Bloody Platoon dashed down the snowy roads, racing between the rugged, interlocking Aegis Defense Lines. Guardsmen from the 1333rd and other regiments poured out of every building, creating a torrent flowing towards Fort Mollitiam. The surge parted only to allow vehicles to pass through. Leman Russ Main Battle Tanks escorted Chimera APCs towards the outer defenses, their troop bays packed with soldiers. Hydra Flak Tanks followed, their barrels trained skywards. Commissars leaped onto barricades, barked orders and directed troop movements with their swords. Preachers appeared to espouse incantations, recite prayers of protection and strength, and sprinkling sacred oils onto the helmets of passing Cadians. So many individuals shouted it was nearly impossible to make out an order.
Aerial bombs fell from bellowing enemy fliers, creating deep, thunderous explosions. Dodging flak, these vicious aircraft stormed through Kasr Sonnen’s Void Shield barrier to drop their ordinance. They were slim, possessed extended prows, and ably flew above the streets and between spires. They were Hell Blades, nimbler interceptors and attack craft. Autocannon shells ripped into buildings and tore up the streets. Swathes of troops fell, dead or wounded. Men without arms or legs staggered and screamed. Blood saturated the snow.
Hell Talons, heavier ground attack variants, followed in their wake. Missiles swarmed through the air, striking Bastion towers, bunkers, and convoys. Chimera engines burst, turrets tore off, and entire platoons disappeared. Huge chunks of rockcrete sheared from the faces of buildings and crashed the ground in great clouds of gray dust. Many unfortunate souls were crushed beneath them.
Hydra platforms across the kasr flooded the air with flak and searchlights lit up the night in great white streaks. Red and yellow tracers tore into the streams of Talons and Blades. Some lost control and spiraled into the kasr below. Others exploded in midair and soon the sky filled with blossoms of orange fire. The quad-batteries of Icarus-pattern lascannons, mounted atop Firestorm Redoubts, trained their barrels skywards. Soon, massive streaks of red, blue, and golden lasers joined the dazzling display of tracers, lights, and shells shining against rising black columns of smoke.
Suddenly, there were the familiar engines of Imperial aircraft! Formations of Lightnings and Thunderbolts rose to meet the enemy. After the initial salvo, hundreds of individual duels began. Planes twirled and spun around one another, each locked in a brutal dance with his opponent.
It seemed as though Imperial forces were going to carry the fight. The bombardment fro so many enemy aircraft subsided. Like swarms of flies, the warriors of the Aeronautica Imperialis filled the sky with their attack craft. Their forms fell upon the Talons and Blades from both sides, above, and below, sweeping gracefully along. When they missed, the Hydras targeted; their autocannons belched and bellowed hundreds of shells skywards. Lasers sliced aircraft apart, the pieces tumbling almost lazily through the air.
Marsh Silas’s M36’s strap tightened over his shoulder. His left hand tightened around the carry handle of his pack and he clutched his helmet in his right. Everyone in the regiment pounded along. Leather boots thudded on the pavement in their thousands. Even though they could not distinguish the orders hollered at them, they knew what to do. So, they ran onward, their head hunched low against the bombardment as if it were a rainstorm.
Bloody Platoon surged through bailey gate but were stopped by Captain Giles. He put out his hands to catch Hyram and Marsh Silas.
“Lieutenants, I need your men on the ramparts! We need more guns and more bodies!”
“Weapons, let’s go!” hollered Hyram.
“You heard the Captain, Bloody Platoon!” Marsh yelled. “Up top!
The men stampeded up the stairs. When Marsh hit the landing, he turned around and waved his arm. “Move it, move it, get your asses up there!” He clapped each man on the back as they passed him. “Come on, come on, there are Cadians dying!” The last two men up the stairs were Drummer Boy and Valens. Marsh stamped his hand on the regimental-picter’s chestplate. “I pray you’re not going up there to record it all!”
“I am to fight, Lieutenant!”
“You’re with me, then!”
Together, they raced up the steps until they were atop the fortress. The scene was chaotic; Saber Gun Platforms were knocked out of action, the guns melted, bent, and twisted. Bombs had blasted away parts of the ramparts and bastion walls. Spent shell casings littered the rockcrete and sat in puddles of blood. Bodies lay everywhere, some blackened by burns, others torn apart by cluster bombs. Their bones were exposed, skulls halved, eyeballs blown out of their sockets. Sinews, severed limbs, and splatters of blood in such proximity created a sheet of crimson across the ramparts.
Marsh Silas spotted an unmanned Saber platform composed of twin-linked autocannons. He ran to the gun and reached for the firing mechanism. Two white hands still gripped the charging handles. What little bone remained jutted out from the ripped flesh below the palms. Fresh blood seeped from them.
The excitement of the run, the cacophony all around him—this sight was too much. Briefly, he keeled to the side and vomited his dinner. But he spit, pried the hands off finger by finger, and then locked himself in. “Bloody Platoon! Gather ammunition and man the guns! Valens, tell me where I’m shooting!” he ordered and handed him his magnoculars. Valens stood beside and looked skyward.
“Target, twelve o’clock high!”
Marsh trained the sights upwards. A Hell Blade shrieked through the sky and descended on the fortress. He led the target and squeezed the triggers. Both autocannons thundered, the bright shells arcing into the air in parallel lines. The Hell Blade broke off its approach, rolling to avoid the fire, and escaped unharmed.
He felt three taps on the back of his helmet—the signal to traverse right. “Incoming, three o’clock, low!”
A Hell Talon sped directly towards them. Gritting his teeth, Marsh lined up the sights and fired. The recoil was tremendous, traveling up the lengths of his arms, resonating in his shoulders, and shooting down his back. His entire body shook and it felt like the muscles in arms would go numb. Closer and closer, the Hell Talon approached, practically a red-brown blur in the glow of so many searchlights.
A spark appeared on the fuselage and another on the starboard prow. Black smoke flowed from the heretical aircraft followed by a burst of flame and then an explosion! Both prows broke away from the fireball. Marsh Silas and Valens gave a cheer.
“Give me more traitors to kill!” Two taps on the helmet—traverse left!
“Enemy fights at nine o’clock, high!”
Marsh swiveled the Saber and leaned back. Three Hell Blades swarmed through black, white, red, and mustard yellow clouds of flak. They banked gracefully towards the garrison on a staffing run. He hit the triggers and downed the leading aircraft, which veered into a nearby Bastion tower. It smashed against the heavy armor plating and left huge scorch marks along with a massive dent. Hydra Platforms and other Saber Turrets unleashed on the remainder of the formation. One of the Blades took a direct hit from a Hydra and split in half. When the third attempted to pull off, a Lightning fighter swept behind it and knocked the craft out with a burst from its guns.
“Incoooooming!” Shells blasted the ramparts and Guardsmen dove for cover. Marsh ducked behind the gun and pulled his helmet low over his brow. After the barrage, he stood up to see many angry Guardsmen firing at the egressing enemy aircraft with their small arms. Even those who bore only laspistols fired after it.
It’s coming around for another run!” warned Valens.
“Cross, take that son of a bitch down!” shouted Giles who had just joined the defenders.
He dug his heels in and fired. Just as he did, so did the Hell Blade. Marsh watched the shells slam across the ramparts and race towards him. Guardsmen ran every which way, stood their ground and shot back, or were blasted to pieces. Shells skimmed off the prows and the enemy aircraft smoked, but it did not break its attack run. It tore by, circled back, and came in for a third run.
The autocannons hammered away and Marsh found himself roaring at the foe. It targeted a Hydra Platform, killed the operators, knocked out the barrels, and started a fire. Just then, the Lieutenant found his mark and flames erupted across the fuselage. It spun out of control and crashed into the road.
“My guns are dry!” Marsh cried. He tried to find an ammo-bearer but they were all occupied or dead. Just as he went to fetch the drums himself, he saw the fire at the Hydra Platform to his right spread. Giles, Eastoft, and Hyram hastily tossed ammunition away from the site.
By the time his mind registered his actions, he was already vaulting over the sandbag wall and heaving ammunition crates away.
“For the Emperor’s sake, get the crates away from the fire!” shouted Hyram. “Pitch in!”
Dozens of shell crates were dumped onto the grounds below or merely tossed away from the flames. The fire cracked and hissed as it grew. Acrid black smoke swirled and roiled around them like a cyclone. It choked the men’s throats and caused them to hack. Men came away with blisters and heat rashes on their hands, arms, and faces. Many received full burns and were hauled away.
Beads of sweat rolled down Marsh’s face, cutting clear paths through the layer of black dust. Orange flames, dark smoke, olive drab armor, khaki fatigues all became blurs. Dirty faces became indistinguishable, officers and enlisted men looked alike. Nobody could tell from what company or regiment a Guardsman hailed from. Cadians from countless Shock Trooper and Interior Guard units were all mixed up. Yet they worked together; every man and woman gave their all.
“In-com-iiiiiing!” Marsh looked up. The nighttime sky was a mirth of deep orange and putrid black, lit up by tracers, flak, flares, and searchlights. A Hell Talon hurtled towards the garrison, firing missiles and dropping incendiary bombs over the kasr. He dove for cover behind the sandbags, curled into a ball, and covered his head. All of Cadia seemed to shake and the concussions rocked him so badly he felt blood leaking from his nose. Then, all faded to black.
His eyelids fluttered as if he had awoken from a deep sleep. He felt incredibly hot. Marsh looked up—his uniform had caught fire. Just as he was about to scream for help, Drummer Boy mantled over the sandbags with a blanket. He practically dove on top of Marsh Silas. Valens and Eastoft joined as well.
“Put him out!” the executed officer ordered. Several times, Marsh Silas sat up to help and see the extent of damage to his person, but Eastoft kept shoving him back. “Calm down, you’re alright now!” As smoke rose from the extinguished flames, she grabbed Marsh by his chin strap to keep him still.
“Water,” croaked Marsh.
Drummer Boy handed him a canteen. Marsh took only one slug and it was a mistake. The water washed down all the soot that had gathered in his mouth. The taste was terrible and made him cough so hard his chest grew sore. He still felt so dreadfully hot! Undoing his chin strap, he pushed his helmet off and dumped some of the water into his hair. It washed down his forehead, forcing more soot into his eyes. It stung so badly; it was as if someone blew granulated rust into his eyes.
Groaning, he wiped his eyes on the back of his gloves and blinked constantly. Tears rolled down his cheeks. “Fuck! Bitch, son of a bitch!” Eastoft slapped him and pointed in his face.
“Knock that off. Act like an officer!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Marsh groaned through gritted teeth.
When he finally opened his eyes again, he looked right up at the sky. Bright orange glows appeared behind the snow clouds. One by one, they broke through the cloud barrier. At first, they looked like meteorites. But as they drew nearer, they took a new shape: angular and cone-shaped, wide cylindrical bottoms, and a slim top which led to an engine unit. Spikes and stubby bolts covered the four sides. At each corner was a huge claw that ran nearly twice the length of the main body.
“Dreadclaw assault boats!” yelled Captain Giles. “Open fire!” Immediately, soldiers jumped back on the Saber Turrets and filled the air with shells. Walmsley Minor ordered the heavy weapons squads to mount their weapons on parapets to fire skyward.
Eastoft observed the sky momentarily before she put Marsh’s helmet back on his head. She clipped his chinstrap and pointed in his face.
“Can you still fight, Lieutenant?” she asked, her eyes flush with burning determination.
“Aye, ma’am!” Eastoft stood up and lowered her hand.
“Then get back on your feet, Shock Trooper!”
Marsh snatched her hand and rose to his feet. He jogged back to the Saber Platform he operated before. Olhouser and Synder loaded fresh drums into the autocannons. As Marsh took hold of the weapon again, both men hit him on the shoulders with confidence.
“Eleven o’clock, very high!” Valens called.
Marsh opened fire on one of the assault boats. There were dozens upon dozens of them, their descent slowing as they neared Cadia’s surface. As the aerial fighting raged all around, they dropped steadily, undisturbed by the tremendous rates of anti-aircraft fire rising from Kasr Sonnen. So many automated and crew-operated weapons systems fired from all over the kasr it seemed as though the entire city were aflame.
He predicted the Dreadclaw’s descent and led the target. Even from this distance, Marsh saw shells striking the hull, creating white flashes on the wretched metal. It seemed like his attack was making no impact. But then another platform on a nearby rooftop fired on the assault boat, then another, and then a Hydra Platform opened up. Streams of shells and clouds of flak bombarded the Dreadclaw. Shards of hull stripped away, pieces of landing claws broke off, flames engulfed it. Then, it exploded in a burst of orange and purple fire.
Marsh roared in triumph and pumped his fist into the air. “Keep firing, men!” he yelled. “There’s plenty more a-coming!”
Valens called out another target and Marsh fired again. The sky was alight with exploding Dreadclaws. But the storm of assault boats continued with dozens more following the first wave. Those that survived the onslaught of Imperial fire were so close Marsh witnessed their vile star etched into the hulls.
Two more targets were destroyed under his barrels and Marsh trained on a third, closer one. It was heading right for a Bastion tower down the road from the soldier’s hall Bloody Platoon had occupied. Even with so many batteries sighting the craft, it was too late. The claws extended and tore into the top of the tower. Huge, hulking forms exited from the bottom and tossed the Lascannon crew over the sides.
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More Dreadclaws landed on tops of buildings and disgorged their cargoes of Traitor Marines into the heart of Kasr Sonnen. Belt-shell tracers flew over the rooftops, towers and spires rocked with internal explosions, and the invasion forces spread out. From his perch on the wall, Marsh watched hulking forms move swiftly across the rooftops. Squads of Heretic Astartes took cover, pinned down the crews of anti-aircraft batteries, and then assaulted the positions with grenades. Charges were laid and the systems destroyed.
One by one, lines of Saber and Hydra Platforms were knocked out. Entire platoons of Guardsmen appeared on the rooftops, their lasbolts flashing over the rockcrete. Others moved into buildings from below, attempting to create human bulwarks. Voices filled Marsh’s micro-bead and emanated from Drummer Boy’s vox-caster. There were pleas for reinforcements, terrified reports of advancing enemies, and shrieks of dying voxmen.
Explosions rippled up a tremendous spire several kilometers away and it collapsed moments later. Huge chunks of rockcrete and adamantium timbers descended in a shower of dust, creating an enormous cloud that engulfed the kasr blocks around it. Vehicles and men disappeared in it. Minutes later, amid wailing sirens and barking guns, the cloud hadn’t settled.
“Here they come!”
Several Dreadclaws targeted the interior baileys of the fortress. Men loaded fresh charge packs and fixed bayonets. But the fear mounted in their violet and purple eyes. These were not the mere heretics and traitors they were used to fighting. Falling from the heavens were the elite of the Archenemy’s foul hordes. Their images, their prowess on the battlefield, their efficient and ruthless lethality, were all seared into the memories of every soldier who fought them before. Even Marsh Silas remembered his first fight against a warband for the first time; there were huge, hulking, armored forms that moved as nimbly as a cat, their silhouettes moving between great bands of fire like shadows upon a wall. Their bolts laced out from darkness, striking men down and blowing them into scarlet ribbons. Those poor souls died without ever knowing what hit them.
Panting heavily, he reached into his tunic and produced the Aquila on his chain. He kissed it and squeezed them between his gloved hands.
“Emperor, I am one of Your faithful servants and I shall do Your bidding this night. I ask in humble return for Your everlasting protection against all evils. Know that in me you have a loyal son, a son who asks for his Creator’s protection.” He kissed them again and tucked them away. Many Shock Troopers bowed their heads, uttered similar prayers, made the Sign of the Aquila, and rubbed their prayer beads between their palms.
The Dreadclaws slowed down, briefly hovered above the ground, and then extended their legs. Heavy weapons poured fire against the hulls, rockets and missiles striking them by turns. Marsh Silas cast his glance to Carstensen, who met his gaze, and he pointed at her.
“Rouse yourself, you warriors of Cadia!” Proudly, she stood with one leg up on the crenellations. She lacked her cap and her power fist radiated with teal energy. Smiling confidently, she looked over her shoulder. “This is an opportunity to prove your mettle! Stand fast, stand firm!”
“Give everything you have!” Commissar Ghent called, pacing along the wall. “For Cadia! For the Imperium! For the Emperor! So few are offered the chance of a glorious death in battle! So few are extended the chance to take part in such a momentous effort! Kasr Sonnen will not fall!”
“It will not happen on our watch!” Hyram screamed. His platoon, Bloody Platoon, and the other Guardsmen alongside them cheered.
“Come on you men, we’ve killed one of their ilk before!” Marsh yelled. “By the Emperor, let’s do it again! Set your M36’s to the maximum charge!”
Bloody Platoon lined the rail and took aim. Three Dreadclaws landed in the compound and opened. A squad of Traitor Marines, clad in silver-gray armor with golden trimming, marched out. They carried ghastly black bolters with the same yellow-black pattern on their furniture that the Warpsmith Drusus wore on his own armor. On their pauldrons were the same skull emblems.
Every single gun in the garrison opened fire. Guardsmen on the ground concentrated on single targets. Individual M36’s could not penetrate their power armor, archaic as it was. Even ten, twenty, or even thirty could not cause extensive damage. The Traitor Marines marched through the fusillade, unperturbed by the lasbolts striking them. One squad ran towards the motor pool and killed the sentries taking cover among the parked vehicles. A Traitor crushed a wounded Guardsman underfoot, clambered up a Leman Russ MBT, tore off the hatch, and chucked a grenade inside. Others methodically tore through other vehicles, dropping grenades through hatches, open doors, and firing ports. Countless Imperial war machines caught fire and exploded.
Another of the enemy squads charged a heavy weapons position. The heavy bolter team focused on one of the heretics and a concentrated stream of fire tore through his power armor. It cleaved off the arm holding his gnarly bolter and then punched a hole in his torso. But the other nine Heretic Astartes overran the position, slaughtered the gunners with a few shots, and then took the heavy bolter. One of them marched backwards a clot of Guardsmen in sandbag positions in front of the compound’s CP and pinned them down.
Hyram stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled.
“Krak missiles!”
“Knaggs, Fletcher, grenadiers, up front; Krak munitions!” Marsh yelled too. The Guardsmen moved their heavy weapons up and loaded. Fleming, Caferro, and other grenadiers loaded the rotary magazines of their launchers. Fletcher hit Knaggs on the back of his helmet and the latter fired. With a massive fwoom, the missile soared through the air and struck the Traitor wielding the captured gun. It blew off his forearms and tore a chunk from his chestplate. The grenadiers bombarded enemy squads with anti-armor grenades. A few direct hits destroyed weapons and severed limbs. It was enough to force the Heretic Astartes to seek nearby cover, sparing the CP and the men around it.
All along the walls, Cadians fired down at the Traitor Marines. As more heavy weapons concentrated on them, they became less mobile and even pinned. One by one, they were picked off by autocannons, missiles, grenades, and heavy bolters. Storms of glittering lasbolts streaked across their armor, showering them with sparks. But before they were finally defeated, one of the enemy marines lobbed a grenade into a fuel store. Dozens of fuel drums detonated and a fiery mushroom cloud rose above the bailey.
Through the flames, more Dreadclaws descended. More enemy warriors surged through the compound, tearing through platoons of stalwart Shock Troopers who attacked with lasguns, grenades, and bayonets. Their steel was sharp but it could not penetrate the traitors’ ghastly armor. Then, the enemy turned their weapons on Bloody Platoon. Bolts hammered the crenellations, spraying dust and chunks all over the crouching Guardsmen. When Marsh Silas finally had enough courage to look over the side again, he saw gray blurs storming into the fortress walls.
“They’re coming in!” he yelled.
“If it comes to close quarters, we’re doomed!” exclaimed a sergeant of the Interior Guard. “We need to fall back!” He and several of his Guardsmen leaped to their feet to leave the position.
“Any man who flees in this hour will be shot!” Ghent barked. He leveled his bolt pistol to shoot the group down, but Marsh jumped up and stood in front of the fleeing men.
“Listen up! I know you’re frightened but I need you to hold! I need you, here, with me, and these men!” Carstensen raced up and pointed at Clivvy, Tattersall, and Rowley.
“Look at yourselves and then at those children. They stand, ready to fight!”
“Will you desert them in this time?” Marsh Silas asked. The sergeant and the Interior Guardsmen exchanged glances then, cowed, collected their arms and rejoined the line. Marsh and Carstensen looked at Ghent, who merely turned away.
“Listen to Marsh Silas!” Giles shouted, hurrying up and down the line. “Grenadiers, with me! Walmsley Minor, get your squad to the stairs! Marsh Silas, form a grenade team!”
“Sir! Alright, Whiteshields, with me! Everyone, gather up all the Krak Grenades as you can!”
The company commander led them to the stairwell leading up to the wall. He held up his hand, signaling for the teams to wait for his command. Marsh and his three pupils each equipped a heavy grenade and slid a finger through the pin.
Below, there was shooting and screaming. There were the rapid zap-zot-zap-zots of lasguns as well as the steady bang-bang-bang of bolters fired semi-automatically. Grenade detonations and satchel charges rock but were followed by the steady stomping of power armor boots.
Marsh set his jaw, clenched his teeth, and controlled his quivering hands. He waited and waited. Giles went between the men. “Hold steady, Guardsmen. Be brave.”
“Remember, men!” Marsh raised his voice. “The Emperor is always with us!”
Stomp-stomp-stomp-stomp! A hulking gray form appeared around the corner. Giles bellowed and half a dozen grenade launchers fired at once. Shells exploded at the bottom of the staircase, filling it with dust.
“Grenades!” Marsh yanked the pin, released the spoon, and lobbed it below with the rest. The grenades went off, creating brief flashes in the mist. When it finally settled, one Traitor Marine’s corpse lay on the floor and another was propped up on the stairs.
Suddenly, a smoke grenade popped. A storm of bolt-shells flew through the cloud. Everyone ducked and dove for cover. Caferro was hit three times in the chest; his flak armor ripped open, his chest exploded, and his lungs split. By the time he hit the floor, he was already dead. Marsh went to grab the body but more shells sent him scrambling. Just as he looked over his shoulder, one of the Traitor Marines emerged. He was huge, his armor more silver than gray, the gold trim adorned with spikes large and small. His chestplate bore an elongated skull and his helmet visor glowed blood red.
“Treasonous sum!” Walmsley Minor shouted. Several heavy bolters and autocannons fired on the enemy. Holes punched through the armor and black blood leaked from open wounds. One of the Traitor Marines ran up behind his fallen ally, crouching behind the form, and attempted to return fire. He too was picked apart by the onslaught.
“Secure the staircase!” Giles commanded with a wave of his arm. Marsh Silas and other Guardsmen followed. When they attempted to seize the top of the stairs, Heretic Astartes appeared on both sides at the bottom. One of them snatched an Interior Guardsman, held him by his head and feet, and broke his back over his knee. Then, he smashed him against the wall as if he were as light as parchment. Another one, wielding a bolter and bayonet, slammed the latter through the torso of another trooper. He forced it through so deeply the barrel emerged through the man’s back. The Marine then fired several shells, cutting down the entire first rank of troopers. Heads, arms, legs, and organs tumbled and rolled down the steps.
Everyone fell back. Both hostile Marines came up at the same time, the body of the Guardsmen still mounted on the latter’s bolter. As he emerged, he dug his armored fingers into the skull and tore the body off. Once again, the heavy weapons fire drove them back. The former backed off while the second’s legs were blown out. When he picked his weapon back up, a streak of heavy bolter fire tore away at his exposed shoulder joint and ripped it off.
“Cuyper, take him out!” Marsh Silas yelled. Cuyper led 3rd Squad against the target. Using the butt of his M36, he knocked the enemy Marine’s helmet off and exposed gray skin like that of a decaying corpse. Meanwhile, Hahn roared and jammed his bayonet into the enemy’s head. The monster’s roiling, purple eyes bulged then lost their light.
Blow, the firefight in the bailey intensified. Marsh Silas, Hyram, and Carstensen ran over to the crenellations to observe. More of the Archenemy’s ilk landed and seized segments of the compound. More Guardsmen came out of every hatch, door, and tunnel across the courtyard. But the corpses piled up and the Traitor Marines utilized the wreckage of destroyed vehicles to gain a foothold.
“Captain, we need to clear the courtyard if we are to hold!” Hyram called.
“Guardsmen, with me! We’re going for the stairs again!”
But more were shot down the moment they tried to descend. Everyone took cover, blind-fired over the railing, and dropped grenades. Heretic Astartes responded with a hail of bolts.
Prone on the ground with his shoulder pressed against a sandbag wall adjacent to the stairwell, Marsh Silas waited for the enemy to come forward again. Arnold Yoxall slid in behind him and cleared a malfunctioning charge pack from an M36 he acquired.
“Sir, we be stuck here as much as they are and we’re low on ammunition. We need to get below if we’re to replenish our stores.”
“We need to get there alive and we won’t make it we rush in,” Marsh countered.
“Iron Within, Iron Without!” bellowed a voice from below. Others joined in and the chant grew louder:
“Iron Within, Iron Without!
Iron Within, Iron Without!
Iron Within, Iron Without!”
“I have it,” Marsh said. “Yoxall, you’ve got your charges? Good! Plant them on the flooring above the stairwell! We’ll breach and drop explosives on them!”
Arnold Yoxall took out one of his premade shaped charges and ran behind the stairwell. He planted it, waved his hands, and ordered everyone to take cover. Once they were down, he raced back to Marsh, and pulled out the detonator. “Fire in the hole! Loud noises, people, cover yours!”
An eruption of gray dust was followed by a crumble. When the dust cleared, a gaping hole was left in the ramparts. Marsh Silas and dozens of Guardsmen ran up with the last of their Krak grenades. Below, chunks of rockcrete had fallen on the Heretic Astartes and disrupted their position. The Shock Troopers dropped two dozen grenades on the enemy and the detonations seemed to shake the entire section of wall. The bolter fire which momentarily drove them off ceased.
Marsh ventured back to inspect the enemy position. Cracks appeared on the rockcrete and the crumbling began again. He lost his foot, fell, scrambled as the floor gave way, then slid through the gap. Clang! The Lieutenant landed on something metal and hard. Blinking, he found himself staring directly into the visor of a one-armed Traitor Marine.
Before he could roll off, the Marine’s massive gauntlet snatched Marsh Silas by his webbing. Groaning and grunting, he tried to pull away while Traitor stood. He seemed undeterred by his missing arm even as blood seeped from his exposed shoulder and trembling tendons.
Marsh hiked his leg up and drew his trench knife from his boot scabbard. Seeing just a hint of exposed flesh at the base of the Traitor Marine’s neck, he jabbed the knife into the muscle. But the Marine did not react and slammed Marsh against the wall. His flak armor disintegrated and the wind left his chest. Every rib felt as though it were broken. Still clinging to the knife with his left hand, he reached for the holster on his chest and tore his Ripper Pistol out. He pressed the barrel to the enemy’s helmet and fired. But even the armor-piercing ammunition of his sidearm could not break through the power armor.
Yoxall jumped onto the Traitor Marine’s back and tried to pull his helmet off. Shaking like a wet dog, the Heretic threw him off. But Honeycutt and Walcott followed and struggled to pry it off. Walcott fell too but Honeycutt clung on, viciously pawing the helmet. Just as it seemed he couldn’t hang on any longer, he yanked the helmet off as he fell. Marsh looked right into the beast’s fiery eyes, pressed the barrel against his forehead, and squeezed the trigger. Several rounds ripped through his skull and the Marine dropped.
Falling onto the floor, Marsh caught his breath and rose to his knees. Looking at his three comrades, he could only nod. He retrieved his knife and cleaned the putrid blood with sacred oil he kept in a flask.
“Clear!” Honeycutt shouted up to the troops above. Giles led them down, giving orders as he jogged by.
“Hyram, keep your heavy weapons squads along the ramparts and engage the enemy in the courtyard. Marsh, where’s your special weapons man? There, Sergeant Stainthorpe! Form an assault section with every plasma gunner you can find. Sweep through the base on our right and clear the invaders out. Flank the enemy in the courtyard and come out through the motor pool. The rest of 1st Company and you other Guardsmen, you’re with me. Cross, get yourself a new vest!”
Marsh collected his webbing and pulled the chestplate from a dead Guardsman. He donned it, reconfigured his gear, and let the torrent of troops pass by. Walmsley Major passed with a thump on his chest and Carstensen was right behind him. She took Marsh by the cheek as she passed. They did not need to speak, the relief was there in their eyes and smiles.
With one last glance, he fell in with his platoon. They swept through each floor and collected survivors of the assault. Their force grew, as did Marsh’s confidence. Giles distributed the Guardsmen along multiple sealed doors. Once all the platoon leaders confirmed their readiness, they opened the doors. “For Cadia!” they all screamed as they surged into the compound. Hundreds of Cadians filled the bailey and hit the Traitor Marines with relentless volleys of lasbolts. In the face of such concentrated fire, the invaders took cover. Grenades hurtled through the air in response, scattering squads and peppering men with shrapnel. Above them, heavy weapons fire swept the enemy positions. From the right, Stainthorpe and a platoon-sized element of specialists appeared. Blue-white plasma flew between the rows of burning vehicles. Each blast smashed, tore, and melted power armor.
Then, at the far end of the compound, an interior bailey gate opened. Two Leman Russ MBTs, driving in single fire, fired on the Traitor Marines. Their Battle Cannons destroyed the enemy’s cover and blew them to pieces. Those who weren’t killed in the first salvo were cut down by sponson-mounted heavy bolters. Even after the enemy was dispatched, there was a great deal of firing on the corpses.
Giles ventured forward and raised his fist.
“Area clear! The garrison is secure! Gather weapons and ammunition, we still have work to do!”