Captain Knight was in charge. It didn’t feel like it. The tactical situation was slipping from his grip. Perhaps he never had it in the first place. He was near the top of 937 with the skipper trying to direct what few forces they had when Bracer had called him over to 3rd platoon’s position. When he came back, the CO and the dozen or so Guardsmen with him had disappeared down into a hole so deep not even a lamp pack could descry the bottom. All they found were sharp rocks and dirt.

Knight had tried to reach out with his comm-bead but there was no response. Unable to go after them, he had to assume responsibility as overall company commander. He had to assume Carnell was dead. It didn’t sit right with him. There wasn’t much left of Bravo Company to lead. He crouched in front of a data slate, ignoring the las-shots and projectiles flying past him. About two thousand yards ahead was the second defensive line: the last defensive line. It went around 937 like a ring and its occupants were dwindling fast. More and more allied indicators on the slate were disappearing.

“Sir!” a voice called.

He looked up, finding Bracer again. He was the only platoon leader he had left. He couldn’t reach Verro on the comm-bead and Thayer was dead. The young man panted heavily, still suffering from his broken ribs before settling down behind a tree next to him. Lasers crashed against it.

“Verro fell too! He and babycom,” he reported.

Inwardly, Knight cursed. Outwardly, his face was stoic.

“This place is unstable,” he said.

They couldn’t stay here. 937 was no longer a defensible position. He looked up, noticing that the fog was slightly letting up. Though it was hard to see through the rain, he noticed las-fire lighting up the muddy night sky in the distance along with billowing columns of black smoke. Reinforcements had to be fighting their way in. They’d meet them halfway to save them the trouble. He touched his comm-bead.

“All units! We’re getting off this rock!” Knight announced. “We’re heading south!”

“Are you sure?” Bracer asked, leaning back after taking potshots at the enemy. “What about everyone that fell in? We’re about to have no ammo!”

“Don’t question orders,” he shot back. “Assume they’re dead. If they’re alive, we’ll send people in there to rescue them.”

“Oh God-Emperor I just want evac,” Bracer moaned to himself.

“Sucks to suck.”

Bracer had potential. If only he would stop complaining every five minutes. After a few minutes of planning, he had made their escape route. 2nd platoon would make the main push while 1st and 3rd platoons protected the flanks. They would all move down together like a single mass.

Captain Knight moved himself to the 2nd platoon’s position. They were in the midst of a brawl. The troopers he recognized as Vanc and Chatterbox were in one trench, fighting a cultist that had jumped into their position. Chatterbox held the enemy in a chokehold while Vanc ran him through the stomach with a bayonet. To their left, Chaps struggled with another cultist over his las-rifle. The two were pulling on the weapon. It must’ve been one of the few that still had ammo. Knight shot the cultist through the head. Chaps breathed heavily, looking up at him.

“The Emperor protects,” Knight said.

“The Emperor protects sir,” Chaps replied.

The XO began to shoot the rest of the cultists that had entered their defensive line with shots to the bodies and head.

“Where’s Fairburn?” he asked once they had dealt with them.

The enemy had stopped for the time being, surely waiting to muster up another wave.

Vanc climbed out of the trench, his left eye missing. Probably a stab wound. He pointed to the side where a body lay. Five bodies of the enemy were around it.

“When they charged us sir, a group ran past us. Sergeant dealt with them,” he said.

“I see,” Knight said. “Are any other NCO’s alive?”

“No sir. Just us troopers.”

“Then I’m in charge of this platoon directly. Did you hear what I announced on the comm-bead?”

“Sir I can’t hear much of anything to be honest.”

“We’re getting off this rock. Parts of it are falling in so we can’t stay here. We’re taking the fight to the enemy.”

“And here I thought I was going to fight to my death here.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t but there’s still a chance.”

He looked at Chaps climb out of the trench, muttering prayers to himself.

“Add a prayer for what we’re about to do,” he ordered.

“Yes sir,” Chaps affirmed.

“Let’sgokicksomeass!” Chatterbox said.

Captain Knight checked his ammo. He only had one power pack left. He would make the other platoons give 2nd as much ammo they could spare but he knew they would have to fight their way out with their bare hands. This had stopped being a battle. It was a dirty struggle for survival. So be it.

***

The inside of Hill 937 was truly a labyrinth. The tunnels snaked and turned the further they traveled, making the Vanquishers lose all sense of direction. The lamp packs weren’t needed anymore. Glow globes hung from the walls at equal intervals, lighting the way. It was their only indication they had made any progress. Waino and Verro walked behind Captain Carnell, trying their best to keep their eyes peeled. The skipper looked back at them and smiled.

“You boys look so dour,” he remarked.

“Can’t help it sir,” Verro said.

“Course you can. Your attitude is of your own making. Babycom, how’re you feeling?”

“I’m alive sir.”

“You’re doing great. Nothing but accolades from me when we get back. Your Commissar-General will be proud.”

“I appreciate it sir.”

Verro understood what he was doing. He was trying to keep their minds preoccupied with idle small-talk to ease them. Even now, he cared more about his men than about himself.

“Hey Jenkins, where’s Rogers? You two are peas in a pod,” a trooper behind them asked.

“Dead,” Jenkins bluntly answered.

“Oh….shit sorry man.”

“Yeah.”

They continued on for another forty minutes when they stopped abruptly. Before them stood a massive metal door with a rune embossed with a mark. It was the mark of Slaanesh, faintly emitting a purple light. A few of the men vomited for glancing too long at it. The ground rumbled again and they heard noises coming from the other side. It sounded like moans, rising and falling in a crescendo.

“Sir I doubt that’s the way out,” a trooper said.

“Probably not,’ Carnell concurred. “We’re going in there anyway.”

Verro and Waino exchanged worried looks.

“Something wicked is there and we’re stopping it,” Carnell decided.

A few of the men cursed under their breaths.

“Let’s get it on until we die,” the skipper said.

They opened the door, running inside to discover a massive circular metallic chamber. Tables were spread throughout while chains with hooks on the ends hung from the ceiling. Glow globes attached to the ceiling revealed bodies were attached to them; men and women that were still alive as their insides fell out of their opened stomachs while hooks dug into their shoulders and hands. On the tables were more bodies with their limbs splayed out. Cultists wearing dark purple masks and robes stood over them, prodding their bodies with an assortment of tools. Along the walls were cages. Inside were grotesquely skinny people, pleading and crying.

They had discovered what happened to the citizens of Banshee. In the center of the room was an altar placed atop a group of stairs. A woman in white was atop it, her back to them. Her head twisted 180 degrees like an owl, facing them. Waino recognized her blonde hair. It was the woman he saw in the woods. A chill ran up his spine.

“I was waiting for you to arrive,” she said.

She turned the rest of her body around, her head kept in place as if something held it.

“I needed more people to join in the pleasure of pain. Now I have enough and can bless this planet to its fullest. I brought all of you here so I can create enough pain to summon a true daemonette! Rejoice you dogs of the Imperium!”

She met Waino’s eyes.

“But you boy caught my eye.You’re not made for war.”

Her face began to morph, turning into that of an elderly woman, her face covered by a thousand wrinkles.

“I like them young. You I’m taking as my personal pleasure toy,” she said.

Captain Carnell shot the woman in the chest, making her body crash against the altar.

“Shut the hell up hag. End this!” he said.

The Vanquishers opened fire. Cultists were hit in the chest, rolling over their operating tables. Some were able to draw weapons and take cover. Las-fire cracked and whizzed throughout the room. Waino dove for the nearest table, taking cover as las-shots repeatedly struck a nearby trooper. He rose and fired, making a cultist fall against one of the cages from shots that ripped into his cloak. Verro was behind a table to his left. He shot through a charging cultist, making him fall back. There were about two dozen of the cultists throughout the large chamber. Instead of decreasing, the number increased as hatches opened along the walls.

Cultists ran in, firing off needle guns, lasrifles, and autoguns. Waino focused on a group that hadn’t fully emerged from one of the hatches, dousing it with a storm of las-fire. The dead became roadblocks, making the living cultists stumble their way in but were picked off by Verro and the other Guardsmen. Captain Carnell ran into the thick of it, firing with one gun and gutting any cultist that tried to get too close. The men followed their leader further into the chamber, taking cover behind the cages. The people inside cried to be freed but the troopers had to ignore them, as much as they wanted to free them on the spot. Right when Waino was assured they were about to finish the remaining cultists, the large muscular ones made their appearance.

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They roared as they emerged from the hatches, armed with swords and axes.

“Watch out!” one of the troopers warned when he was cut clean in two in a single stroke.

“Back up!” Verro screamed.

They ran back, firing as they went. The large men were hit all over but they continued charging. One kicked a trooper so hard he flew across the chamber, his back cracking against the metal wall. Another was cut in two by a sword swing. The skipper was attacked by two at once, dodging the wild swings. He shot one in the head with his laspistol, forcing the giant back a step while he parried an attack by the other with his chainsword. He followed up with an upward swing, creating a large gash across the cultist’s chest. The man laughed at the wound.

Waino shot his gun but nothing came out. He reached for another power pack but he had none left. He scanned the ground, finding a needle rifle. He picked it up and fired. Needles embedded themselves into the cultist’s body. His laughing stopped.

Before he could utter a word, Carnell sliced him again across the body, causing his intestines to spill onto the floor. The other cultist tried to attack from behind but Waino shot him as well, forcing needles into his chest. The man froze, unable to do a thing as Carnell twisted round and cut his head off. Verro, on the far left of the room, saw it all and picked up a needlegun of his own.

“Use the needles! They paralyze!” he yelled.

A cultist ran at Verro but he stopped him with ten needles to the body, making him freeze then start convulsing. The remaining Vanquishers did the same in the nick of time. They finished the four remaining cultists with a storm of needles.

The chamber quieted. The only remaining sounds were the moans and pleas of the imprisoned people. The Vanquishers regrouped in the center of the room, tired and out of breath. They didn’t care if the mud had dried and uncomfortably stuck to their skin or were forming black eyes that made it hard to see or that every limb ached. They were alive. Captain Carnell, as bruised and ugly as the rest of them, laughed.

“Good job people. This vile act of Chaos has been-”

“Brought to completion,” a voice interrupted.

It came from behind the skipper.

The captain tried to look back but an arm was sticking through his body, puncturing it from behind. He slowly looked down, seeing a hand holding his own beating heart. The voice behind laughed.

“The threshold has been reached!” the elderly woman proclaimed.

She tore her arm back out of Captain Carnell. His body fell to the floor, lifeless.

“Captain!” Verro yelled.

The Vanquishers jumped back, aiming their guns but the woman moved fast, way too fast. She appeared before Verro and struck him in the stomach with a mighty punch. He flew across the chamber, crashing against a cage. She stepped to another trooper and hit him with a kick to the side. He skipped across the chamber like a rock thrown across a pound.

A trooper armed with a knife let loose a war cry, attacking her from behind. Before his knife could connect, his body froze. She turned round and touched his skull with his forefinger. He screamed in agony, his mind ripped to shreds. In the midst of the massacre, Waino noticed the altar was glowing purple. The ground shook once more. The daemon was coming. While the remaining Vanquishers futilely tried to fight the witch in white, he shot at the altar.

The needles stuck into the altar but the altar continued to glow. The shaking became more intense, causing Waino to struggle to remain upright. He picked up a lasgun and tried that but it wasn’t effective either. He ran to the altar. He would plant a grenade. The ground was shaking too much for him to throw it accurately. He climbed up the stairs as men flew over him. When he got within reach, the hag appeared before him.

“How cute,” she said.

She flicked him. He flew down the stairs, hitting the ground hard. He was beside Captain Carnell’s body. She slowly walked down the stairs.

“The beauties of Chaos are endless. Why would you fools not want to embrace it? I never understood it.”

She stood over Waino, smirking.

“You get to witness the coming of greatness, boy. Lucky you.”

Waino grunted, gritting his teeth. His mouth tasted like iron. The skipper’s chainsword was beside him. He seized it.

“Suffer not the witch!” Waino screamed.

The chainsword roared as he swung it upwards, cutting the woman across the cheek. She screamed in anger. He got up, winding up another swing when the woman raised her hand at him.

“I’ll make you a good pet. I just need to discipline you,” she said.

Before she could work her wicked power, a trooper tackled her to the ground. It was Jenkins.

“I got her! You’re responsible for why my friend died, you bitch! I’m not letting you win!” he yelled.

The other remaining troopers, fighting through broken limbs and countless internal wounds, ran to them, piling atop of the woman.

“Destroy the altar Waino!” Verro ordered, planting himself on top of the pile.

Waino sprinted. Behind him. He could hear the woman work her vile warp magic. Men flew off the pile, their brains fried. Waino made it to the altar. A portal was beginning to form in the center, a small purple circle that was quickly becoming larger. He took out every grenade he had, five in all. He placed them all down beneath the portal. He pulled the pin of one and ran away. They exploded when he got to the first step. The blast made him fly down the stairs, his back scorched.

The pillars of the altar cracked, disrupting the summoning. The portal faded away.

“No!” the woman screamed, having knocked all the Vanquishers off her. She went to the altar but while the structure stood, the ritual was ruined. She said every curse she could muster, turning around. Only two of the Vanquishers were alive. Waino, writing on the flow from severe burns, and Verro, having been lucky enough to be sent off the woman with a trooper underneath him. However he had landed with the trooper atop of him, crushing a few bones. Pained, he barely managed to move the corpse that was on him. Waino got onto his side, looking up at the woman.

“You did not win today. Your whole foolish company will die. The dogs sent to save you will die. You will die. We simply begin anew. Chaos has nothing but time,” she said.

Figures barged into the room, quickly moving across the chamber. They were clad in black and red power armor, their faces covered by helmets.

“Sisters, purge this vile heretic!” one barked.

Bolt rounds flew at the woman. She screamed as one struck her, blowing her arm off.

She zipped to one of the armored women, hitting her in the stomach with a kick but the armored sister of battle stood her ground. The old woman retreated, only to get her leg shot off by another bolter round. She careened against a table, knocking it over. The psyker howled in pain, bleeding on the ground. One of the sisters approached her, unsheathing a sword.

“Vile witch, I claim your life for being an abomination in the eyes of the holy God-Emperor. Any last words?”

The hag laughed.

“You must be special, boy. The warp is interested in you. No wonder I wanted you.”

“Your madness ends here.”

The sister cleaved her, ending the witch once and for all. Waino was in too much pain to pay attention to the woman’s last words. He laid there in pain. One of the sisters came to him. She removed her helmet, revealing pale skin, short silver hair, light gray eyes, and a scar on her white cheek.

“You have done well, young warrior,” she said. “You may rest.”

Waino’s head swam, his vision blurry. His last image of consciousness were of other sisters approaching Verro before his body forced him to sleep.

***

Captain Knight slammed into a cultist, pinning him against the back of a tree. He quickly took out his knife and stabbed the man in the throat. He backed away. Around him, the Vanquishers were forcing their way down 937. Many of them, himself included, had run out of ammo. In their last desperate push to get off 937, they had rushed the enemy that had thought they were on the offensive. Catching them off guard was their only advantage. Firepower and numbers definitely weren’t on their side. Beside him, the troopers Vanc and Chatterbox had expended the last of the ammo given to them by the other platoons.

Actually, there weren’t enough men to claim to have more than one. The casualties taken on the assault were great. Most died in the first push. Knight always knew it was a desperate gamble but it was either they all died in a futile attempt, or they died by having the enemy close in on them. In the end he guessed it didn’t really make a difference. Another cultist appeared from around the tree. Knight struck him in the mouth, making him jolt back before puncturing the side of his head with his knife.

The enemy was making a counter-charge. The Vanquishers were being overwhelmed and soon he would be too. A las-shot struck him in the arm, making him fall into the mud as he clutched his shoulder. More holes were appearing as well. The ground had been shaking repeatedly for the past five minutes. Something wicked was going on. Something warp related no doubt. There was nothing he could do about it. A cultist got atop of him when the trooper Vanc came in, swinging his lasgun like a club. Chatterbox came in from the other side. Together the two beat the man to death with their stocks of their lasguns.

“Sir you’re too important to die. Come on!” Vanc said.

He helped Knight up when two more cultists emerged from the fog. A cultist armed with an axe swung, striking Vanc in the neck. Blood spurted out like a geyser as he fell to the ground. Knight rushed before the cultist could swing again. He tore it from his grip and swung it across his chest.

Another cultist came in and met the same fate. Chatterbox screamed, his body full of rage as he charged ahead to avenge his friend. Chaps joined them from behind, shooting past them. He paused, seeing Vanc’s corpse. He stooped down, closing his eyes.

“You’re in the Emperor’s embrace now brother.”

Captain Knight ran ahead with his new ax. They were all dead. They would all die on Hill 937. He knew that. But they would die on their terms. In their darkest hour, the fog cleared. It retreated back, as if fleeing. The XO roared, cutting down another cultist but stopped, looking up. The sky was clear. The enemy before them began to retreat. No, not retreat. Something diverted their attention. At the bottom of 937, the enemy camp had been attacked. Thousands of las-shots erupted from the surrounding jungle, peltering the camp with thousands of lights. They did it, reinforcements had arrived. So much for meeting them halfway he thought. The least they could do is their part.

“Charge!” Captain Knight yelled, running forward.

The remaining Vanquishers of Bravo Company, a small crew of only 30, charged. They made quick work of the Slaaneshi cultists in a devastating pincer attack. By the grace of the Holy God-Emperor, it was over.

The rest of the 20th Vanquishers, along with the Volpone and Catachan, emerged onto the clearing. They looked rough as well. It had been hell to make it to 937 but they were nothing compared to the men of Bravo Company. A man from amongst the relief force came up to Knight, his face cleanly shaven with brown eyes. A large scar went across his forehead but it still stuck out amidst the wrinkles of his leather-like face. Knight saluted him. Even in his wounded state, he would salute Colonel Westmore of the 20th Vanquisher regiment.

“Sir,” Knight greeted.

The colonel returned the salute.

“Captain. You look like shit.”

“Yes sir.”

“But you’re alive. I’m glad for that.”

He removed his helmet and looked past Knight, seeing all of the bodies. He turned his attention to 937. The place was full of holes like a piece of cheese. About 75% of the trees had fallen during the fighting, making it look like a wasteland.

“What happened here? Why are there so many holes? They didn’t have artillery,” he asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine sir.”

The colonel squinted his eyes, spotting something.

“Sisters beat us here it seems.”

Knight turned around, looking up at the mountain. Out of a hole emerged the sisters of battle, carrying people in their arms, including Waino and Verro.

“The sisters were exploring the tunnels when we began our way over. They didn’t plan on helping out but it soon became clear where the tunnels led,” the colonel explained.

“Something had to have been happening underground sir. We got tremors.”

“We felt them too. We’ll sort it all out later. We need to get you boys out of here. Where’s Carnell?”

“He fell into the tunnels sir. I don’t know if he’s alive or not.”

The colonel made a trooper give him a pair of magnoculars. He looked at the bodies the sisters carried. One of them was Carnell’s. He wasn’t moving.

“Damn. He was my favorite,” Westmore cursed to himself.

He focused on Knight again.

“Gather up what remains of Bravo Company. We got it from here.”

“Yes sir.”

It would take another two weeks for the forces of the Imperium to fully explore the tunnels. During the search they exterminated the remaining cultists hiding, finding countless vile shrines and papers. But Bravo’s role had come to an end. 250 men set out to Hill 937, 22 came back.

***

Waino sat in his room onboard Commissar-General MacArthur’s flagship, staring at the bulkhead decorated with posters of commissarial heroes. After a week in the med bay, he was discharged. He went straight to his room, finally having time to be alone with his thoughts. The events of his first out kept playing in his mind like a pict-recorder on repeat. He kept recalling the faces of the men that died. The men that he bonded with, as short as their time together was. Rogers. Jenkins. Rodriguez. Carnell. It hurt. It hurt so bad. They were good people. Dead people now. He gripped the sides of his head, finding himself crying. He stood up and kicked the nearest chair.

“Damn it!”

He wiped his tears with a sleeve but the tears wouldn’t stop. What was wrong with him? He was bawling like a baby. The door to his room opened. MacArthur, dressed in his full uniform, stood in the doorway. It was the first time they’d seen each other since he returned. He hadn’t visited Waino in the med bay. The cadet tried to restore his military bearing. He stood at attention, ignoring the mucus rolling down his face.

“Sir,” he said.

“At ease,” MacArthur replied.

Waino relaxed, wiping the rest of his tears.

“I heard what you did. It was good work,” his mentor said.

“Yes sir.”

“You learned didn’t you?”

“Yes sir.”

“You know that feeling you have right now? That melancholy? It doesn’t go away.”

“...Sir?”

“Your job is to get Guardsmen killed. That’s not what it says in the references but that’s what it is. Your job is to lead people to their deaths again and again. Sometimes you have to kill them yourself. That’s what being a commissar is all about. All the glory in battle comes at the cost of the people you lead to their deaths.”

He pointed at the posters.

“They all knew this. Some of the Guardsmen might live, make it to retirement. Most won’t. You have to live with that. The job of a commissar isn't to let Guardsmen have good lives, it’s to let them have good deaths.”

Waino took a deep breath before speaking.

“Does it get easier?”

“That’s up to you.”

His mentor left, leaving Waino alone. The cadet sat back down on his bed, ruminating. A part of him died on Hill 937, along with Bravo Company. They had all died there. Even the survivors did not escape Hill 937. The lessons Cadet Waino learned would stick with him for the rest of his career. He would never forget his introduction to the horrors of war.