Marsh Silas walked down the aisle of the empty chapel. The simple, wooden pews were empty. No priest was present and no Sororitas of the Orders Fenestrus or Madriga toiled within the walls. Incense burned in golden chalices and flames snapped in enormous braziers beneath the column. Sunlight shone through the armaglass windows, dazzling the interior with a myriad of colors. Bright blues, deep purples, fiery oranges, alluring maroons, bloody crimson, emerald green—he passed through these lights all the way to the offering table.
Behind it was the altar, a massive, golden Aquila. Each wing was longer than he was tall. Above it was a clear, armaglass dome which allowed golden, late afternoon sunlight to highlight the figurine. Making the Sign of the Aquila, Marsh Silas knelt in front of it.
“Emperor, I humbly ask You to convey a message to some of my dear, departed ones. To Afdin, let him know that the business has been set right. It may be some time, but my words and those of others shall weave together to portray the truth. Some of your kin still draw breath and their freedom has been won. Tell him thank you, and that I am grateful he trusted me.”
Marsh’s smile fell. “Tell Lilias…tell my love, that her legacy is in my hands and I will not fail her. Tell her I wish she were still here. I’d give everything to bring her back so she might create the change she wanted. She loved the Imperium and every single person in it. Lilias wanted to raise a whole new generation, so they might inherit a better Imperium and make it so themselves.”
He wiped the tears running down his face and quickly resumed his posture. This time, he opened his eyes and looked up at the top of the altar. “My Emperor, You hold sway in all things. It feels cruel that You had to take her away. But, if You did, surely that means You need her more than myself. For what purpose, I know not, but I suppose that’s not important for me to know just yet.” He smiled a little at this. “Just, tell her I love her so much. Her name is always on my tongue and her image is never far from my mind. Make sure to tell her, please, that it won’t be a distraction.” He laughed a little more and his gaze fell. “Yes, tell her I love her and that it was too soon. The Imperium deserved her even if I did not.”
Drawing breath, he regained his composure. “My Lord, I know I ask for too much already, far too much for such an insignificant speck such as I. But if I might ask one last favor, will you pass something on to my dear friend Barlocke?”
“You can tell me yourself.”
From behind the Aquila came Barlocke’s visage. He propped one hand against the marble base of the statue and smirked. “Hello, Silvanus.”
Marsh Silas slowly stood up and folded his arms across his chest.
“I thought the fragment might have left me for good.”
“Oh, a few harsh words and a dour face could not send me running,” said the ghost, nonchalantly examining his fingers. He threw back a lock of his dark hair and approached Marsh. “So, you’ve laid the foundation for your future, have you?”
“The immediate one, at least.”
“It’s risky. But it just so happens, I prefer risky,,” Barlocke murmured coyly. Marsh slid his hand into the specter’s and squeezed it. It was strange to feel his palm as if he were still living, to have that warmth cupped in his own grasp. Yet, he found it comforting too.
“It must be done. You laid down your life for me, if you would recall.”
Barlocke’s dark eyes twinkled, then he sharply looked away.
“Well, I invested a great deal in you,” he grunted with a shrug. “Couldn’t let such an investment go to waste. I’d be a fool.”
“You were a fool to choose me in the first place,” Marsh said, letting go of his hand. Together, they stared at the glittering statue. “You know, Barlocke, I think—”
“They’re here.” No sooner had Barlocke faded than the doors to the chapel swung open. Hyram and Ghent stepped aside as Walmsley Major led Bloody Platoon into the chapel. The Cadians lined the aisle, sat in the pews, or leaned against the benches. When the shuffling of their booted feet ceased and the air grew still, Marsh Silas approached them.
“Men. Comrades. Brothers and sisters, welcome. I thank thee for joining me in this humble house. I shall not belabor you with a long speech nor colorful words. We have suffered much this past year. Old and new hands have been lost in the days since the Long Patrol. More still, in the Battle of the Hills. Again, within Kasr Sonnen and outside its walls. Friends from distant worlds, friends who we held true to our hearts as Cadians.”
He walked closer to the men, who looked on sorrowfully. “I wanted to become a leader to effect a great change. To start small, and rise up. I know not how it shall all be done, but I resolve to try. These past days, I have sought to abandon this purpose. It felt as though my heart had fled and with it, all desire and energy.” He glanced at Hyram and Ghent, both of whom smiled and nodded. “I have not acted as I should have and for that, I owe you my deepest apologies.”
The Guardsmen exchanged many gazes and murmured among themselves. It was Walmsley Major who strode before all the others and held out his arms.
“We’ve understood, sir. Commissar Carstensen was a blow to us all, but…she was different for you.”
“It matters not.” Marsh Silas smiled and placed his hands on the bigger man’s shoulders. “A leader must stay with his men through all strife and hazards, no matter his own struggles. I should have been there for you all as we dealt with this loss and the further sufferings because of me.” Marsh put his arm around Walmsley and guided him back towards the other. “Men, you are tired, you are wounded, you are unpaid, your awards suspended, and your promotions stripped. Isaev plans to send us out in a few day’s time despite it all and I say no more. While I have thought only of myself these past days, now, I strive for you.”
He smiled, tapped Walmsley Major on his shoulder, and walked by him. Bloody Platoon, bewildered, watched him pass through the open chapel doors.
“Sir? What are you fixing to do?” asked Cuyper. “Sir!”
Marsh listened to the hurried footfalls of his men behind him. He walked across the compound towards headquarters. His smile had not departed. Passing by the sentries, he walked into the bustling command center where the menials, scribes, and staffers toiled. Assembled around the large hololithic projector where he and his men had endured countless briefings was Colonel Isaev, the company commanders, and a considerably smaller retinue of officers spoke.
The hologram on display portrayed a series of hostile forces in the countryside to the northwest. General Battye’s reinforced army was still in pursuit while rear echelon forces eliminated isolated pockets of resistance. Imperial logistical elements and reinforcements continued to slither their way up the coastal MSR to the north to resupply, feed, and maintain the bloated command.
Isaev, hunched over the projector, slowly stood up and leveled his eyes at Marsh Silas. The young platoon leader marched up the opposite side, still grinning.
“I’d tell you to wipe that smirk off your mug, Lieutenant, but I would prefer it if you vacated my headquarters.”
“Not until I’ve spoken my piece, sir.” Marsh Silas deactivated the console, causing a murmur among the assembly. Isaev bolted up but Marsh cut him off. “You are just as complicit in the mistreatment and demise of the 45th Altridge Regiment, yet you evaded justice. But you have become infected with the same disease that Osniah bore: greed, coveting, and selfishness. Your desire for riches and accolades placed this regiment on poor ground against enemies it was not prepared to resist. For that, many a brave soldier lost their lives, no less than Cartsensen the Cadian, Hero of the Imperium. Were it not for the confusion of this battle, your incompetence would be made bare for all to see.”
“You do not have Warden-Colonel Isaev to protect you know, Cross, nor the Inquisitor. Change your tone before I put you up against a wall and have you shot.”
Marsh scoffed as Hyram, Ghent, and the rest of Bloody Platoon filtered in. They spread out behind him, still shocked.
“You say that like it frightens me. I have crossed swords with Warp beasts, daemonic engines, Warpsmiths, hereteks, and Heretic Astartes of the Iron Warriors and the dreaded Black Legion. What effect can your bluster have over me?” Marsh stepped aside and pointed at his men. “These Guardsmen have fought long and hard in the trenches while you idled in the rear, riding on the wave of our triumphs. For my acts, you punish them. I say, shoot me and be done with it, if only you would restore their pay, their promotions, and their awards which you have so cowardly and spitefully stripped away.”
“Oh, is that all you wish of me?”
“You seek to march us out of this place. How blind can you be? Where you see rank after rank of rested, armed, and armored gunmen, there are only the bedraggled, exhausted, and wounded Guardsmen who have carried this battle for you. We were not at full-strength when the siege began and we are well below half-strength now. There are only a few hundred of us left. There are no orders requesting the 1333rd back to the front.”
“The enemy fleet has been broken and his planetary host is scattered to the north!” roared Isaev. “I will not sit by while other commanders line their chests with medals and fill their chests with rewards!”
Marsh Silas slammed his hand on the rim of the hololithic projector and pointed at Isaev. His smile departed and his gaze grew fiery.
“I will not let you send my people out into that countryside against a foe it cannot match. We must remain here, where we can defend ourselves and recuperate. We need supplies, reinforcements—”
“You do not command me, Cross, it is I who commands you!”
“A commander who does not see sense must be relieved of his duty. Give my men back their pride and honor and make the right choice!”
“Damn the wall and the firing squad, I will have you here!”
Isaev placed his hand on his holster. But it was then that a catastrophic, explosive rumble shook the sky. It shook the very earth and made the rockcrete walls shudder. All looked around, befuddled and confused. Throughout headquarters, countless cogitator displays flashed from green to blue. Massive screens flashed with alerts. Voxmen and adepts quickly began answering a host of frantic calls.
As Isaev blustered in confusion, Marsh Silas and his band hurried outside. Joining the crowd of stunned Guardsmen already gathered outside, their eyes rose to the heavens. A heavily damaged Furious-class grand cruiser descended from the clouds near Kasr Sonnen. Flames blossomed amidships. A spread of shattered armored plates and broken weapon blocks billowed as another explosion rocked it. Massive guns along the kasr walls bombarded the cruiser while Aeronautica Imperialis fighters swarmed around it. Enemy aircraft responded like a cloud of angry wasps. The ship’s enormous engines fell apart, repeatedly flaring, dwindling, and igniting again. Part of its heavily armored prow was dented and it was holed all over.
It passed Kasr Sonnen and drifted over the sea south of Army’s Meadow. At first, it seemed as though it would crash directly onto the peninsula. Yet it veered towards the partially rebuilt but veritable fortress that was Kasr Fortis. Flak spires and massive cannons spat furiously at the enemy vessel. As more of the hull broke away, it seemed to steer towards the open sea. But there was a great flash from the grand cruiser’s bow. An incredibly bright and voluminous red beam shot out from the cannon mounted on the prow. When it struck Kasr Fortis, nearly half of the city disappeared in a fiery, rising, anvil cloud. The shockwave created a wave so huge the channel was partially drained. Water swept over the beach, across the neck of the peninsula, and even across the compound.
As the ship finally crashed into the water and started to sink, the horde of fighters defending it broke through the bracket of Imperial aircraft and descended on Army’s Meadow. At the same time, more shells struck the cape. Marsh and his comrades turned around to see heretical Thunderhawk gunships approaching their post.
“Walmsley Major, get Bloody Platoon ready to fight! Spread the word for men to defend themselves!” Marsh ordered, then rushed back into headquarters with Hyram and Ghent. Inside, they found Isaev grasping at his scalp as he stared at the projector.
“What is happening? What is happening!?” he despaired.
“It’s the final fight, sir!” exclaimed Hyram. “It’s Summanus’s final gambit. He’s using what’s left of his airpower to send a strike force against Army’s Meadow.” Hyram pointed to enemy projections on the map. “He’s sending a vanguard to these bluffs across the basin to support the assault. If they can seize Army’s Meadow, they can use it to cross Mason Bridge and cut the MSR, depriving of General Battye of all of the necessary resources he needs to finish off the bulk of the Warsmith’s army. He can secure supplies, vehicles, artillery, everything he would need to protract the conflict.”
“Then, we must ride out to meet it. Company commanders, assemble your men, cross the bridge, and head north.”
Various officers exchanged anxious glances. The company commanders stiffened. Giles and Eastoft looked uneasy. Isaev noticed the lack of clamor and stood up. “Why does no one move!? Obey my order!”
Marsh Silas and Hyram gazed at one another, then back at their men. Artillery shells fell outside, hammering the facilities across the camp. As Guardsmen hollered and ran outside, the two friends’ eyebrows knitted and their lips tightened. Together, they gazed back at the regimental commander.
“No, sir,” they said together. All eyes fell on them. Isaev glowered in the sickly glow of the hologram.
“No, sir?” he rumbled. “You defy me further when there is a chance to break this enemy force?”
“How can you not see that this is a fool’s errand?” Marsh asked. “If we desert Army’s Meadow to go attack the vanguard, there will be hardly any fighting men left to defend the cape. Do you expect the wounded, the sick, and the untrained menials to defend this ground while we, with so few men and vehicles, attack a force much larger than us? If the enemy cuts the MSR, Battye’s command will be threatened.”
“That vanguard can only shell us, the aerial assault will be fended off by those fighters and our own AA defenses.”
“Sir, it’s almost dusk. The tide will leave soon and be out for an hour. That was how the undead attacked us from Kasr Fortis, now Summanus seeks to do the same. He’ll send his vanguard across the channel right onto Army’s Meadow shore! A small aerial strike force will soften us up and then the killing blow will come from his unengaged force.”
Aides and officers murmured. Isaev, red faced, grimaced. Marsh Silas looked at his friend for a moment, finding him stalwart. Nodding, he took a step forward.
“He’s right, sir. Without Guardsmen to defend Army’s Meadow, the entire operation will cave in. With his new war machines, Summanus can sally north into Battye’s rear, and he can send his troops south to keep troops from Kasr Sonnen from reinforcing. We must evacuate the wounded and noncombatants and then hold for as long as possible.”
“We do not have the numbers to hold the camp for long,” said Hyram. He pointed to Mason Bridge on the hololithic display. “If we can evacuate the wounded first, we can then pull our remaining forces back to the bridge. If we can fortify the bridgehead, we shall have a clear field of fire.”
“If we can hold long enough, the water will trap them right here on the peninsula. They’ll have nowhere to go but the bridge—right into the muzzles of our lasguns,” finished Marsh.
“If we allow them to overrun the camp, we can call for air and artillery support,” Captain Giles counseled.
“Give them the base?” Isaev snapped. “Abandon our post to the enemy!?”
“Sir, a feint of that nature will draw them in and—” Marsh was not allowed to finish his sentence. Isaev slammed his fist down on the edge of the hololithic projtector.
“I shan’t hear any words out of you. You disgraced this regiment with your subversive actions! You’re a discredit to the uniform.” He pointed at Hyram. “And you, I ought to have you shot for insubordination and cowardice. Retreat to the bridge, what kind of man are you? I ought to have you shot. Why, I’ll do it myself!”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Isaev drew his pistol. Marsh Silas immediately stepped in front of Hyram, his hand snapping to the grip of his holstered pistol. Hyram drew Carstensen’s Justice. Officers stepped back, others counseled caution, but their voices were lost in the babble. Shells continued to bombard the base and the shrill report of screaming stubbers indicated the battle had commenced. Only Ghent’s booming voice was enough to break the deadlock.
“Every moment we waste in here bickering, the enemy grows stronger!” he hollered. “While we fret like children our men are out there dying! Colonel Isaev, there is no time for accusations and charges. We need to act. These men speak sense.”
“You are the regimental Commissar, Ghent,” Isaev spluttered. “You are here to enable my command, yet you speak against my voice!?”
“I serve a higher purpose than being a mere mouthpiece for a regimental commander. You might have risen from the ranks, but I was reborn in the crucible of the Schola Progenium. My sworn duty is to these men. My voice belongs to these men, just as Carstensen the Cadian’s did!” Ghent replied, motioning towards Marsh and Hyram. “A Guardsman’s life must sometimes be spent, sir, but that life must never be wasted. Just as I must serve you, I serve them as well. I advise you to heed their word; we will all die if we remain. Order the retreat.”
Isaev seethed. His shoulders heaved with every ragged, growling breath. He appeared more like a raving hound than he did a man. Over and over again, he searched the faces of his aides and officers, as if seeking an ally. But their eyes fell or turned away. Others maintained a burning glare with their commanding officer. Finally, the Colonel stormed through the crowd and approached the exit.
“So long as I breathe, the regiment will obey my command. I won’t have it written in our history that the 1333rd died on the retreat.”
“It is not retreat! It is a tactical withdrawal, sir!” Hyram implored from behind Marsh.
“You will make this camp our tombstone! At the head of that bridge, we not only have a chance of defeating this army once and for all, but ensuring that we will live long enough to do it!” added Marsh Silas.
“Aye, and it shall be a bloody tombstone!” Isaev yelled over his shoulder and pointed his pistol at Marsh Silas. “Now, are we men or are we cowards!? Now out, out into the—”
A bolt pistol went off and the shell struck Isaev squarely in the chest, blasting his carapace chestpiece apart. He was thrown on his back, his expression frozen in painful agony. Marsh looked back. Commissar Ghent, holding Carstensen’s Justice, walked over to the corpse, stared at it.
“For Carstensen and the 45th,” he murmured. Marsh Silas and Hyram strode up beside him and gazed down at the twitching body.
“I thought vengeance was pointless.”
“If it makes no difference it should not be pursued. Neither should Vengeance come before duty, Silas,” said Ghent. He spun the sidearm around his finger before snatching it by the barrel and extending the grip to Hyram. When the junior officer took it, Ghent looked back at Marsh. “Yet, rarely so, vengeance becomes duty, and the righting of a wrong is my duty, indeed.”
He turned around, putting his hands on Marsh and Hyram’s shoulders, causing them to turn as well. “Captain Giles, I trust the 1333rd Regiment to you, Eastoft, and these two men. What are your orders?”
Marsh and Hyram, stupefied, shared a glance. But the former walked in front of Giles and saluted.
“Sir, we should utilize the Chimeras to evacuate the wounded first. I will equip men and defend the field medicae.”
“I will establish a perimeter around the medicae, sir,” added Hyram.
“And I will be coming with you both,” said Giles. “Easoft, get us all the air support you can muster and guide them in. Ghent, get those Chimeras up to the medicae. The time has come to fight. Men, arm yourselves! To your posts! For the Emperor!” Together, the officers dropped their data-slates and stormed out of the headquarters.
Outside, dueling aircraft fireballed and spun out. Shells dropped with frightening rapidity. Guardsmen surged towards the trenchworks overlooking the beach where the water steadily drained away. Anti-aircraft batteries thundered skywards. Barracks and warehouses caught fire. Bunkers collapsed. Trenches caved in. Bodies littered the ground and draped the rims of impact craters. Chimeras drove hectically towards the field medicae.
“Take your men first to the medicae while I assemble my gun teams, then move up to the cliff!” Hyram ordered before bolting away. As he ran by, Bloody Platoon charged over to Marsh Silas. Holmwood led the way, carrying Marsh’s M36, shotgun, and armor.
“Sir, quick, equip yourself!” cried the squad leader. Marsh hastily donned his armor with Holmwood’s help.
“They’re already coming up the beach!” Walmsley Minor shouted.
“Enemy armored personnel carriers, tanks, Heretic Astartes, Band of Dusk, they’re all coming!” screamed Mottershead. A stream of sizzling lasers, angry bolt shells, and autogun slugs sliced through the camp. Men dove behind sandbag walls and disappeared in fighting holes. Those caught in the open were shredded. When the barrage ended, they watched as the initial wave of traitors slammed into the beach trenches. Shock Troopers collided with the mobs. Lines of bayonets sank into the flesh and the melee immediately became confused. Formations broke up, men toppled over one another. Bayonets were thrust, knives gouged, fists flew, and boots fell. But like an ocean wave, the Imperials surged forward and started retaking positions.
Finally clad and armed, Marsh gripped the laud-hailer attached to his flak armor collar and squeezed it.
“Warriors of the 1333rd, stand fast! We must hold on for as long as we can! Bloody Platoon, make haste to the medicae!”
“For Cadia!” Bloody Platoon hollered. Together, they made for the position. Holmwood overtook Marsh by a few paces on his left side, waving his men on. Just then, there was a flash of blue laser fire. The squad leader suddenly went limp, spiraling as he fell towards Marsh Silas. Instinctively, Marsh let go of his weapon and caught the NCO who came down so heavily in his arms he was forced onto his knees. The lasbolt had struck Holmwood on the left side of his chest, creating a huge crater in his torso. Smoke rose from the singed, burned-out flesh. In an instant, his purple eyes were devoid of all life.
Marsh Silas had to drop him. He picked his weapon back up and kept running. The main compound was still in the Cadians’ hands, but only just. Beach defenses rapidly traded hands, with the opposing forces retaking and losing the positions by turns. Shells still bombarded the camp and the point-blank exchanges of gunfire on both the southern and northern perimeter were destructive. Guardsmen and heretics battled in the trenches, on top of bunkers, and in sandbag redoubts. Iron Warrior engineers disarmed mines under fire and cleared obstacles for their vehicles grinding over the empty channel. Enemy dropships lingered long enough to disgorge a few squads before an Imperial fighter swept by and shot it to pieces, forcing it to crash into the base.
They reached the medicae and flowed behind the sandbags. Stretch-bearers flooded in and out of the building in parallel streams, transitioning the wounded to the waiting Chimeras and rushing back in. Marsh aligned his troopers along the southern side and deployed his gun teams on the western sandbag wall. Volley after volley flew over the heads of their comrades in the trenches, stubbornly resisting the heretical advance.
The growl of engines grew louder. A Rhino APC rolled over the trenches, its armored chassis groaning from the strain. “Knaggs, Fletch, up front!” Marsh shouted. He led them to the eastern corner of the perimeter where they had a clear field of fire through the debris from damaged buildings and bunkers. As he provided covering fire, Knaggs and Fletcher established their system. Mounting the tube onto the tripod, Knaggs knelt in front of the sight while Fletcher slid a missile into the back of the tube. Ramming it home, he closed the breech and tapped the partner on the back of his helmet.
“Back-blast clear!”
“Firing!”
Whump! The launcher fired and the missile strike was nearly instantaneous. A gout of flame billowed through the open hatch of the Rhino, engulfing the gunner. A Predator tank steered around it and the two gunners loaded another missile. Again, they fired and the round struck its mark. After burning for several moments, the ammunition inside the tank exploded so fiercely the turret flew off. It tumbled back down, crushing and snagging nearby traitors.
“Good effect on target!” Knaggs yelled.
“Hold here, if any more of their armor attempts a breakthrough, hit them—”
Marsh was thrown back as a rocket slammed into the barrier. As he did, he watched the figures of his comrades fall backwards. A cloud of gray dust billowed up, blinding him momentarily. Sitting up, the tinnitus ringing in his ears, he checked himself for wounds. Some shrapnel had hit his chestplate but hadn’t penetrated. Getting to his feet, he crawled over to the AT team. Knaggs and Fletcher were both dead; the former had shrapnel through his throat and face, while the other’s face was caved in. Marsh stared at them for only a moment, before inspecting their equipment: it was destroyed.
“Here they come!” Marsh Silas looked up. Bypassing the trench, Band of Dusk raiders bounded towards the medicae center. Fusillades ripped through them, but the enemy squads dispersed, the intervals reducing their casualties. Grenades flew between the attackers and defenders, scattering Guardsmen before they detonated.
It became a melee. Bayonets thrust, knives slashed across throats, thumbs dug into eye sockets. Bloody Platoon, despite all their trials over the prevailing months, held their ground. They held their posts, Guardsmen often fighting off two or three crazed attackers at a time. There were buttstrokes and barrel strikes, fists and heels, teeth and nails. The violet, lavender, purple, and indigo of their eyes burned passionately, as if all fatigue and despair that had so plagued suddenly departed. Even as he fought, Marsh could not help but feel awestruck by their bravery.
Lasbolts from their left and grenades from their right broke the enemy advance. Hyram and his weapons teams flooded into the positions around the medicae and mounted their weapons. It was just in time; the Guardsmen in the beachside trenches were finally forced to flee back into the camp as the weight of the enemy forces was too great. Just as they charged, heavy bolters, grenade launchers, and heavy stubbers raked their lines. Simultaneously, Captain Giles arrived with a detachment of troops.
“Some of them got inside!” yelled Giles and pointed at the entrance. Marsh Silas did not think, he merely charged in. A hooded figure standing just past the threshold turned just as he did. He bayoneted him against the wall, kicked him off, and fired at the assailants attempting to fight their way through the medicae. Screaming resounded from the halls and Marsh ran in to find Band of Dusk warriors stabbing convalescing men in their berths. Wounded Guardsmen were dragged from their beds and decapitated. Others had skulls broken in or limbs chopped off. All the while, the deranged raiders hooted and hollered in a frenzy, as if driven to ecstasy by such savagery. After all their time on the run, they delighted in killing the defenseless.
Marsh, Captain Giles, and a cadre of enraged Bloody Platoon Guardsmen, swept forward and threw themselves upon their enemies. Shock Troopers shot, stabbed, and strangled their way through the mass of murderers. He himself ran as fast as he could down the hallways, poking his head into each room to see if any of their number hid within. When he discovered a heretic attempting to strangle a wounded soldier, he grabbed the assailant by the back of his tunic and threw him out of the room. He kicked him in the gut, then in the mouth. Blood and teeth dribbled out; he finished the man by bringing his heel against the wretch’s temple.
Someone tackled Marsh Silas from the side. He landed hard on the floor and a hand forced his helmet down. One of his arms was pinned but he used his free hand to draw his pistol from his chestplate rig. Shoving the barrel against the heretic, he shot him off and rolled onto his back. Two more hurried down the hallway. Expending the last of the Ripper Pistol’s magazine, he cut them down and went to reload. Silvanus, there’s one coming from behind you with a knife!
Marsh rolled to the side as the enemy descended on him. There was no time to reload—he slammed his pistol down on the man’s head multiple times. He didn’t stop until his face was pulverized. Another one behind you! Arms wrapped around Marsh but he was stronger and managed to flip the attack over him. Taking off his helmet, he hit the fellow across his face multiple times until it was naught but a bloody smear. One more, front!
He stood up and flung his helmet, striking the Band of Dusk warrior in his face. Drawing his OSR knife, Marsh swatted the man’s autogun barrel to the side before jamming the blade into the man’s throat.
“Anymore!?” Marsh Silas roared. I think that’s the last of them. “Then let’s go, we have to get the wounded out of here.”
By the time he emerged back into the main chamber, a string of wounded men followed him. Giles, Hyram, and other Guardsmen helped the last of the patients enter the waiting Chimeras. Giles grabbed Marsh’s collar and pulled him close.
“I made contact with Battye’s command. The entire enemy force is swinging south now and they’re in pursuit. Chaplain Anato, the Imperial Fists, and Captain Evander’s White Consuls are on the way. Warden-Colonel von Bracken is coming with the entire 10th Kasrkin Regiment, but their trains are delayed, they have to divert by here, there’s no telling when they’ll be here!”
“All we can do is maintain our plan, sir! We load the wounded and draw everyone back to the bridge!”
“Aye, you and I are the last men!”
Marsh and Giles rejoined Bloody Platoon. As they started to return fire, they were greeted by the sight of lines upon lines of Heretic Astartes marching across the moist channel sand. Iron Warriors marched with mechanical precision, steadily encroaching towards Army’s Meadow. Unconcerned by stray bullets and shells, they appeared as if they were being reviewed. Predator tanks and Rhino APCs rolled forward in wedge formations; the waning sunlight made the golden spikes and trim of the silvered vehicles glow.
The Black Legionnaires were alongside. They maintained a strict formation, sticking close to their own armored support. Huge blocks of Band of Dusk soldiers were among them. Men wore skulls on their shoulders, waved banners depicting the Eight-Pointed Star, and sang in a demented, perverted version of Low Gothic Marsh could not understand.
Engines revved on the right flank. Marsh ran around the side of the building to see Predators rolling over the trenches. Guardsmen tried to escape but were crushed underneath their treads or pulled back by Traitor Marines. Many Shock Troopers were caught in impact craters or fighting holes and slaughtered. Men were pulverized by chain axes and sliced to pieces by power swords. Others were blasted into pulp by point-blank bolters. Imperial flags were knocked over and the skulls of the Iron Warriors were raised over the Cadian ramparts.
The exchange of fire grew more intense. It became overwhelming. Men could hardly stand to shoot back. Half-crouched, Marsh went back towards the Chimeras. The APCs began to roll away with Guardsmen and countless camp personnel collapsing with them. Hyram waved his arm.
“The enemy is upon us on both sides, we need to fall back!”
“Sir, it’s time!” shouted Marsh Silas. Giles lowered his laspistol and activated his laud-hailer.
“The regiment will withdraw! Withdraw, withdraw to the bridge!”
Marsh Silas stood by the company commander as his men filtered by. He dropped his M36, flung all of his grenades towards the enemy, then drew his shotgun. Obliterating a party that attempted to rush the sandbag bulwark, he slung it over his shoulder and emptied a magazine from his pistol. He picked his M36 back up, flipped its fire selection to fully automatic, and squeezed the trigger. In between bursts, he looked back at the Chimeras and his platoon. Everyone abandoned the buildings, joining the column of fleeing troops. Bloody Platoon formed a rearguard, walking backwards as they fired. Hyram, Walmsley Major, and many others waved for him to follow.
“Sir! We must go!” Marsh turned just as an Iron Warrior with a massive chainsword leapt over the barricade. Giles activated his power sword and swiped it across the Astarte’s chest, then pierced his torso. It was enough to stop the enemy warrior. As he backed up, a Black Legionnaire jumped over as well.
“Run, Silas!” cried Giles. He turned to counter the enemy but the heretic punched Giles in the gut so hard his fist came through his back. The monster withdrew his arm, grabbed Gile’s by his limp forearm, and smashed his body against the side of the medicae. Blood and intestines smeared the rockcrete.
Marsh turned and ran towards the gate. Heavy fire cut across the ground in front of him. He veered to the right, attempting to make for the relative cover of the motor pool but Band of Dusk raiders were already tearing through it. The Chimeras and his comrades were too far ahead, even if he sprinted. Some of them turned around, pointed at Marsh, and started to run towards him. Frantically, he waved them off.
“Go! Run! Make for the bridge!” he cried, turning and firing at the Heretic Astartes who were stomping after him. He drew his power sword and cut across the Black Legionnaire’s leg, forcing him down, then decapitated him. An Iron Warrior raised his bolter, not at Marsh Silas but at his men, who were being rounded up by Walmsley Major and Hyram. Bellowing, Marsh lopped the Astarte’s arm off, forcing him to drop the bolter. He ducked when the beast swung with his opposite fist and lanced him through the chest. As the traitor collapsed, Marsh cast one look back. His men, and the Chimeras, were exiting through the main gate.
Holding his breath, he ran to the other side of the medicae and ran through the northern entrance. Inside, he saw huge, hulking figures coming down the halls.
“Loyalist!” came one of their demented cries. Bolts exploded on the walls as he ran by. Marsh burst out of the entrance. To his left were more enemy warriors, to his right, those from the beach were filling the main compound. Ahead of him was a barracks; as no fire was erupting from the ports, it appeared abandoned. Or it was overrun. Marsh Silas decided to take his chances.
He sheathed his sword and raced across the short space between the bunker and the medicae. Marsh cleared his corners, found the only inhabitants to be corpses, and made for the hatch to the tunnel. He threw it open and clambered down the ladder. He remembered to close and lock it behind him.
It was quiet in those tunnels. Marsh had only been through these ones once; this was 3rd Platoon’s, 3rd Company’s, barracks. He passed through the bunkrooms, finding hastily abandoned meals and messy beds. Hanging lights shuddered and dust fell from the tunnel walls as bombs exploded on the surface.
Marsh tried to control his breathing as he attempted to find his way through. Every so often he heard something that made him freeze and check his surroundings. Not a whisper, not a footstep, but just some errant, indescribable noise that filled him with terror. He approached a wider chamber and went to clear the left side.
“Silas?”
Marsh immediately swung his M36 to the right, gasping. Commissar Ghent, lacking his hat, held up his hand. “Easy, son, go easy. You find only the loyal, here.”
Behind him was Gunnery Sergeant Wulff and Arnold Yoxall from Bloody Platoon as well as several other Guardsmen. Yoxall and Wulff immediately came over and embraced their platoon leader.
“We were cut off during the retreat. Grenades and bolter fire kept us from rejoining. Our micro-beads won’t work well in the tunnels,” Yoxall explained.
“Wouldn’t matter if they did, there ain’t no way they can come and get us,” Wulff added.
“We can’t fight our way out; we’ll be killed in moments. Won’t be long before they come down here to loot the place. Iron Warriors are always prowling for technology and weapons they can use,” Marsh Silas explained, remembering Captain Thule’s lecture. “But I made sure to close the entrance. Might give us some time.”
“We should stay mobile. The tunnels are underneath the entire base and I know them all well,” Ghent said. “If we survive until nightfall, we will find a way to slip through their lines. Hush now, keep close and follow me. They won’t catch us.”