by Gav Thorpe
'Pass the word for general attack/ the Colonel shouts up the trench to our left. A moment later and he's grabbing the rungs of the trench ladder and hauling himself out. I follow him, and feel the ladder vibrating as others follow.
There's shouting and screams all around as the orks and guardsmen exchange fire. We're about fifty metres from the orks, charging full speed towards them, men slipping and floundering in the snow, the greenskins encountering similar difficulties. I start firing with my laspistol again, dismayed to see the flashes of energy striking targets but not having too much effect against the tough aliens. They continue roaring their guttural cries as they close, a wave of sound accompanied by the crack of shells and zip of lasguns. A change in the wind wafts their stench over me, and I gasp for breath, hauling myself through the folds of snow. It's a mixture of death and unwashed bodies, utterly foul.
As we close the gap, I can see the greenskins are armed with a variety of crude-looking guns and hefty close combat weapons. Blazes of muzzle flare punctuate the ork mass, and the silvery light glitters off blades lovingly honed to cleave through flesh and bone with a single stroke. I pick out one to engage, pulling my knife from my belt when I'm twenty metres from the greenskin. It's dressed in black mainly, bits of ragged fur stitched onto a kind of jerkin, white checks painted onto metal pads on its broad shoulder and a roughly beaten breastplate which is gouged and dented from previous fighting. I notice with dismay the two human heads dangling from its belt, meat hooks plunged through their lifeless eyes to hold them on. The alien seems to read my thoughts, its red eyes glaring back at me as we
close. Everyone and everything else is forgotten as I focus all my attention on the ork, noting the bulge of muscles under its furs, the ragged scar stretching from its wide chin across its fanged mouth and over its left cheek, passing its pug nose. Its skin is dark green and leathery looking, pocked with scars and warts, obviously impervious to the biting cold that would kill a man. It opens its mouth and bellows something, revealing a jawful of yellowing tusks - tusks that can rip through muscles and crush bones with one bite.
At five metres it levels a bulky pistol and fires, but the shots are way off, screaming past my head at least half a metre to my left. In its right hand is a blade like a butcher's cleaver, its head easily a metre long. It pulls back the cleaver and swings at my chest but I dodge to my left, feet slipping in the snow as the blade arcs past. I take a lunge with my knife but the ork easily bats it away with a strong arm, chopping down wifh the cleaver at the same time. Once more I wriggle sideways, though not quite quick enough, the crude chopper slicing a strip from the left sleeve of my coat. Cold air swirls onto my arm, causing my flesh to prickle all over with the chill, but that goes unnoticed as I bring my pistol up to its face. It ducks to avoid the shot, straight onto my waiting knife, which I jab upwards, plunging die tip into its throat, twisting wifh all my strengfh as dark blood, almost black and very thick, gushes into the white snow and over my legs.
I step back and another ork leaps at me, two serrated knives glittering in the cold light. The las-bolt from my pistol takes it squarely in the left eye, smashing out the back of its head, flinging the creature down into the snow.
Poal's fending off another ork with his hook, slashing at its guts with the point, jumping back as it punches back with knuckle-dusters fitted with a couple of short blades. I reverse my knife and plunge it backhanded into the ork's neck, feeling it deflected off the thick bones of its spine, tearing a gash up into the base of its skull. The ork backhands me, knocking me to my knees, and turns around snarling, blood spraying from the open wound. It kicks out, scattering snow, a metal toe-capped boot connecting with my thigh, almost snapping the bone. Poal's hook flashes up, slashing into the ork's mouth and ripping out its cheek. Spitting blood and teeth, the greenskin rounds on Poal, but his next swipe smashes into the ork's nose,
the point ramming up its nostril, lacerating its face and plunging into the brain. The ork twitches spasmodically as it crumples to the ground, but neither of us spares it a second glance as we check on how the fight is going. Most of die orks are falling back towards the other trench, taken off guard by the counter-attack. The few that fight on are hopelessly outnumbered and quickly overwhelmed. Hundreds of greenskin corpses, and more humans, lie twisted and ragged, the snow churned up and red with blood. Severed limbs and decapitated bodies are piled waist high in places where the fighting was most fierce.
'Caught out by a pretty simple trick/ Poal says as I describe the fight with the first ork, the two of us collapsed in the trench with the others. 'I thought the orks were smarter than to be caught out with a straightforward feint/
'Oldest trick in the bloody book/ chips in Poliwicz, cleaning his bayonet in die snow.
"Yeah, the simplest of tricks...' I murmur to myself, an unsettling thought beginning to form in my mind. I look around for the Colonel and see him not much further along the trench, talking to Greaves and Ekul. I push my way through the tired guardsmen, turning a deaf ear to the groans and moans of the wounded as I barge them aside.
'Sir!' I call to the Colonel as he's about to walk away.
Yes, Kage?' he asks sharply, turning on his heel.
'I think we've been tricked, sir/ I tell him quickly, glancing back over my shoulder to see what die orks are doing.
Tricked?' Greaves says from behind die Colonel, disbelief written all over his face. 'What do you mean?'
This attack is a feint, a diversion/ I explain hurriedly, waving my hands around trying to convey the sudden sense of urgency that fills me. 'It makes sense, now I mink about it. They crossed die plains with die support of the main army and then split off/
What nonsense is this?' Greaves demands. 'Get back to your place/
'Wait a moment, colonel/ Ekul says, stepping up beside the Colonel, looking intendy at me. 'A diversion for what, Kage?'
This isn't the main ork army, it's a diversionary attack sent to fool us and keep us occupied while die main force goes around
us/ the words spill out quickly, my mind racing with the implications of the situation.
'You could be right/ the Colonel says with a nod. This army bears little resemblance to the one in the reports. I thought it might just be a vanguard/
'Where else can they go?' asks Greaves disdainfully. 'Ekul says no man's ever survived die other passes in diis region/
'No man, sir/ Ekul agrees, 'but the lieutenant may have a point. We are not fighting men. It is possible the orks could forge another route towards Epsilon Station, circumnavigating this valley altogedier/
4Vhat can we do about it? Our orders are to hold diis pass/ Greaves says s-tubbornly. 'And Kage is probably wrong/
'It is still a distinct possibility/ die Colonel replies, eyes narrowed as he tiiinks. You and your regiment will continue to hold diis pass. The loss of my force does not greatly affect that. We must get to Epsilon Station and warn them/
My hopes rise at the tiiought of going back to Epsilon. Much easier to survive a siege than an open battle. And we'll be inside, out of this forsaken cold and snow.
'My few mounted men can travel much quicker/ Ekul points out, dashing my hopes to die ground. And we know the terrain better/
'Wouldn't it be better if you and your scouts went looking for the main force?' I suggest, thinking quickly, trying to keep the desperation from my voice.
They're coming again!' a warden shouts from back down the line.
^We go now!' die Colonel says emphatically. 'Pack what provisions you can, Kage, and muster the men here/
Five minutes later and the surviving Last Chancers are gathered with me, stowing what we can onto a couple of the ploughfoot sleds. The wind's picked up again, tossing the snow around us, and over its keening can be heard the rattle of autocannons and snap of lasguns as Greaves's soldiers try to hold off the orks as tiiey pour from the forward trench. The Colonel appears through the snow.
Are you ready?' he asks, glancing back over his sh
oulder towards the trenches a few dozen metres away. The odd stray ork shot zips past, but not that close. Greaves soon appears too,
stamping through the snow to stand in front of the Colonel with his hands on hips.
'You're disobeying orders, Schaeffer/ Greaves says hotly, jabbing at the Colonel with an accusing finger. 'You're abandoning your position/
'If you get the opportunity, follow us/ the Colonel replies calmly, ignoring the accusation.
You're a coward, Schaeffer/ die bulky man counters, prodding a finger into the Colonel's chest. 'You're no better dian these scum we have to lead.'
'Goodbye, Colonel Greaves/ the Colonel says shortly, and I can tell he's holding his temper in check. 'We probably will not meet again/
Greaves continues cursing us as we trudge off through the snow, Franx and Loron leading the ploughfoots at the front, the Colonel at the rear.
As we near the top of the ridge again die wind starts to really bite, managing to push its way onto my face despite the thick fur lining of my coat's hood. Already my legs are beginning to feel tired, after just a couple of kilometres. The Colonel pushes us hard, not saying a word, just giving us a scathing look when one of us falters or slows down. I trudge on, concentrating all my dioughts on lifting my feet and taking the next step, my eyes focused on Lord's back in front of me, letting me detach my mind from die real world.
The light begins to fail soon after, the sun dipping beneath the mountains and casting a red glow across the summits. It would be quite beautiful if I hadn't seen the snow back in die valley stained red and black with blood. Now all the sunset reminds me of is hacked limbs and dismembered bodies. It seems diere's notiiing left that isn't tainted by bloodshed now. I see children and they just remind me of the pile of small corpses we found in Ravensbrost on Carlille Two. Every time I think of somediing like flowers, I just remember False Hope and the alien beast of the Heart of the Jungle. A sunny day just takes me back to the crushing heat of the Gathalon ash wastes, where two hundred men sank into the shifting ash dunes, the corrosive dust eating away at diem even as they were sucked down. As for any kind of bugs, well I guess you know what tfiey remind me of. There are no pleasures left anywhere except the
company of my fellow Last Chancers, and those moments are few and far between. Why does everything have to remind me of a war or batdefield somewhere? Does the Colonel realise this? Is this part of the punishment, to have everything stripped away from you? All my comfortable illusions have been torn apart over the past three years. When I joined up, I thought I'd be able to make a difference. Hah, what a joke. I've seen batde widi ten diousand men killed in an afternoon, die rockets and shells raining down like explosive hail for hour after hour. I've shot, strangled and stabbed more enemies than I can remember. There's not a sensation I can feel now that hasn't been stained somehow. Even jumping in the tub back in Epsilon Station, my first thoughts were memories of a river crossing on Juno. Mangled bodies floating past as we tried to swim across, men being dragged down by the swift undercurrents, tracer fire screaming dirough die night towards us.
It's around midnight before the Colonel calls a stop. We don't even bother setting camp or cooking, everybody takes a few bites of salted meat and then collapses with dieir blankets wrapped around them. I drift into an exhausted sleep, woken occasionally by die Colonel, who's doing the rounds, making sure the cold hasn't got to anyone too much. It must only have been a couple of hours when he kicks us all awake again. It's still pitch dark as we flounder around getting ready, die Colonel snarling at us to get a move on. Once more die march starts, forcing my aching legs to work, at points literally hauling myself dirough die snow on my hands and knees, sinking into die cold white layer up to my elbows.
A sudden scream of panic has everybody reaching for their guns, but Gappo comes hurrying back to tell the Colonel someone's wandered into a crevasse in the dark. I push myself after die Colonel as he forges ahead, Gappo guiding us to where the hole is. I can see frag all in the dark, and die Colonel asks who it is. There's just a groan in reply, and we do a quick name check of everybody else and find that bloody Poal is missing.
'We cannot afford the time for a rescue/ the Colonel announces, stepping away from die crevasse's edge. There is no way of telling how far down he is and we do not have the proper equipment/
There's a few discontented murmurs, but everyone's too cold to really argue. Gappo stays by the edge after everyone else has gone. When he turns and looks at me, there's a blank look in his eyes.
'It only takes a few minutes/ he says, to himself I think. 'He'll just fall asleep. He won't know what's happening/
'If it's deep, he's probably out of it already/ I say, laying a hand on his shoulder and pulling him away. He takes a couple of steps, then stops again.
'We have to keep going!' I snap at him, dragging him forward again. "We reach Epsilon or we all die/
The Colonel pushes us without a break for the whole of the next day as well. I walked past someone lying in the snow in the afternoon. They were face down, I couldn't tell who it was and didn't have the energy to try to find out. I try to see who's missing when we stop, but my eyes are crusted up and sore, and everyone looks the same in their heavy coats with the hoods pulled tight across their faces. I force myself to gulp down some more preserved meat. Nobody says a word to each other, and even the Colonel is quieter than usual. I sit there shivering, hands clasped across my chest, feeling an ache in every single bone and muscle. My head's just nodding as my body gives up the fight against the cold and sleep begins to take over, when someone's shaking me awake again.
'What the...?' I snarl, slapping the hand away.
'It's Franx/ says Gappo.
That's all he needs to say. He helps me to my feet and we make our way over to where he's lying. I crouch down beside him and peer inside his hood. His face is crusted with ice, and looks extremely pale. A moment later and Lorii joins us, bending close, her cheek next to his mouth.
'Still breathing/ she tells us, straightening out. 'Barely/
'I can't leave him/ Gappo declares, and I nod in agreement. I kind of promised myself that Franx was going to survive this one. 'What can we do? I'm too tired to carry anything other than this coat/
'Put him on the sled/ Lorii suggests.
"The ploughfoots are already pulling as much as they're supposed to/ Gappo cautions, stamping his feet to keep himself warm.
'Well, they'll have to work harder. We'll get them to do it in shifts/ I decide. Nobody argues.
There's a strange whinnying of pain from the ploughfoot at the head of the diminishing column. Two men didn't wake up, another two collapsed this morning. The midday sun glares off the snow, making it as difficult to see during the day as it is at night.
'Kage!' I hear the Colonel bellowing, and I shuffle forward. The ploughfoot is lying in the snow, its left hind leg at an odd angle and clearly broken. The sled is over-turned on a rock nearby.
'Sir?' I ask as die Colonel stands up from where he was kneeling next to the stricken animal.
'Organise the men into teams of six, and rig up the harness into drag ropes/ he says. He pulls his bolt pistol from its holster, places the muzzle against die side of die ploughfoot's head and blows its brains out. My first thought is the fresh meat it could provide, but a glance at die Colonel reminds me that we won't be wasting a second. Then I'm filled with a sudden surge of hatred.
You wouldn't do the same for us/ I snarl at Schaeffer, pointing to the still-smoking bolt pistol.
'If you had also served the Emperor well, you might have deserved some mercy/ he counters, bolstering the pistol. You have not, and you do not deserve anything/
There's twelve of us left now, not including the Colonel, and we take it in turns to drag the sled on two-hour stints. The Colonel tried to get me to leave Franx behind, saying the additional weight was unnecessary, but Gappo, Loron, Lorii and Kronin volunteered to team up with me and we've been swapping him between our shift and
die remaining ploughfoot's sled.
I soon lose track of the time, even die midnight stops have gone beyond counting, so we might have been going for only three days or for a whole week, it's impossible to say. The wind's really picked up now, and the snow is getting heavier again. I remember Ekul's warnings about the Emperor's Wrath storm, and fear the worst. I let the others know what's coming and everybody redoubles their efforts, but it's getting to the point where it takes everything out of you just to stay awake,
never mind keeping walking and pulling the sled. Soon we've emptied one sled of provisions and we decide to dump the tents, nobody's had the strength to put them up since we started. The going gets a litde quicker then, with the two teams and the ploughfoot taking turns with die remaining sled.
'If the orks are up against anything like this, they may never make it across/ Kyle suggests one evening as we gnaw on half-frozen strips of meat.
'Don't you believe it/1 say. "They're tough bastards, you know that. Besides, they'll have looted and built Emperor knows what before trying the crossing. If their warlord's smart enough to come up with the feint, it's definitely got the brains to come prepared. They've probably got vehicles and everything as well.'
'What if we're too late?' exclaims Kyle, suddenly veering from optimism to total depression in a moment. I've never noticed him having mood swings like this before, but then I guess we're all swinging wildly from hope to despair and back again at the moment.
Then we're bent over backwards, good and proper/ Poliwicz says, tearing at his salted meat with his teeth.
'Whole Emperor-damned planet looks the same/ curses Kyle. 'I can't tell where we are, how far we've got to go/
Nobody bothers replying; it's hard enough to concentrate on the next few minutes, let alone worry about the next day. I toss die remnants of my rations aside, too tired to chew, and lie back, willing sleep to claim me quickly and take me away from the pain in every part of my body.