Marsh Silas put everything he had into his sprint. He pumped his legs and his arms whipped. He felt his heart throb in his neck and beat in his ears. Behind him, the chaotic sounds of battle roared but no missiles, mortars, or bullets seemed to fall near him. At first, he thought the enemy was too committed to their defense to bother with a runner. For a moment, a sheer second of utter relief and frenzied, adrenaline-fueled excitement, he laughed.
Incoming, Silvanus! A mortar shell landed nearby and shrapnel tore across his Flak Armour. Heavy Stubber rounds riddled the ground around him. They flew through his pant legs, bounced off his body armor, and shot through the baggier parts of his overcoat. By the Throne, run, man, run!
He went as fast as he could. He jumped over corpses, weaved between destroyed Chimeras, and dipped in and out of shell craters. More firepower targeted him; he didn’t just hear the bullets snapping by his head, he felt them. The air was hot with lead and shrapnel. Without any cover and practically dodging rounds, he felt small and impotent. Inside his mind, Barlocke hyperventilated, filling Marsh’s head with wind. Please run faster...
“I ain’t takin’ no stroll, here!” Marsh belted. Another mortar landed, closer this time. The concussion was enough to stagger him and spray his face with dirt. Recovering, he kept running. “Think you could try an’ help!?”
Without my mortal form!? How can I!? Barlocke’s reply was exasperated. It was eerie to hear him so frantic; in life, the man was so utterly calm in all things whether that was in battle or in camp. Another shell whistled down. “I don’t know! Spot the bloody shells fore’ they come down on me!”
Right, yes! Hold on, hold on...swerve right by one meter, now! Marsh veered away from his current course and hunched over. A mortar round exploded right where he had been going. Find cover, there are long range Heavy Stubber rounds in the air! Marsh dove into a crater and covered his head. Bullets soared through the air over his head and thudded into the lip of the hole. As the firing died down, he scrambled out and kept going. “Ain’t we outta range yet!?” I think so...wait, look out!
The platoon sergeant suddenly felt weightless. He looked down and saw he was off the ground. Then, he came surging towards it. Landing hard on his stomach, he was surprised the wind wasn’t knocked out of him. Tinnitus persisted in his right eardrum and he felt something wet trickling down his back. The weight of his helmet on his brow was also absent. He struggled to pick himself up while mortar shells bracketed him. Continually, he was showered with earth. Shrapnel bounced off his Flak Armor; it felt like someone drumming and punching on his chest piece. Get up, get up, we’re going to get killed!
Heavy Stubber rounds sliced through the air and thudded into the ground. Now on his knees, Marsh groped around for his helmet. Staggering to his feet, he reached for it. Bullets struck the earth around him, shredded the already broken chinstrap, and knocked the helmet away. Without a second thought, he started running back towards the assault trenches.
His breath grew ragged, but then he steadied. Marsh’s violet eyes grew steely. All the muscles in his calves and thighs burned as he pushed himself. The wet, trickling feeling on his lower back faded. Around him, the intensity of mortars and machine gun fire did not daunt him. Even as rounds soared right by his head, he ran undeterred. His eyes remained fixed on that trench. To reach it and save this offensive, that was all that mattered.
Suddenly, it stopped. Without breaking stride, he looked over his shoulder. Explosions blossomed, tracers flashed, and lasbolts glowed all over the hilltops and ridges. But he was out of the wide expanse that was strewn with dead men and broken machines. When he looked ahead, the assault trench was just a few meters away. He skidded up to the edge and looked down. All the Shock Troopers were looking around, confused and dazed.
“What’s the matter with ya!?” Marsh shouted after he caught his breath. “Cadians are dying up there and you’re just sittin’ here! Come on!”
“Staff Sergeant, they killed our lieutenant and are platoon sergeant!” cried a squad leader.
“Don’t argue with me! Before long some damn Commissar is gonna come along an’ execute every single one o’ ya! Get moving!”
“We don’t have a leader!” another wide-eyed trooper said. Marsh Silas stood up, puffed out his chest, and raised his chin.
“You do now. Stand up, for you are blessed by the God-Emperor Himself to be born Cadians. This ain’t just another combat zone: you stand on Cadia! This ain’t an honor, it’s a privilege to fight on such holy ground. This earth doesn’t just belong to the Emperor! It is yours also.” He turned and pointed back to the hill, where tracers flashed and explosions billowed. “A gaggle of them heretical sons o’ bitches think it belongs to them! I don’t know about you but that pisses me off! If their presence, no, existence on your mother soil infuriates you like it does me, then stand up! You are Cadian sons and daughters; when you get moving, nothing stops you!”
A long-range mortar landed nearby. Marsh Silas felt the concussion and the heat. Chunks of soil rained down, some of it spattering his uniform and armor. His blonde hair, thick from being so long in the field, brushed to the side in the wake of the explosion. But he remained standing, his hands curled into fists and his violet eyes gazing defiantly at the young men beneath him.
At first, they gazed dumbly at him. Everyone seemed as if they were just waking up from a long night’s rest. Then, a corporal stood up, followed by the first squad leader. All the squad leaders followed suit, then a handful of troopers; one by one, each of the Shock Troopers rose. Marsh Silas’s heart swelled with pride and he smiled as wide as he ever did to see soldiers reclaim their honor.
He turned around and looked back at that horrible field of death and destruction. Reaching up, he slipped the Ripper Pistol from the leather holster strapped to his torso webbing. Then, he drew his power sword. Activating the hilt, blue energy swirled and wreathed around the blade. At the very tip, an overproduction of energy glowed white hot and eventually broke away. The white sparks briefly flared in the wind before disappearing. Looking over his shoulder, he saw all of the men standing on the parapet, ladders, and ramps leading out of the assault trench. Taking one more breath, he waved his sword in the air. “Follow me!”
The Guardsmen unleashed a furious battle cry and charged into the field. Jumping over craters and bodies, flowing around the destroyed vehicles, the human wave hurled itself forward. Everyone shouted, whooped, and hooted. Some men sang, others raised their voices for prayers of forgiveness from the Emperor. Dozens of feet stampeded on the ground, filling the air with a wonderful, dull, continuous tramping noise. All the while, Marsh Silas waved his sword, turned to face the men, and cheered them. “That’s the style! Come on, men! With me, stay with me! Come on, come on! We’re halfway there now! For Emperor and Imperium!”
“For Emperor and Imperium!”
Withering fire from the top of the enemy positions fell on them. Stray mortar rounds landed and streaks of Heavy Stubber fire crossed the field. Marsh Silas ordered the men to disperse and maintain their intervals. But the heretic’s fire was waning. All along the slopes, Shock Troopers seized enemy positions and knocked out their heavier equipment. Some of the Chimeras even pushed up the inclines to bring their weapons to bear. Hellhounds drove right up to caverns or collided with tunnel entrances just to fill them with fire.
Ahead, Marsh saw the hill they needed to take. Bloody Platoon struggled their way up and met heavy resistance on their side. Some attempted to make a lateral flanking movement across the side of the hill but again they were stopped. Hand grenades flew back and forth. Fleming and other grenadiers arched their weapons and fired over the crest in an attempt to slow enemy reinforcements. More and more climbed the reverse side, adding their weight to the fight. Every position Bloody Platoon took was hard-fought; more than once, he saw them give some ground so as to not be overrun.
They were closing the distance; two hundred meters, one hundred fifty meters, one hundred meters. Then, like that, he was at the bottom of the slope. Crashing down, he waved his sword.
“Grenadiers, deploy here! Get some fire on the top! 1st Squad on the right, 2nd on the left, 3rd and 4th, you’re with me! Plug the gap! Let’s move!”
Lasbots flung towards the exposed heretics. Marsh and his reinforcements caught them right in the middle of their counterattack! Exposed and surprised by the Cadians, the heretics frantically tried to respond. Those who were closer to the bottom fell back. Others turned their autoguns on the new arrivals but found themselves exposed to enfilading fire from Bloody Platoon. Troopers lobbed fragmentation grenades at them. Dull detonations threw dust and rocks into the air. Screams erupted afterwards. Bodies tumbled down the slopes.
Bullets cracked by him and hammered nearby rocks, but Marsh Silas kept pushing up. The moment of the assault was maintained and they needed to pierce the enemy’s counterattack. If they could split their positions, then it would be a matter of mopping up. When he was halfway up, he crouched down and looked back. Cadians were all around him, running from rock to rock or diving into empty fighting holes the enemy deserted. Squad leaders shouted orders and troopers called out targets. “Keep moving, keep moving!” he shouted, waving his pistol. Lasbolts struck the rock he was behind and he crouched down. Peeking back over, he saw a heretic duck back into a hole. He raised his Ripper Pistol, aimed, and peppered the position. In a fury, the heretic jumped back up to shoot but Marsh cut him down first. A burst of automatic fire caught him in the face and he flopped back out of sight.
1st Squad’s flanking movement on the right was working; they steadily cut the enemy’s lines in half. Hunkering down in their hard-won positions, they absorbed any counterattacks the enemy’s squads threw at them. Seizing the initiative, the grenadiers joined them and bombarded the heretics flowing from spider holes and tunnels.
“Grenade!”
Marsh dropped. A nearby explosion rocked his senses but he was spared from the shrapnel. Some cries from below him told him that some of his comrades were not so fortunate. When he got back up, a shotgun blast forced him back down. One heretic came marching down the slope. At his feet was a wounded Guardsman; instead of crawling away, the brave trooper tried to draw his autopistol. But the heretic shot him once through the belly and then again through the face. Seeing Marsh Silas, he turned his shotgun on him and fired before the platoon sergeant. Adjacent to him, another trooper tried to take him out. Just as he leveled his weapon, a shell tore through his throat. Gasping, he clutched his neck and tumbled backwards.
Again, Marsh was driven behind cover by the shotgunner. If he or someone else didn’t shoot the heretic now, it would come down to the sword. But he would be struck down before he had a chance to close the distance. Peeking around as best as he could, the enemy was only a couple of meters away.
Suddenly, there was a blur from the left. Around the side of the hill came Monty Peck. He was without an M36 or an entrenchment tool, having lost both in close combat. From the fighting, he earned a bloody gash down the right side of his face. Undeterred by his lack of weapons and wound, he charged the shotgunner from the side. Before the heretic could bring his weapon around, he was tackled to the ground. But on the slope, they swiftly lost their footing. Monty Peck and the heretic soon tumbled over one another, barreled by Marsh Silas; screaming and battering each other, they disappeared into a crag of rocks.
Every fiber demanded he go search for his friend, but the mission had to come first. Marsh Silas seized the opportunity and surged forward with as many Guardsmen as he could muster. Now three quarters of the way up the hill, they poured heavy fire on the crest. A heretic’s arm appeared and a grenade flew from his grasp. Dropping his weapons, Marsh Silas caught it and hurled it back. It exploded in midair and showered the enemy’s position with shrapnel. Now it became a duel of grenades; heretics and loyal Imperials tossed grenades back and forth at one another. Men who released one just as swiftly caught one more and returned it to the enemy.
Suddenly there was a roar from the other side of the hill. It was a deep, manly, orchestra of shouting. Green helmets appeared adjacent to the crest. Lieutenant Hyram burst into view, waving his power sword and his laspistol. He shot two enemies dead and stabbed a third through the neck. Then, he turned around and shouted for Bloody Platoon to follow him. Seeing his commanding officer leading the charge and hacking his way through the enemy was inspiring!
“Look at him go, just look at him go!” Marsh shouted to no one in particular. Carstensen came up next, caving in a heretic’s skull with her power fist. A nearby heretic aimed his autogun at her and Marsh’s heart dropped. But the Junior Commissar dove to the ground just as the enemy fired; the slugs took off her hat and sent it flying. When she rose, she blasted him to pieces with her Bolt Pistol. Then, with her orange locks waving in the air, she led a detachment of the platoon to the other side of the hill. Not far behind, Babcock stormed to the top, cutting down enemies with his laspistol, and then jumped on a rock. Despite bullets and lasbolts all around, he dropped his weapon, turned around to face the Imperial lines, and began screaming and waving the flag.
Marsh jumped to his feet. “Come on me, follow me!” They issued their own war cry and swarmed up the hill. Heretics were bayoneted in their holes and shot in the back as they retreated. Other Imperial forces from the opposite side of the entire enemy position came into view. Advance forces were already on top of the biggest hill and were firing down at the enemy. But the heretics’ resistance was still stiff. Many were armed with M36 lasguns and were punching through the Flak Armor of many brave Guardsmen.
When the platoon sergeant finally reached the top, he saw Corporal First Class Keach trading blows with a hooded heretic. He was without any of his weapons. Marsh Silas ran over and stabbed the heretic in the back. “Take this!” he ordered, handing him his sword. Keach nodded and kept pursuing the heretics.
Turning around, Marsh found himself face to face with Hyram. Even though the fighting continued to rage, the two friends stopped to embrace one another. Laughing, they parted and clapped each other on the shoulder.
“You made it! Well done, my friend, well done!” Hyram congratulated.
“You sure was inspiring up there, sir!”
Marsh felt happier than he’d ever been to see him. Hyram must have felt the same way, because he wouldn’t let go of him.. Before the conversation could continue, Marsh became aware of the wet feeling on his back. Blinking a little, he jerked his thumb towards it. “I think I’m hit.”
“Sit down, here! Carstensen, keep them moving! Medic!”
It wasn’t long before Honeycutt arrived. The medic took out his kit and turned Marsh Silas around. But then he laughed. Before Marsh could turn around, Honeycutt held Marsh’s canteen in front of his face. A piece of shrapnel had busted through both sides and the water had leaked out. Marsh’s wound was nothing more than a mere graze with a trickling of blood; the rest was all the water from his canteen.
“The Emperor protects,” Marsh breathed, relieved.
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“You know that’ll come out of your wage,” Honeycutt said, tossing it away.
“Come on, we must take the next hill,” Hyram said, pulling the platoon sergeant to his feet. “Follow me, men!”
Bloody Platoon and the survivors from the platoon Marsh led surged down the reverse of the hill. Already, heretics were assembling on the next one. Guardsmen poured heavy enfilading fire down on them from the massive hill above. Forward elements from Bloody Platoon, already in the draw between the newly captured hills and the objective, secured the tunnel entrance. No more heretics could join the fight. Now with a greater momentum and the weight of numbers, the Shock Troopers quickly advanced up the hill. Most moved so fast Hyram, Marsh Silas, and Carstensen fell behind. Withering fire from the top of the final hill sent some troopers behind cover. But hollering and taunting the enemy, Guardsmen hurled grenades and pummeled their positions with lasbolts.
Sergeant Queshire surged up the right flank with Third Squad, overrunning several fighting holes. With him were the Whiteshields led by Clivvy, Tattersall, and Rowley. Marsh Silas ran to join them.
“I tell you Silas,” Queshire said, “these Whiteshields are carrying the day. I’ve hardly had to kill anyone yet! They beat me to it!”
“That’s what I like to hear!” Marsh yelled. “Whiteshields, give me more!”
They were halfway up the slope. A heretic popped up from behind a rock to run. Queshire dove over it, tackled the assailant to the ground, and finished him with a knife. Rowley jammed her bayonet into another’s stomach and she kicked him off. Tattersall took a knee and cut down several enemies with accurate fire. Spotting an enemy Heavy Stubber team attempting to move their weapon, Clivvy led a charge of other Whiteshields and overran their position.
Marsh held up his hand as the line stabilized below the crest. “Halt! Hit them with frags, first! On my count!”
Clivvy, Tattersall, and Rowley each pulled a grenade from their webbing. Marsh slid a finger through the pin of his last one and cocked his arm back. “One, two, three, mark!” Just as they released their grenades, there was a burst of automatic fire from above. A bullet slammed into Clivvy’s arm. She yelped and the live grenade fell from her hand.
“Grenade! Grenade!”
“Roll out!”
“Get down!”
Just as everyone scrambled away, Clivvy stood up, took off her helmet, and covered the grenade with it. She threw her whole body on top of the helmet. When it exploded, she was thrown off to the side and rolled down the hill.
“Clivvy, no!” Tattersall wailed and started to go after him. But Rowley grabbed his arm.
“We have to keep moving!”
“Honeycutt, tend to that Whiteshield!” Hyram ordered. “Come on, you men, move it! The day is almost ours!”
Marsh struggled with his commanding officer, Carstensen, Queshire, 3rd Squad, and the Whiteshields all the way to the top. Above him, there were only a few sporadic bursts of gunfire. By the time he was on the crest, members of Bloody Platoon had finally overrun the enemy position. Wounded heretics screamed as they were hacked to death by 9-70’s or had their throats opened by trench knives. Blood stains and bodies were everywhere. The entire landscape was blasted and smoking from artillery shells. Above them, the sounds of battle continued. But Bloody Platoon and their comrades from the other regiments held fast: they had taken their objectives.
Hyram stuck his sword in the ground, holstered his laspistol, bent over, and held his knees. Marsh Silas was out of breath, too. Nobody could really speak; everyone was catching their breath. The sound of tramping feet made the platoon sergeant turn. Monty Peck, battered and bruised, the legs of his trousers tattered, came jogging up.
“Made it,” he gasped as he slumped down.
“Why, I thought you bought it back on the first hill. Good show, comrade,” Queshire said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Find yerself a weapon, why don’t ya?”
Sliding his own sidearm back into his holster, Marsh walked towards the other side of the hill with Hyram. He hadn’t walked more than a few paces when his foot caught on something heavy and metallic. It was a sharp and sudden enough impact that he fell over it.
“What nonsense,” he muttered. Hyram came up and helped the platoon sergeant to his feet. The Lieutenant was smiling.
“To think the brave Marsh Silas, who crossed the battlefield thrice would be felled by a stone,” he teased.
“Ain’t no stone, it’s metal. Might be unexploded ordnance.” Marsh Silas’s response was based more out of embarrassment; he wanted a quick distraction before anyone could witness his red cheeks. He crouched over the little mound his foot caught and swept the dirt off it. The metal object was round at the top and bone-white. As he removed more of the soil, he found the object was more cylindrical than he realized and it had sharp horns on either side. Digging a little at the front, he was surprised to see the object seemed to have a face like that of a helmet with a visor. Two dark, thin, horizontal eyes were at the top with a vertical line indicating the mask-portion going right down the middle.
Marsh stared at it curiously. Hyram, Carstensen, Monty Peck, Queshire, Rowley, Tattersall, and several other Guardsmen gathered behind him.. Eventually, the platoon sergeant turned to face the others and pointed.. “What the hell is this? What? Why’re ya lookin’ at me like that?”
Everyone’s face went pale and their eyes widened. Marsh looked back at the object. Both eyes glowed red and it spun in the earth to face him. All of a sudden, the earth trembled. At first it was slight, then the shuddering grew more intense. Soil shifted, swathes of the hill disappeared. Troopers slid back down the slopes. Rocks were swallowed up. Marsh Silas felt the ground beneath his feet give way and suddenly he found himself sliding backwards down something hard and bumpy.
Falling onto a bank of earth as it seemed to come apart, he heard the terrible screeching of metal and the thundering of a terrible engine. He and Hyram stood up and found themselves staring at a Defiler. The massive war machine was painted with a muted gray with black and yellow warning stripes across its legs and trim. Long spikes studded its frame, including the rim of the cannon jutting from its boxy center. Standing on four legs, its two arms were raised in the air; at each end were massive claws. Reaper Autocannons were attached to either side of the torso. On either side were Vox-grilles.
The machine’s body turned and looked right at Marsh and Hyram. Both wide-eyed Guardsmen looked back for a moment. Then, a guttural laugh spewed from the Vox-grilles.
“Retreat!” Hyram cried. Marsh Silas unleashed a cry, one of fear rather than zeal, and fired his pistol at it. Each armor-piercing round had no effect. Hyram grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back. All around, troopers raced back down the hill they just took. Some stopped to fire at it but even the highest-charged lasbolts did nothing but char the armor.
Krak grenades from above tumbled down and exploded on the machine. The anti-armor grenades managed to punch a few holes in the armor but the evil machine pivoted on its heels. Raising its autocannons, it unleashed a terrible fusillade against the men on top. Entire lines of men disappeared in the purple tracers. Troopers fell apart, burst, or were ripped to pieces.
A line of brave Shock Troopers held position at the crest of the hill, launching grenades at point-blank range. The machine spun around on its chassis and with one swipe of its arm sent the Cadians flying. Others who dodged the blow were trampled beneath its legs or smashed by its claws. Then, the Defiler chased Bloody Platoon. It moved slowly down the hill, nothing more than an elevated crater now. Daemonic shells ripped through the air, slicing men apart. Sergeant Queshire ushered his squad away and turned to cover them, but his arm was snatched by one of the claws. Suspended in midair, he tore a grenade off his chest and lobbed it at the Defiler. It bounced off and exploded near a joint. But the other claw curled around his body and then they pulled in opposite directions. Queshire’s scream was short; his arm was ripped off his torso and his body was crushed in the claw. Blood seeped down the monster machine’s arm. Opening its grip, Queshire’s limp body tumbled to the ground.
Marsh just kept running, joining the flock of escaping soldiers. Appearing out of the crowd, Carstensen marched towards the metal beast with her Bolt Pistol. He was too far to help, so he waved at the Walmsley brothers, who were forced to abandon their Heavy Bolter, and pointed at the Junior Commissar. The two men grabbed her by her arms, lifted her off the ground, and carried her back up the first hill.
“Unhand me this instant!”
“It’s fer yer own good, ma’am!” Walmsley Minor cried.
Marsh Silas shifted direction and ran over to them. Catching up, he holstered his pistol, grabbed Carstensen by the waist, tugged her from their grasp, and threw her over his shoulder.
“How dare you!” she yelled.
“They have the right of it!” he defended. All Carstensen did was unleash an angry shout and a tirade of curses. Slumped over his shoulder, she raised her Bolt Pistol and still managed to fire a few shots at the mechanical monster. Near the top of the hill, Drummer Boy was crouched in a fighting hole with the handset to his Vox-caster by his ear.
“Requesting immediate armor support on the right flank at Hill Two-One-Niner. This is Primus One-Six Rho, we need reinforcements immediately, we need—”
Babcock and Hyram grabbed the young man by the collar of his Flak Armor. The retreat continued rapidly. Those at the top fired on the machine but it kept coming. Some men broke into the open ground and were making a break for the assault trench. Spotting them, the Defiler paused, swiveled, and primed its Battle Cannon. A faint purplish glow emanated within the barrel. Then, with a cacophonous detonation that shook the earth, it fired a single shell at the men in the field. A massive, fiery, Warp-laced explosion blossomed. All of the troopers caught in the blast radius disappeared. When the smoke and fire settled, there was nothing left but a sizzling, black crater.
At the top of the hill, Marsh crouched down. Carstensen was still on his shoulder. Hyram slid behind a rock and got on Drummer Boy’s Vox-caster. Turning on the laud hailer, he called on the men.
“Fall back to the base of the hill! We are not holding this hill! Knaggs, Fletcher, get that fucking launcher ready! Olhouser, get the mortar up!”
“Sir, we’re ready!” On the left side of the hilltop, Ledford and Foster had set up the Lascannon on its tripod. “We’ll slow it down, sir! Get yourselves down thar!”
“The moment we’re all off the top, you be right behind us!” Hyram shouted.
“Yes, sir!” the two gunners shouted together. “Go!”
There was no time for a goodbye. Marsh Silas got back on his feet, struggling to keep Carstensen on his shoulder, and raced down the slope. A flood of Guardsmen was around him. Monty Peck, still without a weapon, raced by him. Tattersall and Rowley were right behind him. Behind him, the sound of the Defiler climbing up the hill was deafening. Every joint in its frame shrieked, the legs pounded the earth, the weapons seemed to shake the sky, and the Daemon engine kept laughing. Through it all, they could hear the voluminous report of Ledford and Foster’s Lascannon.
Suddenly, there was a tremendous explosion. Marsh, now at the bottom, saw the glow of the Defiler’s Battle Cannon. For a moment, his gut tightened to think of his two comrades’ sacrifice. But just as he could see the top of the Defiler cresting the hill, the two gunners came barreling down the slope. Both of them were covered in soot, had lost their helmets, and their Flak Armor was so damaged it was nearly falling off. They ran into their waiting arms in the fighting holes they seized earlier in the fight.
With them in the large hole was Drummer Boy, Babcock, the Walmsley brothers, Olhouser, and Synder. Marsh finally set Carstensen down and she angrily shoved him in the shoulder. Hyram was still coordinating support assets via the Vox-caster. The two Lascannon gunners were sitting back, wide-eyed.
“What’s wrong with the mortar?” Marsh asked.
“We was drawing it forward when the Defiler sprung!” Olhouser explained. “One of the shells broke the tripod and another the wheels fer it. We can’t prop it up to fire.”
“And the missile launcher?”
Olhouser pointed with the flat of his hand to an adjacent hole. Monty Peck was assisting Knaggs and Fletcher set their weapon up. They had just displaced; moving the weapon was hard enough and now they would need another few minutes to properly erect it on its tripod. Hyram came up next to Marsh and saw that for himself.
“No, no, no,” he breathed, “it’ll take too long.” He looked back at the hill. The Defiler was on the top and engaging Cadians who were still on the crest of the center hill. Even as it began to clatter down the other side, its massive legs kicking up waves of earth, it was still firing at them.
“We may have a chance yet, look!” Babcock said triumphantly. Two Chimeras and a Hellhound raced around their position and charged the Defiler. Multi-Lasers crisscrossed the torso’s hull, melting away the outer shell in weaker spots. Rounds from pintle-mounted Storm Bolters hammered exposed tubing and servos Ledford and Fletcher were able to damage. While the two Chimeras halted, the Hellhound pressed forward. A jet of burning Promethium drenched the Defiler. Shells from the hull-mounted Heavy Bolter raked the enemy machine. Mounted on the APC’s as well was a Hunter-Killer Missile Launcher. The launcher fired and the missile slammed into the side of the Defiler, shearing off one set of the Reaper Autocannons. Burning Promethium melted the barrels of the other.
The Defiler surged forward against the vehicles; one of its massive claws grabbed the Hellhound turret, ripped it off, and threw it away. Everyone ducked as the turret cartwheeled over their position. With its other claw, it grabbed the top layer of armor and ripped it off as if it were the lid to a tin mess ration. Reaching in with both arms, it ripped the crew out and tore them to shreds. Trampling the machine, it stormed towards the other Chimeras. Both APC’s backed away but it was too late. Once more, it fired its tremendous Battle Cannon and blew the front half of the first Chimera off. Clenching its claws like fists, it smashed and hammered the second machine until it was nothing but a crumpled hulk. Then, the Defiler turned towards them.
“Emperor preserve us!” A Guardsman from the other platoon shouted. But Marsh clapped him on the helmet.
“You police that, Guardsman! This fight ain’t over until Marsh Silas says it is! We stick together; there’s a whole lot of lives counting on us!
“We should retreat!”
“No! Guardsmen, I ask you to stand firm!” Carstensen declared. “It is upon us to destroy this machine lest it throws back our entire force! Let it not drive you back this day when you have struggled and fought so hard already. You are warriors all and no shambling machine will change that! Lieutenant, what are your orders!?”
But the platoon leader’s eyes had fallen on the crate of mortar shells kept by Olhouser and Synder. His violet eyes lit up.
“Everyone grab a shell!” All the soldiers in the hole gathered around while Olhouser and Synder handed them out. Meanwhile, Hyram went to the edge of the fighting hole. “Knaggs! How much longer!”
“Thirty seconds!”
“Get ready to fire!”
The Defiler increased speed and charged them. Its arms extended and the claws opened and closed, filling the air with a horrifying metallic snapping sound. It was getting closer by the second. Hyram grabbed one of the shells and then handed one to Marsh Silas. “Use anything metal and hard to prime the round! Use your helmets if you have to!” Everyone who had one doffed it and prepared. The Defiler’s engine seemed to go into overdrive, propelling it faster like a harassing insect. “Hold, hold, wait for it!” More members of Bloody Platoon, other Guardsmen, and the Whiteshields took up mortar rounds.
“Hold on, men, wait for the Lieutenant's order!” Marsh shouted. His legs were trembling. Carstensen was on his right and she was holding her shell in her right hand. The pair gazed at one another momentarily. Switching the shell to his left hand, he put his right on her back. Carstensen put one arm around him as well. Their half-embrace lasted for a moment. When they looked forward, the Defiler was upon them.
“Mark!”
At once, the Guardsmen roared, slammed their mortar shells down, and chucked them at the Defiler. Over a dozen high-explosive shells detonated against its hull and arms. The impact staggered the machine momentarily before one of its legs gave out. Its left arm snapped off at the center joint, and the other collapsed to the ground, hanging on only by cables. Gaps appeared in its armor, exposing ghastly, glowing energies within.
“Get down!” Knaggs shouted from his hole. Marsh, Carstensen, Hyram, and the others all pressed themselves into the bottom of the fighting hole. Whump! The report of the missile launcher was swiftly followed by a loud detonation. When Marsh Silas grew brave enough to look up, he found the top of the Defiler’s torso was sheared away. Gutted, the broken machine shuddered. What remained of its legs attempted to move and pick the machine up, but the weight was too much.
“Finish it Knaggs! Hit it once more!” Hyram ordered.
“For the Emperor!” cried Knaggs. Everyone took cover again as another blast ripped the machine open. It collapsed onto the ground, smoking and sparking. The tumultuous, roiling Warp energy within it was exposed. But this swirling orb of light flickered, then it faded, and finally disappeared.
“Thank the Emperor,” Marsh sighed and leaned against the back of the hole. Almost everyone released a relieved sigh or gasp. He looked at Carstensen, who was glaring at him. At first, he was confused, then he furrowed his brow. “Now, don’t get all sore o’er what I done; you woulda been killed.”
She pressed her finger against his chest piece and leaned in close.
“I will make you pay for that,” she said in a deathly tone. There was a glimmer in her blue-green eyes and a smile quickly appeared then vanished. “Later,” she said calmly, and then sat back as well. Just content to be alive and with his platoon, Marsh simply smiled. Hyram was on his left and took the handset from Drummer Boy.
“Request for further reinforcements canceled. Bloody Platoon will be moving out shortly, over and out.”
“Movin’ out? After that, sir?” Drummer Boy asked quietly. Hyram smirked and glanced at Carstensen. The Junior Commissar stood up.
“This battle is not over yet,” she said as she stood up. Jumping out of the hole, she faced the Shock Troopers of Bloody Platoon as they regrouped. “Evacuate the wounded, gather up weapons and ammunition. Let us find this Smith and rid Cadia of his ilk.”