by Gav Thorpe
Slightly ahead of them, the Assault Marines were bounding back up the ridge. The bikers opened fire, unleashing a storm of bullets, tracer rounds and shells from their mishmash of cannons and guns. Tauno had difficulty seeing what happened; he saw one of the Space Marines land badly, his leg wounded mid-jump. The Astartes toppled to one side, overbalanced by his jump pack. More rounds crashed into the squad as the Space Marines formed up around their fallen battle-brother.
Tauno opened fire at the bikes closing in on the Assault Marines, his finger tapping the trigger over and over, sending a hail of las-bolts into the orks. The flashes of energy zipping down the hillside lit the entire ridge, searing blurred lines across Tauno’s vision.
Mortar bombs erupted, lascannon blasts burned through the dark to ignite fuel tanks, autocannon shells screamed and heavy bolters thundered. Tauno could barely hear the words of those around him as they shouted in fright or hurled abuse at the onrushing greenskins. He realised he was shouting too, a meaningless torrent of insults and curses.
Two remaining bikers slammed their machines directly into the Assault Marines; the orks’ guns were still blazing as they hacked wildly with fearsome blades. One Space Marine was hurled from his feet by the impact, but the bike fared little better, flipping and tumbling across the rock from the crash. The Space Marine slowly rose to his feet; the ork biker did not.
For all the fury of the troopers’ fire, the orks were still advancing, no more than a hundred metres away. More shells exploded around the Piscinans and bullets thudded into the barricades. Ork walkers – four-armed Dreadnoughts that made even the largest greenskins look small – stomped alongside the infantry, hurling rockets and flares of explosive energy.
A Space Marine land speeder darted out of the night, skimming just above the ground. The rip of its assault cannon cut through the other noises of war, the speeder illuminated by several seconds of fire. A swathe of orks fell to the attack run, gunned down by hundreds of rounds. The gunner strafed left and right with his heavy bolter, firing short bursts, every salvo ripping apart an ork warrior.
It was a chaos of flashing light and deafening sound. Tauno tried to block it all out. He exchanged his charge pack again and kept firing, pouring shot after shot into the greenskins. Maybe one in three found his intended target; of those, few stopped the ork they hit.
Slowed by the biker attack, the Assault Marines were in danger of being swamped by the tide of green aliens pouring up the ridge. Tauno did what little he could: firing endlessly into the mass of orks closing with the Space Marines.
‘By the Holy Throne!’ Kauninnen gasped next to Tauno.
The other trooper was looking further north. Tauno dragged his eyes away from the enemy to see what had prompted such a reaction.
A lone figure clad in power armour and blue robes strode purposefully towards the orks. In one hand he fired a bolt pistol with metronomic repetition; in the other he carried an ornately carved staff tipped with a winged skull decoration. A nimbus of power surrounded the Space Marine, a swirling aura of black and red.
White spears of energy danced from the staff as the Librarian pointed it at an ork buggy racing in his direction. Lightning leapt, arcing across the gap to engulf the vehicle, crawling over the machine and its crew. Something caught fire and a moment later the buggy was a ball of flame rolling back down the ridge. The Librarian advanced further, bolts of energy shrieking from his staff, scouring the orks from moss-covered ruins.
Tauno had little time to wonder at the terrifying powers he was witnessing. The orks had reached the Devastators and a vicious melee was unfolding. With his power fist glowing, Sergeant Ophrael was leading the defence, smashing down any greenskin that tried to clamber over the barricade; others in the squad gunned down the orks with their bolters and slashed at them with combat knives.
For all that the ork dead were piling up by the Dark Angels’ barricade, there were too many to be held back. One or two greenskins managed to get inside the emplacement while others were swamping the Space Marines to either side.
The sight of the beset Space Marines filled Tauno with panic. If the Astartes fell, what chance did the rest of them have? He glanced around. There was a lull in the fighting close at hand – the heavy weapons not far behind him had taken a heavy toll and the orks were funnelling northwards, away from their deadly fire.
If ever there was a time to get out alive, this was it.
A tap on Tauno’s shoulder attracted his attention: it was Daurin. He flicked a glance behind Tauno. The trooper turned and saw Sergeant Kaize face-down sprawled in the dirt, half his head missing.
‘Come on, we’ve done the best we can,’ said Daurin.
Tauno quickly looked around: Lieutenant Laursor was back in his command tent, talking on the vox-caster. There was no sign of Maikon. The defence trooper took in the other squads around him, many of them numbering only a handful of survivors. He looked back at the Devastators, punching and hacking at the middle of a growing number of orks. When they fell, the greenskins would be able to sweep along the line and break out westwards; any line of retreat would be cut off.
He saw Sergeant Ophrael punching his power fist through the skull of an ork. Desperation filled Tauno. He wanted to run so badly, to get back to Kadillus Harbour and see his father again. He had been an idiot to join up.
But he had joined up. He had sworn oaths on big books full of words he did not understand, but that promise he understood well enough. It was a promise to keep his father and grandfather safe. A promise just the same as the Space Marines had made: to lay down his life in defence of the Imperium.
‘We have to do our duty,’ he said, his voice flat, as if spoken by someone else.
‘What?’ said Daurin. ‘Are you touched?’
Something inside Tauno snapped.
‘The Emperor is watching us!’ he screamed. ‘He is judging us right now!’
Tauno snatched the bayonet from his belt and broke into a run, vaulting over the barricade. His fingers fumbled with the blade as he sprinted, but he slotted the bayonet onto its lug at the fourth attempt.
He heard panting and realised it was him. But there was someone else with him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Laisko and Kauninnen. A few metres behind them, the others followed, Daurin included.
‘No running away this time, eh?’ gasped Laisko.
Tauno gritted his teeth and pumped his arms and legs, charging headlong at the orks fighting the Space Marines. He focussed his attention on the aliens, picturing what would happen to his family in Kadillus Harbour if the orks won this battle.
‘For Kadillus! For Piscina!’ The words bellowed from his mouth unbidden, but his next shout he knew was his, boiling up from the guilt and the horror and the fear that swirled in the pit of his stomach. It was the only thing he could say that made any sense of what he was doing. ‘For the Emperor!’
Some of the orks turned to face the onrushing troopers, startled by the sudden attack. Terror gripped Tauno as he looked at their horrid fanged faces, corded muscles and beady, fury-filled red eyes. Some of them looked like they were laughing. Tauno’s dread fuelled his rage further and he sprinted harder, screeching a wordless cry.
He speared his bayonet into the chest of the closest ork, his momentum sending the creature crashing backwards. Ripping out the blade, he plunged it again, and again, and again, screaming all the while. Something smashed into the back of his head and he slashed out wildly, the tip of his bayonet cutting across an ork’s face.
Dazed, Tauno staggered back a step and the others rushed past him, each crying out their own anger and fear. He felt blood trickling down the back of his neck, and wondered idly for a moment if he would be in trouble for getting another stain on his uniform. Shaking off his dizziness, he threw himself back into the melee, stabbing and lashing out at anything with green skin, not caring whether his blows landed or not.
Daurin collapsed in front of him, a cleaver wedged into his forehead. As the ork struggl
ed to free its weapon from the skull of Tauno’s friend, the trooper rammed his bayonet into its face, punching through its eye into its brain. He remembered his training and gave his lasgun a twist before wrenching the bayonet free.
‘What am I doing?’ he muttered to himself, the surge of energy that had propelled him to the fight evaporating as the ork’s body fell onto Daurin. ‘Emperor protect me!’
Lundvir fell next, his head blown apart by a pistol shot under his chin. Tauno acted on reflex, bringing up his rifle to stop a blade that would have lopped off his arm. The lasgun buckled under the force of the blow and almost fell from Tauno’s hands. To his left, Kauninnen screamed in pain and slumped sideways, his leg flopping away with a life of its own. Tauno fended away another attack but in doing so tripped over Lundvir’s corpse.
Winded by the fall, Tauno stared up numbly as a greenskin battered its way past Laurssen and loomed over him. He pointed his lasgun at the alien’s leering face and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Grunting, the ork kicked away Tauno’s weapon and pointed a pistol at the trooper’s chest. In a moment, Tauno could see everything with startling clarity: the drool dripping from the ork’s fangs, the strange glyph carved into the metal casing of the bulky pistol, the dirty claw of the finger tightening on the trigger.
Something towering and dark blocked Tauno’s view. He saw a blaze of blue energy and heard crackling noises. Blood splashed onto his boots. The headless body of an ork slumped into the dirt.
Sergeant Ophrael stepped away, tossing aside the remnants of the ork’s head with his power fist. Tauno saw blood spitting and steaming from the energy-wreathed glove. The red eyes glowing in the faceless mask of the Space Marine sergeant’s helmet were more frightening than anything Tauno had seen in the orks. He lay rigid with fear, paralysed by his close call with death.
‘On your feet,’ said the Space Marine.
Ophrael turned and caught a whirring chainblade on the side of his power fist. His bolt pistol barked once and the ork’s chest disappeared in a bloody explosion.
‘I have no weapon, sir,’ Tauno said, his voice hoarse and weak.
Tauno winced as an ork blade crashed against Ophrael’s shoulder pad. The Space Marine turned with the blow and smashed his helmet into the alien’s face as it stumbled forwards. Fingers stretched, the sergeant plunged his power glove into the creature’s gut. Fat and blood steamed as Ophrael ripped out the ork’s innards.
‘Take this,’ said the sergeant, holding out his bolt pistol. ‘Five rounds left. Make every bolt count.’
Tauno pushed himself to his feet and grabbed the weapon. He had to snatch it with both hands, the weight too much for one arm.
‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, but Ophrael had already turned to other matters and was wading into the orks outside the emplacement, his power fist crushing and smashing with relentless ferocity.
Tauno tentatively raised the bolt pistol, arms quivering. He saw an ork stepping in behind one of the Space Marines, a jagged blade ready to strike, and pulled the trigger with a wince. There was a kick from the weapon as the bolt’s firing charge sent the projectile out of the barrel, but nothing more than the autoguns he had fired in training. A split-second later, the bolt no more than two or three metres away, the internal propellant kicked in with a crack that set Tauno’s teeth on edge, its brief flare making him squint.
Straight and true, the accelerating bolt hit the ork just below the left shoulder blade. Skin and flesh buckled as the projectile punched in; a moment later the mass-reactive warhead detonated, ripping a hole the size of Tauno’s head in the ork’s back, splitting the shoulder blade from one end to the other.
The ork dropped sideways and smashed face-first into the dirt.
Tauno laughed.
‘Take that, you green bastard!’
Four shots left, he reminded himself. Be an Astartes; make every shot count.
The brutal hack-and-slash moved a few metres further down the slope as the Space Marines countered the ork charge and pushed back. Still holding the pistol in both hands, he swung to his right, catching movement in the corner of his eye. A couple of orks had broken away from the press of fighting and were heading straight for him. Aim wobbling with fear and the weight of the bolt pistol, Tauno fired again.
The bolt hit the ork in the gut with another spray of blood and tissue, but the alien kept advancing. It returned fire, spraying bullets just past Tauno, one of the rounds ripping a burning wound across his shoulder. The trooper fired again, ignoring the sudden pain, holding his breath, every muscle in his body clenched with fear.
The bolt took the ork clean between the eyes, blowing its head apart. Its companion lumbered into a run, ripping a stick grenade from its belt. Even as it hooked the grenade’s ring over a tusk to pull it free, a salvo of three bolts screamed in from Tauno’s left, forming a neat triangle of detonations in the ork’s chest.
Tauno glanced across and saw one of the Devastator Marines, one foot up on the remnants of the barricade, smoke drifting from the muzzle of his bolter. The Space Marine raised his weapon in salute and turned back to the others fighting down the slope.
Someone else staggered out of the darkness. Tauno did not recognise him at first, half his face swathed with blood from a cut across his forehead. The moustaches gave it away as the man limped into the light of the guttering fires.
‘Sergeant Maikon!’
The staff sergeant almost fell against Tauno, one arm draping across the trooper’s shoulders.
‘Got yourself a pretty little pistol there, lad,’ said Maikon. ‘Saw what you did just now. You should be proud. I think you’ve done enough for now.’
‘I still have two rounds left, sergeant,’ protested Tauno.
‘Save ’em for later,’ said Maikon. ‘Let’s get you looked at.’
Now that the sergeant mentioned Tauno’s injuries, he became aware of the throbbing pain in his head and the harsh cut across his arm. Letting one arm drop with the weight of the bolt pistol, he reached up to the back of his head with the other. He took a sharp intake of breath at his own touch. He could feel pieces of bone moving around in the wetness of the blood.
He felt faint and Maikon shifted his weight, helping the trooper to stay on his feet.
‘How bad is it sergeant?’ Tauno asked. ‘Am I going to die?’
‘I reckon you will need to wear a hat to catch the ladies’ eyes, because you’re going to have the Emperor’s own bald spot to cover up; but I reckon you’ll be all right.’
Tauno was feeling quite nauseated now. He swallowed hard to stop himself from throwing up.
‘I’d like to sit down, sergeant, but we should get back to the fighting.’
‘You need to pay more attention, lad.’
Maikon helped Tauno over to a rock and lowered him down gently to rest against it. From here, Tauno could see the glow of dawn in the far distance. The ground was trembling under his backside and he wondered if he was imagining it. But the smell of fumes and the rumbling of engines were unmistakable.
Lolling his head to the north, he saw grey-painted tanks cresting the ridge, their main guns booming. Shells ripped through the advancing orks while lascannons and heavy bolters spat death in the pre-dawn twilight. Transports were disgorging dozens of Free Militia onto Koth Ridge. Everywhere Tauno looked the orks were falling back from the fury of the Piscinan counter-attack.
He wondered why he hadn’t noticed them before; he had been quite busy, he realised.
‘Have we won, sergeant?’ he asked.
‘Yes, trooper, we’ve won the battle.’
The staff sergeant looked down the ridge and Tauno followed his gaze. All along the ridgeline, the surviving defence troopers were slumping to the ground in exhaustion, patting each other on the back, drinking from canteens or tending to the many corpses that littered the slope.
A transport slewed to a halt not far from Tauno and the upper hatch popped open. Colonel Grautz emerged an
d surveyed the scene with a pair of magnoculars. Satisfied with what he saw, he hung the magnoculars around his neck and looked down at the troopers gathering around.
‘A glorious fight, men!’ the colonel said. ‘You have the greatest thanks from Imperial Commander Sousan. I am sure that each of you will be praised and rewarded highly for your efforts here and over the last few days. Though we cannot be complacent, it is fair to say that the ork threat to Piscina has been defeated. The Dark Angels will be here soon to help us clear out the rest. Time for a couple of days’ recuperation for you all. Well done for winning the war!’
The transport moved on, heading after the line of tanks. Ahead of them the Space Marines were pushing forwards, harrying the orks as they fled from the armoured vehicles.
‘You know who really won this war?’ Tauno said. Maikon nodded, and pulled his canteen from his belt. He raised it in toast to the dark-green-armoured figures continuing their relentless fight.
‘Emperor bless the Astartes,’ murmured Tauno.
The swish of the fan overhead was the only sound Tauno could hear. He lay with his eyes closed, tucked up tight in the blanket, the infirmary bed solid and supportive beneath him. After the nightmare of Koth Ridge, the quiet and solitude were a blessing from the Emperor Himself; almost literally, as he was being tended to by sisters of the Order Hospitaller.
Footsteps slapped on the tiled floor, their pace measured, the gap too long for a normal man’s tread: the footsteps of a Space Marine.
Tauno opened his eyes and sat up. Sergeant Ophrael ducked his bulky frame through the doorway. He was dressed in a heavy, sleeveless robe of dark green, but out of his armour he was no less impressive, a mass of tanned flesh, muscle and cord-like veins. He had a surprisingly young-looking face, square-jawed with close-cropped blond hair and penetrating green eyes. The Space Marine strode up the ward, the curious buzz of the other patients surrounding him.
Tauno sighed.