often. But the woman had never quite gotten over her belief that bigger was better.
Then there was no more time. They weren't far from the walls, only a three minute march, giving them time to dig in before the Orks arrived. She swept her gaze over the motley tide of green flesh. It didn't look impressive, until you realized the scale of the bloody thing and saw thousands of legs moving with a tireless, brutal grace that ate its way across the snow field. Fortunately, they lacked vehicles, or aircraft, so they had time. A quick order and the double handful of snipers they had began taking aim, waiting for the horde to enter the range of their long-lases. They targetted the big ones, on the advice they'd received, but she admitted to some concern about how effective the small weapons would be against such massive, heavily armored creatures.
A concern which was born out when the first shot just knocked a dent in a helmet. Of the ten sniper shots, only three of the targets actually dropped and one was getting up again. Another was mashed flat by the horde as it suddenly roared and sped up, racing towards her banner. There was only one thing for it, so, despite the sour taste in her throat, she nodded to the rest of her command squad and legged it up the hill, hoping that no one would tell the Liberator about their cowardly retreat. Surely he would understand, they had to do it, to complete the mission he'd given them. But somewhere deep in her soul, she knew that if the Liberator were here, they wouldn't have to retreat. It was only her weakness that made this cowardly tactic necessary.
She glanced back. The Orks were faster than them. Despite their training and the blessing of Khorne, the damn things were catching up. Shots ricocheted off armor, knocking the occasional soldier down, though she was pleased to see their training hold and women helped one another up and along as they continued to sprint off at an angle from the compound. She wished they'd had mines or something, but they didn't. They barely had grenades, just flash-bangs, not the frag or krak grenades which might have actually helped.
Off in the distance, she heard more firing. No she didn't, that was coming over the comm-bead in her ear, she couldn't hear anything over the sound of the wind, her blood pumping in her ear and the screaming mass of barbarians behind her. But somewhere the other teams were firing continuously into the back and flank of the group that was chasing her. Unfortunately, they were running so fast that her ambush had basically failed and everyone else was sprinting after them, firing at the ever more distant enemy that was focused on her group.
As they reached the top of the hill, she realized they weren't going to make it down the side and gave the order, "Grenades."
Her group dropped their flash-bangs as they raced along the top of the hill and as they burst behind them, she gave her last order, "Turn and fire!"
Matching word to deed, she spun, las-pistol rising and firing on one of the momentarily stunned greenskins. It left a scorch mark on his chest, but didn't drop the creature, instead making it focus on her. She wished she had a bolt-pistol, like the Liberator wore. It was no wonder he carried such an effective weapon. But at least she had a chainsword to match his and her shot seemed to have disabled the Ork's left arm, so it struck at her with a one handed blow from its massive cleaver. Which was a mistake, as, ducking under it, she casually disemboweled him with a strike which might have been modeled after the one by which the Liberator had killed that insane inquisitor.
Unfortunately, no power sword fell from the sky to kill the Ork and it twisted the blade and drove it down towards her shoulder, despite the fact that its guts were piling up in the snow, steam pouring from the gaping wound almost as much as blood, given the freezing temperature. Kicking backwards, Katra landed on her back on the snow, in a truly terrible position, but her las-pistol out ranged the axe and a snap-shot to the wounded gut severed its spine, sending it to the ground.
The others were doing better, she noted as she scrambled to her feet and pumped another shot into the Ork's head as it tried to pull its body across the snow towards her. Fully automatic lasgun fire swept the top of the hill, and more flash-bangs swept out, disorienting the Orks that reached the summit. But it couldn't last. It didn't last, not even until they ran out of flash-bangs. More Orks were circling around, but what killed them was the fact that they just couldn't put out enough fire. The moment lasguns began to run dry, the tide of Orks crested the hill and raced towards them, the cry of 'WAAAGH' drowning out the battle cry of 'FOR THE LIBERATOR!' that broke from her throat and those around her, and washing them under in a screaming, hacking, murdering mob which left nothing but bloody snow and corpses behind it.
Then they turned on those who'd been attacking the flanks, and the chase began again.
By the time Major Korzch got his burial details out to find the soldiers who'd slowed the Ork advance enough to let his men get organized, all that was left of Katra Cycinge was dismembered, frozen meat, a broken chainsword, a looted laspistol and a hand, still clutching a combat blade. "Died with her boots on, this one," the Valhallan gathering up the pieces admitted, a bit grudgingly. He didn't want to be on burial detail. Not while his comrades were out hunting down Orks. But the Major had been clear, the locals had done right by them and they'd do right by the locals in turn. Which was fair enough. So he did his best to match the bits up. He might have hurried a bit. After all, soonest done, soonest he got to join the rest on the Ork hunt.