There were only a few days to get Hyram ready before the sweep and clear operation commenced. Marsh Silas spent it wisely, first focusing on getting the man sober with plenty of PT and then getting him to the range. Other NCOs covered his duties while he spent hours with him, practicing with his M36, Defender Pattern laspistol, grenades, bayonet, and even his power sword. They practiced hand-to-hand combat and drilled in small unit tactics, hand signals, and Vox-communications. But they also spent hours learning to march, how to salute properly, how to project’s one voice, and instill discipline in troops. In three days, Hyram showed grit and determination despite how much he suffered. He did not complain once and Marsh thought he even enjoyed himself at some points. He was by no means an expert warrior yet, but he was in much better shape than before.
Then the day came. Army’s Meadow grew alive with activity. The 1333rd Cadian Regiment assembled in the main compound overlooked by regiment headquarters. All three companies were arrayed in crisp, khaki winter fatigues and new white liners over their olive drab Flak Armor. All their wargear was cleaned and covered with purity seals. Every man stood rigidly with his M36 over his shoulder. Bayonets were fixed and they glinted in the pale sunlight. Their breath was visible in the morning air.
The first platoon of each company was standing in the front ranks with their Command Squad standing two paces ahead. In front of those troopers were the Company Command Squads arrayed with their color-bearers. Dozens of flags waved in the offshore breeze. With them stood Commissars, priests, Enginseers, and Sanctioned Psykers in full battle regalia. Across from the main body of the regiment were Inquisitor Barlocke, Colonel Isaev, Commissar Ghent, intelligence officer Captain Giles, his adjutant Lieutenant Eastoft, and the rest of the colonel’s massive staff.
A convoy of Chimeras as well as Sentinels and Leman Russ tanks detached from the 227th Cadian Armored Regiment were lined up along the entire roadway which snaked along the peninsula. Even the Basilisk detachment Bloody Platoon rescued were among them. Engines invigorated by their Machine Spirits growled and Aquila emblems shone on the barrels of Battle Cannons.
It was an awesome display of power. Marsh Silas, standing with Hyram, Drummer Boy, Babcock, and Honeycutt, could feel the strength of the entire force in his bones. To see so many gleaming arms and craft bristling with weapons inspired every Guardsman from the grimmest Veteran to the freshest Whiteshield. One look and his heart swelled with pride for his Cadian heritage. It was enough to make a man drop to his knees in exaltation to the Emperor. He was ready to go!
“Men of the 1333rd Regiment!” Barlocke called through a Vox-amplifier. “Lying before us is an honorable duty: to clear the hinterland of heretics, destroy his havens, and evacuate any loyalists we rescue. This is the first step towards crushing this heresy. Before we depart, I wish you to witness one final display of Imperial power so you shall always remember who are the rightful inheritors of the stars!”
As he removed his hat, there was a scream of engines. Everyone looked up to see a formation of five Avenger strike aircraft scream by. Looking past the bluff, they watched them contour fly across the channel towards Kasr Fortis. Bobbing at the docks were their fleet of crude boats and motor vessels which had tantalized the regiment for so long. At once, their full armament was unleashed; Bolt Cannons, Lascannons, and Hellstrike missiles bombarded the small fleet. Engines detonated, hulls buckled, and burning hulks slipped beneath the waves.
The Avengers banked in perfect unison, gained altitude, and flew over Army’s Meadow. All the cheering Guardsmen waved their helmets and hats. Barlocke held his own up as well. “The enemy shall no longer invade our shores! Prepare yourselves and harden your hearts! We shall tear the enemy from his hideaways! They will rue the day they dared to cross the warriors of Cadia!”
The ovation went on until the officers called upon their men to standby to embark. The companies broke down into their platoons and marched along the road to reach their Chimeras. Bloody Platoon, being the first platoon of the first company, had the honor of riding in the APCs towards the head of the column, right behind the regimental staff and their armored escort.
Men spoke heartily as they lit lho-sticks or quickly scarfed down a dry ration. They formed circles, knelt, and prayed together. A few prayed in solitude. Others patted down each other’s rucksacks and pooled their wargear. Cartridge belts bulged with extra charge packs and autopistol magazines. Some men wore an extra bandoleer or even two across their chestplates. Frag and Krak grenades were arranged on their webbing. A few taped magazines to their ankles, biceps, and helmets. Scabbards containing trench and combat knives were secured to accessible points, such as the forearm.
Walking with Lieutenant Hyram further away from the men, Marsh Silas motioned towards the platoon.
“One o’ the first things you have to know as a platoon leader is what kinda men you’re leading. All of these Shock Troopers are qualified Veterans. They’ve seen a lot o’ action. But look closely and you’ll see it’s not just an issue of experience. There are a few really smart fellows among them and you’d be wise to always call on them for aid.”
These were men like Honeycutt, the platoon medic. He was the sole authority on medical matters both on and off the battlefield. The Field Chirurgeons in each squad were all personally trained by him and answered to him. What’s more, he was the only man in Bloody Platoon who saw action outside of Cadia which made him an invaluable asset. Each squad possessed a Voxman but Drummer Boy was Hyram’s personal operator. It was more than just turning knobs, pressing buttons, and relaying messages. Drummer Boy cared for the code books and monitored multiple networks for situational updates across the sector. He was also a technician who could repair Vox-casters and micro-beads. He was their link to support of any kind—Hyram was to wear Drummer Boy like a glove.
Then there was his close friend Arnold Yoxall. On the surface, he was just the platoon Breacher but that did not bestow proper dignity to his station. Many Veteran Guardsmen were proficient demolitionists themselves from field experience and training course attendance. But Yoxall studied at advanced sapper and engineering scholas. A Guardsman could lob a satchel charge into a bunker and blow it to pieces. Yoxall could plant three small charges in a spire and send it crumbling into a neat little pile. Like all the other Special Weapons squad members—Bullard with his long-las, Tatum who carried the Flamer, and Hitch and Derryhouse who toted Plasma Guns—he was experienced with non-standard wargear. That skill was useful on a battlefield when a Guardsman could no longer rely on his bayonet.
Walmsley Major was another important figure. While he might have seemed like a mass of muscle whose only proficiency was in shooting big guns, there was more to his position. His knowledge regarding Heavy Bolters, mortars, Lascannons, and missile launchers was sophisticated; knowing how to quell their Machine Spirits and their proper maintenance was just as crucial as firing them. As the senior Heavy Weapons Squad leader, he also knew how to bring heavier guns into a fight and knew their tactical implementation in a battlefield. Hyram could trust him to make decisions when entrenching and ambushing.
“Sergeants are the backbone o’ any platoon,” Marsh Silas continued. “Holmwood, Mottershead, Queshire, Walmsley Major, Foster, and Stainthope have all led soldier’s lives. They’ve got more time in so ply them for advice. Trust your NCOs and they shan’t lead you astray. They’ve got a degree of aut…auto…”
“Autonomy?”
“Yes, that’s the word, methinks.”
“A few very smart men,” Hyram said attentively. “But what does that make the others?”
“A bunch o’ really mean fellows!” Marsh replied with a proud grin. “These are grunts who know how to use a bayonet and ain’t afraid of a close fight. They won’t break easily and they’ll battle tooth and nail to take or hold a position. Cadian Shock Troopers are some o’ the best men the entire Guard has to offer in the first place. Professional soldiers, the lot of’em. But Veteran Guardsmen? Woe to any who get in our way!”
They stopped a short distance away from Master Sergeant Tindall’s Chimera, allowing the flowers to sway around their legs. Hyram hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and smiled at the platoon as they waited to mount.
“A few smart fellows and a lot of very mean ones. Why, that seems like a magnificent group to go to war with.”
“Exactly!”
“What else do you think I should know about the boys?”
Marsh’s smile dropped instantly. He put a hand on Hyram’s shoulder plate to get his attention. His expression was serious but not unkind.
“No disrespect sir, but don’t be calling them boys. They’re men. Not so many Guardsmen get to live so long and they’ve earned it.”
“You’re quite right. My apologies.” Hyram looked a little embarrassed as he rubbed the back of his neck. His gaze started to fall to his boots. Marsh pursed his lips.
“I’m being straight with you, Lieutenant. If you could pick your men, these are the ones you’d want to take out. But if they had a pick o’ officers, they wouldn’t choose you. But these fellas are loyal soldiers. You give them an order and they’ll follow it.”
“But what if I issue a bad one? What if I make a mistake?”
“Well, that’s a part o’ war. But worry not, for I’ll be there,” Marsh replied with a laugh. “I’m no General Mansfeld, but I sure know a thing or two about tac-tics.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“Do your best not to worry. Lieutenant Overton was of fine character and an able commander. He was a very good friend, too.” Marsh folded his arms across his chest and looked at his boots. “Guess that’s part o’ the reason why I was so hard on you.”
“I don’t blame you. I’m the poorest soldier in this entire regiment. Probably the entire sector, I reckon.”
“Whiteshields don’t become Guardsmen overnight, sir. It takes years o’ training. It won’t be that way forever. I’m going to be with you every step of the way. But you can’t be an empty uniform. You’re going to have to…” Marsh paused, smirked, and chuckled a little. “…make decision. You’ll have choices to make. These men are depending on you to make those decisions.”
“Thank you, Staff Sergeant.”
Hyram stood up straighter than ever and nodded. A different air hung around him suddenly. Nervousness still filled his eyes and his hands were excitedly twitching. Yet, there was a renewal of energy and a wave of determination which settled in his brow and jaw. It was that same reservoir of grit and courage which opened during their rescue mission. With such energy he kept pace on the march, gave orders to the men, and committed to the fight. Looking at him again, Marsh Silas saw that the reservoir was ready to spill over once more. Somewhere inside you, he thought, is a Cadian Shock Trooper.
It was almost time to jump-off. Marsh and Hyram joined the rest of the Platoon Command Squad and some members of 1st Squad at Master Sergeant Tindall’s Chimera. Naturally, Barlocke was already waiting for them. As they crossed the field, another APC rolled by them. Everyone watched it halt in the compound. Figures in black coats and high-peaked caps disembarked.
“What’s this? More Commissars?” Babcock asked, leaning on the shaft of the standard.
“Junior Commissars by the look o’ them,” Holmwood said.
“Good, they arrived on schedule!” Barlocke chimed. Everyone snapped in his direction. Marsh Silas looked at him in shock. “What? Commissar Ghent complained that the number of Commissars was insufficient regarding the number of enlisted men in the regiment. So, I requested Cadian High Command to reinforce us with anyone they had available. Only fitting that our Commissars should have assistance in their duties.”
Marsh grabbed Barlocke by the arm and drew him to the other side of Chimera. He didn’t care who noticed.
“What are you cooking up here? Is this another one of yer little schemes?”
“Oh, whatever do you mean?” Barlocke cooed. When Marsh’s expression didn’t change, the Inquisitor frowned. “You’re no fun.”
“Commissars are just as ready to shoot us as they are the enemy! Putting us out in the field with one is probably riskier than leaving without one. They ain’t gonna put their lives on the line for us.”
“You have a fear of Commissars and I cannot say I blame you. But I have great plans to make our people truly one and if we fear one another, we shall always be divided. So, you shall be accompanied by one of these Junior Commissars. Maybe you can learn something from, or maybe they’ll learn from you. I told you I would teach you and this is another lesson, Marsh Silas.”
Marsh groaned at the sky, turned, and let his helmeted head fall against the Chimera hull.
“We’re gonna die.”
“Why not take after Asiah and try to have hope for a change? Junior Commissars must request authorization before executing a man. Stop being so gloomy, your smile is far more handsome than your frown.”
“Flattery won’t make me feel better,” Marsh Silas grumbled as they walked back around the Chimera. Commissar Ghent and one of the new arrivals was already present. She looked very strong and courageous, cutting an impressive enough posture that she should have been featured on a recruiting poster. But her gaze was lethal and her expression hard; Marsh could not help but feel intimidated. Although he wished to distance himself, he did not want to draw attention and just looked on with the others.
“Lieutenant Hyram, I’m attaching Junior Commissar Carstensen to 1st Platoon. She shall assist you in the upkeep of your men’s morale, discipline, and spirituality. You may consider her subordinate to your command but understand she reports directly to me.”
“Yes, Commissar Ghent!” Hyram said.
“She is the most experienced and decorated of this squad, so it is only fitting she joins the first of the first.” Ghent eyed Marsh Silas warily. “Isn’t that right, Staff Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir! The platoon must not be beat!” Marsh replied enthusiastically, hoping it’d be enough to divert Ghent’s attention. Thankfully, the Regimental Commissar nodded, saluted Barlocke, and returned to Colonel Isaev.
“Inquisitor, sir, it is an honor to be seconded to your command,” Carstensen said, standing at attention and saluting. Barlocke just waved his hand instead of reciprocating the gesture.
“Your name, please?”
“Junior Commissar Lilias Juventas Carstensen!”
Her officer’s dress was immaculate; a high-collar black leather coat with crimson lapels, olive drab Flak Armor, dark gray bloused trousers, gold-braided shoulder boards, and her crimson high-peaked cap bore a silver winged skull icon. Although similar to the Astra Militarum’s emblem, the wings were further down and slimmer.
Her cartridge belt contained Bolt Pistol magazines. The weapon occupied a large leather holster on her left hip. Although it was a basic pattern, a rail was attached along the top of the weapon which afforded a reflex sight. Instead of carrying a Chainsword or other kind of blade, she wore an olive-drab power fist on her right hand. It bore four bolts across the knuckles and two horizontal supplemental plates across the top of the hand. Two semicircular plates were attached to the fist and engulfed her entire forearm. Each finger joint was segmented into flexible sheathes, providing full dexterity to the user.
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Carstensen was very serious looking, even for an officer of the Officio Prefectus. Part of her right eyebrow was sheared away by what looked like a laser burn. A faded but noticeable scar ran from the left corner of her mouth all the way back to the end of her jaw. Her fiery orange hair was not bound by a tie and fell all the way to the bottom of her neck. Rather than giving her a shaggy appearance, it made her look all the more ferocious. The pug nose complemented her strong jaw and cheekbones. Her eyes were a vivid mixture of green and blue, like the channel surf just before a wave broke. They were incredibly piercing.
“I am Lieutenant Hyram,” the platoon leader greeted. “Have you everything you need? Ammunition? Supplies?”
“Enough, thank you, sir,” she said, motioning to the rucksack she carried on her back. “I am up to date regarding the current operation. If you’ll patch me into your platoon-net and introduce me to the squad leaders, that will be fine, sir.”
Marsh Silas felt a hand on his back prod him forward.
“Introductions, my friend,” Barlocke whispered. Marsh cleared his throat and stood at attention.
“Staff Sergeant Silas Cross, platoon sergeant! Most call me Marsh Silas, ma’am.”
He expected a repudiation regarding his war name. Informal names were not even used among anyone in the officer’s corps and the Commissariat’s members were even less interested. But Carstensen merely nodded in greeting and proceeded to meet with the other NCOs. But there was little time. Captain Murga jumped on top of his Chimera and swung his hand in the air.
“Mount up!” he hollered. Marsh Silas found a seat with Barlocke at the forward section of the troop bay. Carstensen sat on his other side. He glanced at her nervously but she just looked forward. Looking ahead as well, he did his best not to appear put-upon.
***
Like the village they encountered before, the first hamlet they reached possessed no official name on the map. Occupying a slice of flatlands that made up the deeper western part of the hinterland, it possessed no distinctive geographical landmarks nearby. Most of the buildings were two stories tall and were guarded by small walled compounds. Much of the rockcrete was old and damaged, leftover from some ancient hard-fought battle. Pockmarks from bullets, lasgun burns, and nicks from shrapnel decorated every wall.
From the parallel array of the structures, it was once a housing quarter for troops. Running east to west in three rows, it was far larger than the ones they encountered before. There were over two dozen houses as well as several outlying buildings. At the end of the roads was a very long Firestorm Redoubt. Although the larger guns were long removed, the bunker remained and many of its ports overlooking the town.
By this time, the 1333rd Regiment splintered into three columns organized by companies. After arriving and clearing their first targets, they would proceed on foot. 1st Company would move parallel to 2nd Company across the center of hinterland, avoiding the rocky barrows which they crossed on foot before. Then, they would move south and follow the coast. 2nd Company would have the honor to pierce into the central countryside while 3rd Company would sweep across the north, clearing villages and catching any fleeing traitors if they tried to escape.
1st Company’s Chimeras formed a coil perimeter one hundred meters outside the village. Murga established his command post within the center of the coil.
“One-Six this Primus Six, over,” Marsh heard Murga say via the Vox-link.
“Primus Six, One-Six, send traffic, over.”
“One-Six, dismount and proceed up the low road. Elements two and three will proceed in the adjacent roads. Clear the neighborhoods, evacuate civilians, collect any useful supplies and information, and stay vigilant for hostiles. Watch for snipers, out.”
The ramps dropped and Bloody Platoon fell out. There was a great deal of shouting over the engines as each unit formed up and proceeded into the streets. Hyram was already giving orders.
“Sergeant Walmsley, form a security cordon at the end of the street and provide overwatch. Holmwood, Stainethrope, clear the compounds on the right side of the road, I’ll take the left with Queshire. Mottershead, I need you on escort duty for civilians. Keep them separate from potential suspects.”
Marsh Silas and Barlocke remained with the lead element. They crept up to the first house, weapons in a low-ready posture, and stacked up at the door.
“Excited?” the Inquisitor asked.
“Overjoyed,” Marsh said, grimacing as Carstensen passed by to join the Lieutenant in front. “Listen, I made my choice,” the platoon sergeant said quietly. “I’m doing my best with Hyram but she won’t understand that. She’ll report us to Ghent and we both know what he’ll do.”
“Bolt shells and headshots?” Barlocke replied merrily. “Try considering she might actually help keep some of your men alive.”
“That’s a joke, isn’t it?”
Hyram knocked on the door and it was answered by a terrified looking elderly woman. Nobody relaxed their posture, knowing it could be a trap.
“Madam, I am Lieutenant Hyram of the 1333rd Cadian Regiment seconded to the Ordo Hereticus. By order of the Inquisition and Cadian High Command, you are to be removed from your current place of residence and relocated to Kasr Sonnen. You will be provided transport. You may take one bag per member of the household. Prior to vacating, you must submit to a search of the premises.”
For nearly a minute the old woman stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Eventually, with tears in her eyes, she ushered them inside. Hyram waved the squads in. As he ushered the woman and her family to their rooms to collect their belongings, the squad tore the house apart. Scratch-built cupboards and bureaus were busted open. Chairs and stools were smashed against walls. What little cushioned furniture they owned was ripped open with knives. Men slid their bayonets into sacks of rice and kicked jars open. When it was found these were not contaminated nor contained anything illegal, some of the men siphoned the contents into small cans to bring with them. All the rest was seized by Administratum personnel who would ensure these foodstuffs would enter kasr granaries.
Marsh Silas ventured into a backroom on the second floor with his M36 raised. After checking his corners and opening the chests, he came across a flimsy wooden pedestal by the window. Prairie flowers and bushels of fluffy tundra grass were arrayed in a circle around a golden figurine on a stone-carved block. Smiling, the platoon sergeant knelt and made the Sign of the Aquila.
“I doubt there are heretics hiding in this home,” Marsh said.
“Agreed,” Barlocke replied and clasped his hands together.
When they came back downstairs, they found Father Kine and his menials collecting other holy icons. He reviewed the family and declared their piety sufficiently cleared them of any accusations of faithlessness. Guardsmen took the old woman, her husband, two middle-aged women, and two young boys outside.
It became a repetitive process. They would prepare to breach, knock, and upon being greeted by squatters, would clear the house. Any approved religious objects except for personal prayer beads and Ecclesiastic totems were acquired by the Adeptus Ministorum. Food was also seized to be shipped back to the kasrs.
“Here I was expecting a fight,” Marsh said to Hyram as they approached the final house on their side. Although the squads were maintaining their breaching protocols, they were walking more comfortably now.
“I don’t want to assume there are no heretics among them. Kine and his preachers will conduct more searches later on, however.” Marsh Silas knocked on the door this time and stood by. As they waited, Hyram turned to face Carstensen who stood close to the pair. “Not as terribly exciting as compared to what you’re used to, I’m sure.”
Carstensen just made a small grunt. Indeed, she’d seen plenty of action even though he estimated she was only older by a few solar years.
“Knock again, Staff Sergeant,” she said as she drew closer, learly impatient. Marsh slammed the bottom of his fist against the wooden boards.
“Open up, tis the Inquisition and Imperial Guard!”
“The Inquisition?” came a muffled voice accompanied by footsteps.
“Yes, now open this door!”
“Ah yes, certainly. Right away.” The footsteps suddenly ceased.
“Sergeant, move!” Carstensen screamed. Just as he turned, she tackled him to the ground. A barrage of automatic fire ripped through the door and showered them with splinters. They covered their heads while everyone else scattered. Something hard hit Marsh Silas on his helmet and bounced off. Before he could even see what it was, Carstensen lobbed it over the compound wall. The grenade exploded on the other side.
Lasbolts peppered the doorway and the window above it. Hyram led some Guardsmen to the opposite side of the door. Gauging his moment, he peeked around the corner, loosed several lasbolts, and ducked back as bullets tore through the frame. By now, the door was reduced to pieces.
Carstensen and Marsh got to their feet and stacked against the other side. “Grenade,” she ordered. Marsh plucked one from his webbing. She removed the pin, dropped the spoon, and whipped it inside. “Frag out!”
There was a dull detonation and the firing ceased. As fast as a gust of wind Carstensen charged in with her Bolt Pistol and Marsh was right behind her! Two dead heretics were on the floor and one was trying to get up. She fired one shot and the bolt tore open his back, shattered his spine, and blasted away flesh.
Hyram led the others in and they started clearing the first-floor rooms. Marsh followed Carstensen up the stairs. She walked deliberately, keeping her Bolt Pistol up, while the platoon sergeant stayed to the side with his M36 poised. At the top of the landing, they came to a reinforced door. It was locked and Marsh tried to kick it, but it still wouldn’t budge.
“We’ll need explosives to open this,” he said.
“No, we won’t,” Carstensen said confidently.
She held up her power fist and activated the energy cell. One wispy tendril of bluish energy sparked from it, then another, and another. They fluttered like smoke and flames, forming and breaking. Roiling and rolling over the gauntlet, they united into a sheet of pure blue which enveloped the power fist. Gritting her teeth, she reared her arm back and hit the door.
It was torn off its hinges and thrown across the room, knocking a heretic over. Carstensen ran in and struck one man in the stomach with her fist. The impact forced him against the wall and opened his belly at the same time. Blood and pulverized organs spilled out. When the other attempted to bring his autogun to bear, she backhanded it so hard the barrel was torn off. Just as he tried to draw his pistol, she hit him against the wall. His chest caved in, the ribs disappeared, and with a sickening crack his head opened. Blood splashed on the rockcrete wall.
Groaning, the third tried to crawl out from under the door. Carstensen flung the door off him with her fist, smashing it into particles against the wall. Before the heretic could crawl away, she yanked him to his feet and punched him squarely in the face. His jaw broke away, his face inverted, and the back of his skull opened. The corpse crumbled against the wall.
Carstensen turned around with flecks of blood on her cheeks. “Clear!” she declared after catching her breath. Marsh Silas merely regarded her from the door. The Junior Commissar went over to the window. “Look, Staff Sergeant!”
He hurried over. The entire town was erupting into battle. Grenades detonated within compounds and houses. Guardsmen stormed into buildings while heretics poured out of others. Missiles and grenade launchers pummeled second floor windows. Red, blue, and golden lasbolts arced across the road while crimson tracers flew from the windows of the old redoubt.
Hyram and the others joined them at the top. The junior officer leaned out and surveyed the scene.
“We need to seize the redoubt or else they’ll just keep suppressing our friendly elements. Look, 1st and 6th Squads have seized the last house across from us. It’s closer to the redoubt. Do you think we can take it by storm?”
“If we can attack from that house and with enough covering fire, we can do it,” Marsh Silas said.
“I’ll move 2nd Squad and our weapons teams to this position to cover you and I’ll coordinate tank support as well. Take Holmwood, get across the road, and breach that bunker. Use smoke to conceal your movements.”
“Yes, sir! On me, 1st Squad!”
They were joined by Barlocke, Carstensen, and Babcock. They assembled by the compound entrance and waited. A tank shell whizzed by and slammed into the bunker. The automatic fire within ceased only for a moment. Walmsley Major, Mottershead, and the others used the Leman Russ for cover until it stopped parallel to the entrance. They darted past them and into the house. Within moments, Heavy Bolter tracers and Autocannon shells were crashing against the enemy’s firing ports. Both sponson-mounted Heavy Bolters and the hull-mounted Lascannon erupted.
Marsh Silas waited for the Heavy Stubber fire to die down. When they stopped to reload, he waved his arm. “Follow me!”
They sprinted across the street in a large mass. Men held onto their helmets as bullets kicked up dirt and snapped over their heads. Storming through the compound gates, they didn’t stop and went right into the house. “Friendlies! Friendlies!” Marsh shouted.
He conveyed the plan to Queshire and Holmwood. The house was walled in but Yoxall said he could breach them with explosive charges. They would exit via two gaps, cross the sunken road which separated the bunker from the three perpendicular neighborhoods, and clear it out.
Reassembling outside, they waited behind the walls of the house for Yoxall to plant the explosives.
“Loud noises!” he shouted as he ran back. “Cover your ears!” They hunkered down and he pushed the plunger. Both charges blew and the rockcrete was reduced to piles of blocks.
“Smoke!”
He, Holmwood, Queshire, and Stainthorpe each threw one. All four grenades popped and thick, white clouds billowed in front of the bunker.
“Yoxall, Tatum with me! Advaaaance!”
“For the Emperor, chaaarge!” Holmwood hollered.
“For Emperor and Imperium, let’s go, go, go!” Queshire screamed.
Roaring, the squads broke through the gaps and fired from their hips. Men lobbed grenades and satchel charges through slits and firing ports. Detonations rocked the interior. Some switched their firing modes to fully-automatic and blind-fired directly into the ports. Tatum jammed the barrel of his Flamer directly into the main firing slit and let loose a gout of fire. When he withdrew, burning heretics squeezed out of the ports. All were finished with bayonet strikes.
With the men now stacked up against the bunker, Marsh went over to the entrance with Yoxall. The Breacher placed another charge on the heavy armored door on the right side of the complex. Marsh ordered Logue and Foley to take point. Both men switched to their secondary arms; the former his custom autopistol and the latter his shotgun. When the charge tore the door open, grenades were flung in, and then they followed.
The interior was a mess of flames, smoke, and muzzle flashes. Foley moved left, Logue ducked right, and Marsh took the center. They fired at the silhouettes which moved about the bunker. A bullet hit him in the chestplate, knocking him back. Carstensen quickly took his place, slamming away at the enemy with her Bolt Pistol. Forming a wedge, the Guardsmen pierced the interior. Marsh heard screams as they descended on the surviving enemy with bayonets. One heretic blew past Carstensen for the door. Queshire grabbed this man by his shirt and yanked him back right onto Marsh’s bayonet.
A revving noise filled the bunker. Rail-mounted lamp packs revealed an armored foe wielding a Chainsword. Before anyone could fire, he lunged at Logue. The corporal was forced to retreat, cutting along their lines of fire. But Carstensen raced forward. When he swung the growling blade at her, she caught it with her active power fist. The machine ground against the gauntlet and the rest of the blade’s teeth chipped off one by one. She released a war cry and tore it from him so hard it took part of his arm with it. When he feebly swiped with a secondary blade, she duck down, pressed the Bolt Pistol against his gut, and fired. The shell broke through his armor and sent him crumpling to the floor.
“Clear!”
The call of, ‘clear!’ started to rise all over the town and over the platoon-net. After checking for further heretics, the Guardsmen emerged and reassembled in front of the tank. As they walked over, Marsh noticed Carstensen approaching a wounded heretic attempting to drag himself away. She finished him with a bolt and, quite unconcerned, rejoined the main party.
“Aren’t you glad I brought her?” Barlocke asked Marsh. The platoon sergeant gazed at him with disinterest.
“Yes, yes, you’re just so smart,” he muttered. Out of the crowd of troops came Hyram, smiling happily and Marsh was happy to report they received no casualties.
“Good show of it, Marsh Silas!” he praised.
“The credit is yours, sir, ‘twas a bold and daring plan,” Marsh replied. Hyram bashfully shrugged as the men tapped him on the helmet, shoulder, or back.
“Well, I have a long way to go,” Hyram said modestly.
“A long way, indeed!” Barlocke exclaimed. “We’ll be out here for some time and I assure you all, there will be plenty of opportunities to prove yourselves. Are you ready?”
Marsh Silas, Hyram, and Carstensen each exchanged a glance before looking at the Inquisitor.
“We’re ready!”