A brown-orange gaze hung over Kasr Sonnen. Huge columns of smoke billowed in the air. Enemy fighters still swarmed the skies and duked it out with the Aeronautica Imperialis. Mortars and missiles crashed throughout the buildings. Rounds ricocheted off armored structures; some fortifications held firmly while others were destroyed by intense heretical fire. Lasbolts and bolt-shells arced from every rooftop. Heretical transported aircraft landed on top of buildings or cleared landing zones disgorged hordes of Traitor Marines and their heretical followers.
At the gate of Fort Mollitium, Bloody Platoon formed up with the rest of 1st Company. The outer turrets hammered away at enemy positions down the garrison street. Each time they fired, the men crouched and bowed their heads from the guns’ blowback. A convoy made up of four Leman Russ Main Battle Tanks rumbled to the gate. All three were equipped with track guards and supplemental armor. The lead tank equipped a dozer blade and bore plasma cannon sponsons. Behind it, the second Leman Russ sported Heavy Flamers and a searchlight. The fourth, a Leman Russ Demolisher, which carried its titular cannon, and Multi-Melta sponsons.
Fifth in line was a Griffon light artillery tank. Mounted on the versatile Chimera chassis, it was rigged with an enclosed crew compartment for added defense. The cylindrical barrel of a heavy mortar cannon poked out of their low-profile, boxy rear compartment. A tall spotting tupe protruded from the top of the same hutch. It too bore supplemental armor.
More Shock Troopers and Interior Guardsmen from multiple regiments gathered for the push. Quartermasters passed out charge packs and grenades in boxes and helmets. Soldiers sharpened bayonets on whetstones and clipped grenades to their webbing. Almost everyone wore orange-tinted ballistic goggles either by snapping them into their helmet’s visor slots or just sliding them over their eyes. There was little chatter save for squad leaders checking on their men.
Marsh knelt beside Caffero’s corpse. The man was still so bloody and his face was frozen in agony. The platoon leader’s pursed lips and firm face twitched, then his eyes faded momentarily. Exhaling, he took one of the grenadier’s dog tags and placed them in his kit bag. After giving it a tap, he gently draped Caffero’s ruck blanket over his body. Gently, he tucked it around the body’s ears and smoothed out the top. He reached into his own collar and kissed the Aquila.
“Keep him well, my Emperor,” Marsh whispered. Putting it away, he rose and joined Captain Giles, Ghent, Carstensen, and other platoon leaders by the convoy. Dozens of Voxmen busily monitored the network for information. The officers jabbed at the map, muttered to one another, nodded, and then Giles closed his booklet. He climbed up on top of the vehicle and cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Listen up! Can everyone hear me? We’ve got orders from the top: we are to advance down the garrison road, clear any hostile fortifications, and recaptured occupied buildings. 2nd Company will use the parallel road on our left flank, 3rd Company will be on our right. Our main objective is the kasr’s main gate in the east which is under siege by heathen traitors and cultists who have risen from the ghettos and alleys. We must not allow them to seize the entrance! If they do, enemy reinforcements landing on the Sonnen Plataeu will enter the kasr unimpeded. We are not about to let that happen, are we?”
“No, sir!”
“Very good. Use the tanks for cover, protect them from infantry, and let them take our hard targets.” He pointed at the tank commander standing in the leading Leman Russ’s turret. “Are you ready, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir! The men and machines of the 577th Armored are proud to share a battlefield with the 1333rd!” he cried and dropped into the turret. Giles jumped down and drew his sword.
“Captain Giles?”
All turned in shock to see Inquisitor Orzman approaching them. He wore a silvered, lightweight power armor frame not unlike Barlocke’s model. He wore black bracers and armor plates on his legs. The Rosette, the Inquisition’s symbol, was etched into the chestplate. The I-shape ran from the base of the gorget to the groin guard. Orzman wore a khaki uniform underneath and a dark trench coat over his armor. His bronze skin was free of blemishes and his black hair was so moist it looked as though it were slathered with pomade.
Giles saluted immediately. Orzman waved his hand dismissively. “I would like to accompany you on your mission. You will remain in command, I am merely a free warrior.”
“I am honored for a member of the Inquisition to lend us his skill once more,” Giles said with the dignity of a nobleman. He bowed his head ceremoniously and Orzman smiled faintly.
“Thank you, Captain. You are a credit to your people.” With that, the Inquisitor slung his bolter from his shoulder. It was a curious contraption, identical to Barlocke’s variant. There was no magazine well in front of the trigger guard, it was longer, slimmer, and had an extended buttstock. A stubby magazine protruded from the stock.
Orzman noticed Marsh Silas’s stare. “A carbine model we acquired in the Calixis Sector.” Marsh chose not to dignify the Inquisitor’s smug expression with a response. Captain Giles went to the front of the column, waved his hand in a circle, then motioned to the gate.
“1st Company, move out!”
The engines roared and tanks rolled out of Fort Mollitium. Bloody Platoon took the lead on the right side of the convoy. Weaving between chunks of rockcrete, flowing in and out of impact craters, and crouching behind shattered Aegis Defense Lines, they advanced down the road. Immediately, the tanks received autocannon and heavy stubber fire. Rounds pinged off the hulls and snapped through the air. Guardsmen ducked and dove for cover and returned fire.
It grew difficult to advance. Automatic fire riddled the streets and cut down men who dashed through. Bolts ripped runners apart and destroyed thin rockcrete defenses, forcing those behind them to flee. Men crawled beside the tanks and through the gutters, vaulted and mantled over waist-high walls, and jumped through the firing ports of defense works or buildings.
The sponson-mounted weapons of the Leman Russ tanks blasted away at concentrated packs of heretics. Blue plasma arced across the street, vaporizing hostile squads and their cover. Whenever a hardpoint was located on a flank, the second tank rolled up until it drew parallel with it and then unleashed a stream of fire from its Heavy Flamers. Dark interiors of bunkers, pillboxes, and ground-floor defenses were saturated. Traitors and cultists tumbled out, thrashing and screaming. After fusillades from the tanks and infantry, nothing would be left of the enemy host but bodies. Even the tank commanders took part, standing in the turrets to fire their pintle-mounted heavy stubbers.
The Battle Cannons were deafening. Even the embedded ear-defenders in Marsh’s helmet were not enough; his ears rang for several seconds after each salvo. As he moved up to a fallen column adjacent to the second tank, it fired its main gun. The force was several enough that Marsh fell onto his back. Holding his helmet as tinnitus pierced his eardrums, he managed to sit up. He saw the tank commander stand in the turret and man the pintle-mounted Heavy Stubber.
Marsh got back on his feet, joined the platoon command squad, and fell in with Hyram and his team. He appeared very agitated as he walked along. He would pop out from behind the Leman Russ and let loose a few lasbolts at hostile muzzle flashes or silhouettes on the rooftops. The latter were easy targets as they were forced to expose themselves to shoot. Heretics screamed, fell, and landed with dull, fleshy thumps.
“Drummer Boy, fall back to the Griffon and the Demolisher, spot targets for them. We need those mortars in the fight!”
“On it, sir!”
“Seathan, let’s move up!”
“With you!”
Marsh and Hyram stepped out and fired at targets with their M36’s. Both knocked a few enemy fighters down before they drew heavy fire. Again, they were forced into cover but had provided a window for Drummer Boy to move unmolested to the rear of the convoy.
The two friends reloaded behind a sandbag wall. Hyram swore under his breath. He cupped his hand around his mouth. “Keep moving! Stay with the bloody tanks!” he screamed. Shock Troopers rose, sprinted, dove, and fired. They gained a few meters at a time. One by one, they caught up with the leading tanks. Interior Guardsmen bravely forded the ruins pushing through gaps in the broken barricades or sifting through rubble. But just as many handfuls of stalwart men stormed forward were gunned down. Each time, nearby soldiers found cover and stalled.
Hyram’s violet eyes grew fiery. He leaned out from behind the sandbags and waved his arm. “I said keep moving!” he hollered. “Get up and advance, damn your eyes!”
“Get back!” yelled Marsh and tried to tug him behind cover. Hyram relented and pressed his back against the sandbags.
“We should’ve kept Drummer Boy for the laud-hailer,” he growled. Another fusillade of stubber, autogun, laser, and bolter fire ripped over their heads. Rounds bombarded the Leman Russ tanks’ sturdy armor and chewed so much rockcrete debris around them there seemed to be hundreds of stones cascading from the sky. Some Guardsmen fell and did not get back up. Many did not leave their positions.
Hyram groaned in frustration. “We’re not making any progress! We’re only a hundred meters away from the fortress!” He leaned out again. “Throne, at least pretend to act like Cadians!”
Marsh grabbed the man’s webbing and pulled. But Hyram held his ground, shouting and shooting by turns. Suddenly, there was a loud crack and Hyram fell backwards.
“Seathan!” Marsh collapsed beside him. There was a long, vertical, bloody gash going up the left side of Hyram’s cheek all the way from his jaw line to the bottom of his eye. An autogun slug had skipped off the pavement and bounced upwards along his face. It hit the bottom of his goggles, cracked the ballistic material, and ricocheted off the edge of his eyewear. Blood seeped out of the wound and the platoon leader blinked quickly.
“What happened? Am I shot?” Hyram patted down his armor and fatigues. “Where am I hit? Did I take it in my plate?”
Marsh, swirling with relief, laughed.
“You just got shot in the fucking face! The Emperor loves you!” When Marsh went to treat his wound, Hyram clutched his wrists.
“No, we have to keep them moving! We cannot afford to stop!”
Marsh Silas nodded. He jumped out of cover, shoved troopers forward, dragged them out cover, and kicked them in the seats of their pants.
“Get moving, you men! Are we slags, or Guardsmen!? Stay here and you’ll die! Let’s go!”
The Lieutenant raced around, timing his sprints between bursts of automatic fire. Bullets tore through his pant legs and chewed up the ground around him. Rounds skipped, snapped, and whizzed by. A few times, his flak armor caught a bullet that sent him to the ground. But he found his breath and forced himself up. He manhandled soldiers from their hiding spots and encouraged them to move on.
But it was not enough. As 2nd Platoon took cover behind a barricade, Marshjumped on top of it. “Move it up! Come on!” When they didn’t move, he took off his helmet and waved it over his head. “They call you dogfaces because you’re meaner and tougher than any hound! You were made for this! Let’s go, gunmen!” He spotted Interior Guardsmen who bunched up in a shell crater. Marsh jumped in and kicked them in their rucksacks. “Advance, Cadians! Advance for your Emperor!”
On they went, the Guardsmen bravely charging amid the hail of bullets and lasbolts. Behind them, the Demolisher’s cannon belched. A high explosive shell slammed into a captured Bastion tower. Where there had been a wall was naught but a gaping hole. The other tanks and the Griffon added their fire, destroying interior walls and collapsing floors with several salvos. As the infantry seized positions on the flanks and streets, the enemy’s fire slackened.
Slowly, relentlessly, 1st Company rolled past the soldier’s hall Bloody Platoon stayed at over the past few weeks. As he ran to another pile of rubble, Marsh looked right. Two dead Shock Troopers from another regiment armed with rocket launchers lay beside the door. Each had a gaping on in their helmets and dark blood over their uniforms. Their faces were pale and dead, purple eyes frozen. Marsh Silas felt as though he stared at these two corpses, pressed against the wall, for a lifetime.
Enemy fire intensified in front of him. Heavy bolter fire streamed from the next building, cutting down Cadian skirmishers and forcing Marsh Silas backwards. Fwoom! A rocket slammed into the armor plating of the lead Leman Russ. It failed to penetrate and left only a black scorch mark. Another rocket whizzed by the turret. The tank reversed and a missile struck the pavement where it had just been driving. The whole convoy came to a stop out of the building’s line of fire.
Marsh Silas turned and waved his hand. “Halt! Establish a perimeter!” As the men dispersed, Marsh twirled his finger in the air—rally up. Captain Giles, Hyram, Ghent, Eastoft, Walmsley Major, and Carstensen came running up. “Captain, sir, we can’t advance with that amount of anti-tank defenses in front of us. We need every single tank if we’re to retake the gate.”
“Buildings like these are linked by tunnels,” Hyram said. The weapons officer had taped a small pressure dressing to his face and the material had turned pink in most parts. He looked a sight, with a bandage over his dirty face but an eager glint in his eye. “Marsh Silas, I’ll support the troops out here. Can you take your platoon in and take the tunnels?”
“Take the tunnels then hit them from below. Aye, we’ll flush them out!” The two friends shook hands before Marsh raced back. “Bloody Platoon, on me!”
He deployed the heavy bolter teams on either side of the blown out windows to provide cover. Then, he stacked up with 1st Squad on the door. Ghent and Orzman fell in as well. Upon the Lieutenant’s word, they surged inside. One helmet stormed forward, another went left, and the third went right. “Lamps on!” Helmet-mounted lights or rail lamps cut through the dust and darkness. Smoke swirled in the rays of yellow and white light.
The hall’s interior was wrecked. All the synthetic wooden planking was smashed and burned. Tables had been broken in twoo, chairs reduced to splinters, the armored bar was riddled with bullet holes, and the kitchen was nothing but a mess of sparking wires, smoking machines, and burst pipes. Dead Guardsmen and heretics littered the floor.
“Clear!” Sergeant Holmwood called. Mottershead entered with Carstensen and 2nd Squad, followed by the remainder of the platoon.
“Cuyper, search the kitchen,” Marsh ordered. “Mottershead, we’ll sweet the second floor. Holmwood, Carstensen, hold everyone else here.”
With Mottershead at his side, Marsh Silas approached the bottom of the staircase. They exchanged a glance and nodded. In one swift motion, the Lieutenant took a knee and trained his M36 towards the top. Mottershead remained standing, hugged the left side of the stairwell, and approached the top. Sliding along the wall, his squad followed.
Mottershead reached the middle step. Thunk. A round, metal object bounced down the stairs.
“Grenade!” Mottershead cried before leaping over the railing. His squad jumped from the stairs and Marsh dove for cover. The explosion rocked the hall. Dust and splinters flew everywhere. Hot shrapnel sizzled through the air and bit into flak armor.
Corporal Second Class Vogt staggered to his feet, screamed, and clutched his hip. Shrapnel had ripped through his trousers and tore his thigh open. “Contact left!” A heretic came storming down the stairs with an autogun. Marsh tackled Vogt to the ground as the enemy fired. So many lasbolts struck him in return the heretic disintegrated.
“Medic up!” Marsh yelled.
“Contact front!”
Enemies appeared in the kitchen, forcing Cuyper’s men back. They came storming over the bar with short swords, machetes, and daggers. Howling and shrieking, they threw themselves at Bloody Platoon. The first wave was cut down in a hail of bright lasbolts but the second clambered over the bodies of their dead comrades. One knocked Marsh down but was swiftly shot. Marsh, still on his back, shot another charging heretic down and then two more who rushed over him. Just as he took aim at a fourth, he squeezed the trigger only for the barrel to fizzle. His charge back was out.
The traitor’s chest exploded from a bolt impact. He collapsed onto his knees in front of Marsh Silas and fell right between the Lieutenant’s legs. Orzman knelt beside Marsh, shot two more, ejected the magazine, and slammed a full one in. Three more shots, three more kills. Steadily, he approached the bar with a line of Guardsmen. He reloaded again and a howling traitor came at him. He ducked, slammed his shoulder against the heretic’s stomach, and kicked his arm back in the same motion, rolling the enemy over his back. Spinning around, he bashed the heretic’s teeth in with a buttstock blow and caved in his faceplate with a second strike.
Marsh Silas scrambled up, reloaded, and followed the Inquisitor. At once, the line of Imperial warriors vaulted over the bar, bayoneted the heretics in front of them, and pressed the survivors back into the kitchen. Stepping over broken dishes and mutilated bodies, they slaughtered the heretics who tripped over their own dead.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Just as the platoon leader cornered a heretic beside a cold storage unit, the entrance popped up. A shotgun barrel poked out and fired, tearing the heretic’s face off. When the door swung open completely, the hall caretaker stepped out. She was dirty and bloody, but her flak armor made her look soldierly and intimidating. Behind her, other Shock Troopers, Interior Guardsmen, and auxiliaries filtered out.
“About time someone showed up to clear the vermin outta my hall,” she huffed. She flashed a broad smile at Marsh Silas. “Why, if it isn’t the war hero?”
“Name and rank,” Commissar Ghent ordered as he strut up to the survivors.
“Gunnery Sergeant Dita Wulff, sir!”
“You are hereby reinstated to the Cadian Shock Troops of the Emperor’s Astra Militarum. Rally these survivors Gunnery Sergeant, you are now in command of this platoon’s 7th Squad. You answer to this man, now.” Ghent pointed at Marsh Silas.
“Hell yes, sir; it's been too long since I had me a war, it’s time to get some,” Wulff growled confidently.
Marsh led the party back to the main area. Mottershead tramped down the stairs with blood on his bayonet.
“Clear up,” he said.
“Clear down,” Marsh responded. “Gunny, where is the access tunnel to the next building?”
“It’s a no-go, sir. Traitor Marines knew all these buildings were built with interconnecting works and tunnels, so they collapsed them with explosives. Both tunnels are blocked and I doubt y’all have enough explosives to bust through.” Marsh turned away in aggravation and then surveyed his surroundings. He knew there was no alley separating the structures, they were built wall-to-wall. Approaching the shared barrier, he observed it for a moment and then nodded.
“Yoxall, can you blow through?”
“I grabbed more Krak det-packs before we left. Works fine for armor but it isn’t much against solid rockcrete.” Marsh paced and paced, then stopped and his head snapped up.
“There’s two dead troopers outside with rocket launchers and ammunition. We can blast through with those. Clivvy, Rowley, Tattersall, with me!”
Marsh Silas led them outside. Together, they sifted through the rubble and extracted the corpses. “Remember your explosives courses, Whiteshields? What kind of ammunition is that?”
“Concussion rockets, Lieutenant,” Rowley answered immediately. “Anti-fortification ammunition.”
“Well done. Clivvy, Rowley, you’re team one. Tattersall, you’re my loader. Let’s move.”
Too heavily laden with wargear, Marsh gave his M36 to Ghent and his power sword to Carstensen. When the former Commissar gazed at the weapon mundanely, Marsh Silas winked at him. “Keep the barrel hot for me, sir.”
“I’ll forgive you impudent remark this time, Cross.” Marsh just snickered.
“Bloody Platoon, listen up. We’ll attack from two points. I’ll take Tattersall, Carstensen, 2ndSquad, 6th, and 7th to the second floor and work our way through there. Walmsley Major, Ghent, take the remainder of the platoon through the ground floor. When I move, you will act also.”
Marsh led his detachment up the stairs. Once again, Orzman was with him and the Inquisitor stayed close. The teams took cover in separate rooms in open rooms on either side of the hall. Wanting some distance, Marsh backed up until he was adjacent with a smashed door—it led to the room he and Carstensen had stayed in.
He could not help but stop to gaze through the destroyed entrance. The floor was smashed, the furniture shredded, and holes gaped in the rockcrete walls. All that was left of the bed was a bust frame and burned sheets.
“Focus, my love. Work is to be done.” Carstensen guided his face forward by placing her hand on his cheek. Marsh nodded, knelt, and raised the rocket launcher. Tattersall came up behind him and slid one of the concussion rockets into the tube. He smacked the Lieutenant on the back of his helmet.
“Set!”
“Backblast clear! Firing!” Fwoom! The rocket slammed against the rockcrete wall. Rather than creating a large, fiery explosion, there was a massive impact resulting in a burst of white smoke. In the same instant, cracks spread through the wall and it collapsed backwards, shattered as if it were a glass window.
Marsh slung the launcher over his shoulder and grabbed the shotgun. Ejecting the normal slugs from the rotary magazine, he slipped in eight flechette rounds. Checking the bayonet, he followed Carstensen, Orzman, and the rest of his division through the breach. Barreling over the shell shocked defenders and bayonetting them in their bellies, they fanned out across an open balcony where the heretics established a heavy stubber.
Logue took the lead and stormed the sandbag position. He gunned down three heretics and grabbed the automatic weapon. Training it on the enemies below, he laced the ground floor with streams of enfilading fire. Heretics scrambled for cover but the Traitor Marines among them raised their bolters. Krak grenades flung through the first-floor breach, detonated at the feet of the hostile warriors, and forced them to divert their fire.
Other heretics attempted to seize the balcony back. Carstensen rushed to meet them. Blue energy enveloped her power fist and Marsh’s power sword. She ran one through before he could fire. Another had just pulled the pin on a grenade to lob it at the Guardsmen behind her. Without breaking stride, she hit him so hard he flew over the rail to the fire floor. The grenade detonated in the midst of his traitorous brothers. She and other Guardsmen cut their way through the counterattack, grappled with the disoriented enemy, slit their throats, and tossed them over the side.
Wulff led 7th Squad in a push along the balcony, clearing the last of the traitors and seizing the stairs. 2nd Squad retook their positions along the railing to engage the enemy. Marsh leaned over the side and lined up his sights on a wounded Traitor Marine. He knew the armor-penetrating flechette rounds would still be ineffective against ancient power armor on the front plate. He targeted joints—knee caps, elbows, the neck.
He squeezed the trigger and cycled the magazine. The first shot slammed into the Marine’s knee; it chewed through the metal and staggered him further. A second shore tore the plate further but the Marine spotted Marsh Silas. Amid the lasbolts, he turned, raised his skull-adorned bolt pistol, and fired an angry fusillade. Marsh ducked behind the sandbags which swiftly fell apart from the concentrated fire. Scrambling to another barrier on his stomach, he caught his breath, found his courage, and popped up again. He fired another round and it penetrated the knee plate. The Traitor Marine collapsed on one leg. As he lifted his Bolt Pistol, Commissar Ghent lanced him with his power sword. He followed it up with a full magazine of bolt-shell’s to the traitor’s head.
“Clear down!” yelled Walmsley Major.
“Clear up!” Marsh shouted back. “Drummer Boy, radio the tanks and tell them to move forward. Inform the Six we’re moving to assault the next building.”
Bloody Platoon hit their stride. Circumventing the blocked tunnels the enemy so cleverly closed, they blasted through the walls into the next structure, the next, and the next. Each firefight was an adrenaline-pumping, dynamic, fast, and savage little war. Guardsmen and heretics tangled with one another, punching, kicking, stabbing, bayoneting, and shooting. Soldiers roared prayers to the God-Emperor as they rushed into each fray. Men who were wounded fought on, holding their M36’s in one hand. Other men who exhausted their charge packs drew their trench knives and laspistols.
Each time they reclaimed a structure, reinforcing troops occupied it and held it against further assault. Stalwart warriors across the Cadian Militarum branches who persisted in redouts and last-ditch positions joined Bloody Platoon. Quartermaster-sergeants caught up with the troops to hand out charge packs, grenades, rockets, water, and food before bravely returning to the fort under fire to fetch more supplies.
Marsh linked up with Hyram, who orchestrated his platoon with precision and speed. Together, they varied their tactics and to prevent the retreating enemy from adapting. They knocked down walls, but grenades and heavy bolters would commence the attack instead of a bayonet push. Or they organized the Shock Troopers into ranks and cut enemy defenders in half with lasbolt volleys. Once, Marsh and Hyram led a squad in a daring flanking attack back onto the street and stormed the building from the front while other teams assaulted from the other structures.
Outside, the convoy continued to destroy hard targets and provide cover for advancing troops. The Leman Russ Demolisher blew massive holes in captured Bastions and breached bunkers. Interlocking roadways, now occupied by heretics, were cleared by the Griffon’s heavy mortar and the tanks’ heavy bolters. Bulwarks and light armor vehicles were blasted by Leman Russ battle cannons.
Heretic Astartes attempted to rally their peons, but the emergent cultists faltered. As their followers retreated, the Traitor Marines could not resist the tide. Krak missiles, autocannons, and concentrated lasgun fire was too much for their heavy armor. But many Imperials paid a terrible price as they assaulted the enemy marines. Entire squads were killed by single Marines, platoons lost half their numbers. Individual soldiers were dismembered, shattered by bolts, or beaten into bloody bags of broken bones and bursting organs. But each loss only served as fuel for the Cadians’ resolve to take Kasr Sonnen back.
Guardsmen whooped, prayed, cheered, and taunted the heretics and Traitor Marines who steadily gave up ground. Marsh Silas, Hyram, and Carstensen barked orders and issued war cries as they stormed enemy fortifications with their platoons. Throught it all, Commissar Ghent raised his fist and extolled the troops to press on in the memory of the Cadians who came before them! Every time Marsh Silas heard him call on the men to push forward, he felt his heart soar. He seethed with confidence and found himself grinning constantly. One after another, he blew down walls with the rocket launcher and joined his friends in furious assaults. Dozens of buildings were seized from the enemy. The advance felt unstoppable.
He squeezed the trigger once again. Fwoom! The wall collapsed and Bloody Platoon rushed the breach. But the dust settled and they found themselves back outside. Before them was a six-lane intersection overlooked by Firestorm Redoubts, rings of pillboxes and bunkers, and interlocked Aegis Defense Lines. Among the twisting barricades, dragon’s teeth, and irregular roadways were hundreds of bodies. Imperial and heretical dead slumped over each other and choked the entrances to countless buildings. Many structures were reduced to mere piles of rubble and burnt-out vehicles littered the streets. Survivors from the opposing forces, embedded throughout the buildings that still stood, exchanged fire. Imperial forces gained small increments of territory and most encouraging of all, Marsh Silas could see the kasr’s main gate down the road!
“Tanks!? Where are the bloody tanks!?” Sergeant Cuyper asked aloud. Marsh and Hyram went back to the entrance and looked down the road. Cadian infantry trickled down to their position and stormed other buildings. But their tank support had vanished.
“Did we outpace them?” said Hyram.
“Drummer Boy, raise the Captain immediately!” Marsh ordered.
“Enemy armor, front!”
They raced back to the breach and crouched behind the waist-high remnants of the wall. Smoke and dust swirled through the air—Marsh Silas could only see the vague shapes of enemy vehicles. Raising his magnoculars, he activated his thermal imaging. The world became grayish-black and the vehicles appeared as white-hot boxy shapes. Steadily, menacingly, rolling over barricades and plowing through heaps of twisted metal, they drew closer.
Flipping the setting back to clear-channel, he finally recognized the profiles. The lead vehicle was a gray Predator link tank adorned with black spikes and bleached white skulls. Golden trim lined the hull and hazard stripes marked the armor skirts. Behind it came three defaced Rhino transports, each one bedecked with spikes, gold, and eight-pointed stars. Havoc Missile Launchers swiveled back and forth, searching for targets. Traitor Marines stood in the forward hatches, operating pintle-mounted heavy stubbers.
Flooding the intersection, the Rhinos dropped their rear hatches and Traitor Marines spilled out. As bolts ripped through the open, the Havoc Launcher on the leading Rhino focused on them.
“Hit the deck!” Hyram ordered. Just as Marsh Silas dove onto the ground, he felt the concussion from numerous explosions. Chunks of rockcrete and wooden planks fell around him. The front section of the building collapsed, killing a few Interior Guardsmen. Predator autocannon shells followed, keeping their heads down. The balcony of the building collapsed and dozens of men were thrown out.
Marsh Silas crawled up to Hyram and Drummer Boy and peeked over the rubble. The enemy vehicles spread out and laid down suppressive fire against the Imperial positions. Armed with heavy flamers, Heretic Astartes stomped up to a Cadian bunker and filled it with fire. Burning Guardsmen crawled out of firing ports, vaulted through slits, or ran out blast doors. Sponson-mounted heavy bolters and Predator autocannons ended their suffering.
“Sir, Captain Giles reports they’ve hit a roadblock five hundred meters back behind the bend,” Drummer Boy yelled into Marsh’s ear. “The tanks can’t get through so they’re taking an alternate route. He’s ordered us to hold position. ETA: five minutes!”
“We’re not going to last for five fucking minutes!” Hyram shouted. “Who else is nearby!?”
“Elements of the 659th, but they’re refusing all requests!”
“Blast! Cadians, for the Emperor’s sake, return fire!”
“AT teams, target those tanks!” Marsh ordered as he took his M36 back from Ghent.
Knaggs and Fletcher erected the tripod of their Missile Launcher, took aim, and fired. The first krak missile immobilized a Rhino and a second detonated the engine. Clouds of fire erupted from every hatch and port of the vehicle. Fleming and other grenadiers did what they could with krak grenades, eliminating Traitor Marines in twos and threes or breaking up their squads to prevent an advance. Walmsley Minor and his gunner suppressed enemy infantry, but the Heretic Astartes nimbly moved from cover to cover, avoiding their fields of fire.
Undaunted, the enemy came on. Cultists threw grenades, forcing the Imperials to hunker down. More than once, it became a match of catching one another’s explosives. Marsh Silas dropped his M36, snatched a frag as it flew towards him, and flung it back. Orzman slid up beside him and cut down a Traitor Marion with his bolt carbine.
“Give me some cover, Cross!”
“Bloody Platoon, covering fire!” As their fusillade intensified, Orzman leaped out of the building, weaved between debris, and exchanged fire with Traitor Marines. One of them dropped his empty bolter and drew a sword. Orzman ducked deftly under the swipe, drew his own power word, and cut the Marine’s leg off at the knee. Leaving a krak grenade as a parting token, he took a running jump off a roadblock and jumped at another Marine. He embedded the blade in the monster’s chest so deeply it came out the other side. Tearing the sword away and sheathing it, he disappeared behind the destroyed Rhino.
Moments later, he scampered over to another of the Rhinos targeting Bloody Platoon. Orzman climbed up, dispatched the gunner with his bolt carbine, and dropped a krak grenade down the hatch. Just as he jumped off, the vehicle exploded. Much to Marsh’s amazement, Orzman dashed back to their position amid a hail of bolt-shells.
Marsh stood up, grabbed Orzman’s hand, and pulled him back into cover. The Inquisitor nodded but the victory was short-lived. From the southern road to their right, more enemy vehicles appeared—another Predator and two Rhinos slid into view. Again, the volume of enemy fire increased and Bloody Platoon crouched behind whatever cover they had. The building steadily came apart. The screams of the wounded were drowned out by the barrage.
“Take heed, Guardsmen!” Commissar Ghent shouted above the fray. He marched in full view of the enemy. “If we are about to die, then we do so for the greatest cause! Even if we fall, kasr Sonnen shall not! For the Emperor!”
It was at that very moment that a shell struck one of the Rhino APCs. The transport’s fuel cells exploded and the hull caught fire. Heavy shells whizzed through the air and smashed into the traitors’ vehicles. Bloody Platoon raised their heads as the convoy rolled down the road on the opposite side of the intersection. Traitor Marines turned their fire on the tanks but were caught in the open. Defiantly, they charged the convoy but disappeared in heavy bolt and cannon fire.
Captain Giles, riding on the lead tank, waved his sword.
“Make for the gate! Chaaarge!” he screamed over his voxman’s laud-hailer.
A great war cry rose as several companies Guardsmen surged down the roads. They stormed into enemy redoubts, rescued their trapped friends, and channeled onto the main route. Like floodwaters, they flowed over every obstacle and barricade. Cultists disappeared in the waves of bayonets. Overhead, Imperial troops raced across rooftops and toppled invaders from their perches.
“Bloody Platoon, stay with me!” Marsh Silas whooped as he ran through the fray. He and his comrades raced up the road alongside tanks and thousands of other troops. Above them, Valkyrie transported swooped in and dropped Shock Troopers onto the ramparts abreast of the barbican and gatehouse. Lasbolts streaked from every angle, explosions rippled and blossomed across the castle. More airborne troops dropped while Vulture gunships circled overhead to sweep enemy combatants from the walls.
“Hold with the tanks! Hold the gate at all costs!” Captain Giles ordered as he jumped down from the Leman Russ. The convoy formed a battle line in front of the great gate. Across the bridge swarmed seemingly thousands of cultists. Hundreds of Traitor Marines and their foul machines supported the charge. Bloody Platoon dug in among the rubble, sandbags, defense lines, shall craters, and abandoned positions, then directed their fire onto the enemy. Thousands of Guardsmen piled in, creating a line ten ranks deep. Heavy weapons slammed away, enemy squads disappeared in beams of plasma and lasers. Leman Russ MBT’s blasted away, their Battle Cannons destroying one armored target after another. On and on the enemy came, undeterred by the Imperial wall.
Marsh crouched to reload but Orzman turned him around. He pointed towards a ladder adjacent to their position.
“Cross, the men on the walls won’t reach the gatehouse in time. If we can’t close the gate, let’s raise the drawbridge. Follow me!”
“With you! Walmsley Major, the platoon is yours! Stay with Hyram!” He followed Orzman down the line. Shells, tracers, and lasbolts tore by them. Orzman threw himself onto the ladder and scurried up. Marsh was right behind him. Autogun slugs struck the ladder guard and ripped across metal timbers holding the gate. It was a long climb up three stories. Many times, the Lieutenant resolved not to look down but his gaze inadvertently fell at each tremendous explosion. Exposed, he murmured many prayers. Sweat ran down his face and stung his eyes. His arms ached, his breath left his lungs, and several times his hands slipped on the rungs.
A rocket slammed into the timber adjacent to the ladder well. Part of the guard rails broke and cascaded to the ground below. Orzman looked down at Marsh Silas.
“Emperor’s feet, climb faster!” Another rocket hit near them. Rungs of the ladder and more rails fell from above and below. “It’s coming apart, hurry, hurry!”
The catwalk loomed. Orzman slipped over the edge and extended his hand. Marsh was almost at the top when another rocket struck the supports. The screws popped, metal rungs creaked, and the ladder peeled away from the catwalk. Marsh scrambled up the last few rungs and reached out with both arms. Orzman caught his hands and with a grunt of exertion, pulled the Shock Trooper up. Rolling onto his back, Marsh released an exasperated breath.
“Thank the Emperor, all the Saints, and all the bloody Adepts on the Throneworld!” he wheezed.
“Get up, Guardsman! We’re at the emergency bridge control unit.”
As Marsh lifted himself up, Orzman tried to force the door to the office open. “They’re holding it! Help me, Silas!”
Marsh and Orzman threw their shoulders against the door once, twice, thrice. Roaring on the fourth attempt, they bashed the door open and threw the heretics back. The pair dispatched the defenders with their sidearms. But one of the survivors leveled the barrel of a flamer and screamed. Orzman backed out of the room while Marsh dove onto the metal deck. Scrambling towards the invader underneath the stream of flame, the Lieutenant sprung up, grabbed the flamer from his hands, and wrestled around the man. Turning the heretic around, he forced him to squeeze the triggers and set his remaining comrades alight.
As they cried their last, Marsh forced the heretic towards the control panel and threw him through the window. Orzman came back into the office and pointed at the controls. “Well done, that was close. Now, pull that lever.”
Marsh yanked on the yellow handle protruding from the control panel. Emergency sirens wailed and the gigantic mechanisms located throughout the barbican began to grind. Both halves of the drawbridge rose. Those traitors and their vehicles in the center fell through the opening and crashed into the moat below. Those in front slid down, crashing into huge piles that were crushed by sliding tanks and transports. All the ones who attempted to escape to the other end met a similar fate.
As the Cadians over their heads and below their feet cheered thunderously, Orzman tapped Marsh Silas on his shoulder plate. “That should hold them back, Lieutenant. For now, at least.”