Chapter 21
"Stand your ground!" Sergeant Zeax called, "We hold this position and nothing gets through!" The Devastators complied, planting their feet wide and bracing their Heavy weapons. Ten Brothers, leal and true and unflinching in the face of danger. They had good reason to be. Devastators had the longest reach of any, their guns mighty and courage boundless. Not for them the bounding charge into the fray, or the defiant sword raised to the sky. They had won a thousand battles through accuracy and fortitude, not to mention the direct application of firepower.
Sergeant Zeax stood at their fore, his determination greater than any. Blunt and straightforward, uncaring for fancy notions of personal glory, he saw the quickest way to end this conflict was to take out the Enginarium, and so had positioned his squad outside its towering doors. Crewmen raced to get past, seeking shelter but his eyes were on the distance, where shadowy figures loomed. The enemy were coming.
"Clear the fire zones!" Zeax shouted. The crew barely heard him, running in terror from what was behind. The Sergeant's ire rose, he needed a clear shot and the mortals were denying him. It would be easy to shoot through them, the loss of bolter shells would be marginal, but the Storm Herald's doctrines on culling civilians were clear. Zeax had often found that ironic, given how many bystanders they killed every time they magma bombed a city, but on such hypocrisies was the Imperium built. Something he did not comment on in front of the Chaplains.
"Clear the deck!" Zeax bellowed at maximum volume but to no effect. "Clear or we will fire! Brothers, raise arms! Take aim! On the count of five open fire… one… two… three… Four…" His bellows finally penetrated the crowd's minds and they dove aside, parting left and right to form a clear lane down the middle. Zeax smiled coldly under his helm, his words had had the desired effect. The way was clear.
Brother Rawael dared to ask over the vox, "Brother-Sergeant, would you have finished giving that order?"
"Stand-by to engage," Zeax deflected as he peered down the corridor.
Far away, but not far enough hulking shapes approached, closing rapidly. Inhumanly large and freakishly swollen. Zeax judged them lacking in ranged arms but supremely dangerous at close quarters. It was imperative that they be kept at a distance, thankfully his squad was ideally armed for that task.
"Heavy weapons: pick targets and engage on my command… shoot!" Zeax bellowed. Four Heavy bolters let rip as one, hurling mass-reactives downrange. The torrent of shots was astounding, the noise of discharge hammering at his ears. Brass bolt-casings spilled from ejection ports, piling up at their feet and the smell of cordite penetrated his breathing grille, familiar as his own stench. The effect was impressive, several hulking shapes went down, torn to shreds but not enough to stop them.
"Bolters, on my mark… shoot!" Zeax roared. Five bolters added their fury, precise shots added to the washing torrents of the heavier guns. Devastators knew well the speed battle could shift unfavourably and so the Heavy Weapon troopers were protected by more flexibly armed Brothers. At Zeax's command they added their weight to the barrage, culling several more monstrosities.
The space was filled with lightning and thunder, crewmen pressing themselves to the walls, many of them with ears bleeding as the cacophony ruptured tympanic membranes. Zeax ignored them, seeing the true foe closing. Despite the onslaught they came on, ignoring their dead, many with gaping craters in their flesh. The range was shrinking, the enemy unstoppable, they would be in arms reach in moments.
Withdraw and reposition, tactical squad doctrines would have demanded, create flanking crossfires and divide their attention. Counter-charge, assault squad doctrines would have decreed, take the initiative and rob the enemy of momentum. Trust in chainsword and strength of arm. That was not the way of the Devastators, they were the solid wall against which enemies broke, the unconquerable bastion, the locked door that held the rabid wolf of night at bay. They stood their ground and kept firing, battering the enemy down one inch at a time. Indomitable, unyielding, defiant to the bitter end.
Zeax saw the foe was about to rush them and prepared to greet them. Many times had this moment come, many times had he been called upon to fight hand to hand so his Squadmates could continue to lay down lashings of firepower. He would be their bulwark, the single defence between the heavy guns and the enemy. The last line of defence. Zeax lifted his Thunder hammer in one hand and his Storm Shield in the other as he stepped forward to greet the foe and snarled, "Here I stand. I am the mountain set against the wind. I am the gate that will not break! I am the line you shall never cross!"