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***
"Have you ever actually met the king?" one of the conscripts asked the priest.
"I have," Sanario replied with a twinge of pride in his voice, "I've met the second to last Ek'Holexa, and, of course, the current one."
"What was he like, you know, in person?" another asked him.
"He was probably an idiot", another responded. Sanario quickly turned to anger. "And before you say it, it's only heresy to insult the OFFICE of the king. The current one is a putz. Now House Holexa knew how to put a proper king on the throne. A real patron of the arts he was. Then all you throw him out and what's a sculptor to do? I went from the life of luxury to being pressed into the service in a week and a half."
"At least you
had a life of ease", another conscript retorted, "I was pressed into the sulfur mines. Istpherion comes to power and gives me the choice - service in the mines, or service on the field of battle. I've had more to eat in the last three months than I think I've had my entire life."
"Yes," Sanario responded, in his best pastoral tone, "And this is the hope of the divinely-appointed servant of our God-Emperor. Other stars and other planets are ruled by other governors in other ways, but we - we strong men of Folera - have been gifted with a wise and benevolent system of governance from on high. Which of you worked in mines?" He asked, and a few conscripts raised their hands. "Who was the beggar? Who was the slave? Who was the poor, the meek, the outcast? Can you not see what your king has given you? He has given you the chance for your life to have meaning, to serve a purpose not only vulgar, but divine," the priest opened his arms, "Divine, my children."
The conscripts were touched.
"Well, I'm not," one of the ones who hadn't raised his hand replied, "I'm just trying to get back into my proper squad."
"Yes, well
Erik," the priest replied in an exasperated tone, "perhaps if you could learn to shoot your lasgun straight for a change you wouldn't be stuck with this filthy lot, now would you?"
The pre-dawn light glowed down on the soldiers assembled in the valley.
A chill, damp air had descended on them. Of course, most of them considered themselves lucky. While some units had been able to take their ridgelines without a fight, other places had a brutal battle. Rumors from other units passing by said that at the enemy's main strong point, three entire lines had been lost. In fewer than six hours, the casualty rate had quickly soared into the thousands.
Meanwhile, the Theleos group was more or less getting a break. After taking the point, they had moved in a little bit, but were then relieved by an endless torrent of guardsmen making good on their breakthrough. They were given a few hours of rest to get some food and reload their weapons. Until they received further orders, all they had to do was watch the perimeter against the unlikely chance of an enemy counterattack on this sector.
While Melchoir was preparing his plans and scavenging for whatever bits of news he could find, Sanario was making his rounds, trying to keep up morale in the darkness. He found this kind of guiding work his second favorite part of the job. The first, of course, was chopping things in half with his chainsaw sword. That was what joy meant.
Of course, morale would certainly be higher amongst the conscripts if they all actually had weapons. Properly fitting uniforms wouldn't hurt either. Or training, for that matter. Without these things, they would have to make do with the next best thing - and unshakable belief in the God-Emperor of all Mankind.
Most important thing, the priest corrected himself.
Sanario gave a few more words of comfort and prepared to depart for the next squad when he heard something. It started almost like a rustle of the grass, and then developed into a kind of hollow, empty ripple.
"Incoming!" he heard Melchoir shout.
A drop pod came screaming down them in a great ball of flame. With mind-numbing speed, it blasted down in front of them, its retro-rockets exploding at the last minute sending a blast of smoke and dust scattering everywhere.
Sounds of alarm broke out throughout the group as battle was suddenly thrust upon them.
In the pre-dawn darkness, the enemy disembarked from their ballistic transport and strode forward, straight towards Melchoir's command post in the ruins.
The space marines opened fire with a flame thrower, but they also engaged the guardsmen with some sort of special bolter round. The air lit up as hundreds of tiny fireballs blasted through the air, igniting anything they came into contact with.
In the flames, he could see Melchoir, his refractor field burning against the flames. After the first gout, he saw the officer coolly and calmly running for his life as the inferno burned to cinders the rest of his command squad.
"Hrmph!" Sanario snapped, "I'm sure he's going to call this a 'tactical withdraw' or some nonsense. I'm sure he's going to say it was all part of some plan. I say that if you're not actually set on fire, then running away is cowardice."
"Wait," one of the conscripts interjected, "You're saying that if we get set on fire it's okay for us to retreat?"
"No," the priest replied sternly.
The conscripts looked disappointed.
"Well, it looks like I'm in charge here now," the priest exclaimed, preparing his best booming voice. "Men!", he bellowed, "The foul enemy is at hand. What would your Emperor say? What would your families say? They would say to slay these evil foes with all the might that you are able to muster! Yes, even your small children at home look on, yearning for the blood of your enemies on your hands!"
"What if we don't have children?" one of the conscripts asked.
"Not now," the priest hissed, "Yea!" he continued, "Now shall you prepare your lasguns, anointed by priests and made holy by your courage!"
"What if we don't have lasguns?" another conscript asked, suddenly concerned by the ecumenical complications of having lost his small arm.
"Shut up!" the priest seethed again, "And now shalt thou prepare them! And thou shalt open fire upon they enemies!"
The men of the group, backs stiffened and spirits resolved, began to pour lasgun rounds into the offending enemies.
Sanario looked at the conscripts around him. They were sort of just standing around, looking confused.
"That means you too!" the priest shouted.
"Oh," one of the conscripts replied. "Yeah, let's get 'em!" another chimed in. "For the Emperor!" one shouted as he lifted the spork from his mess kit (his only weapon) above his head. "For the Emperor!" the rest shouted as they engaged the enemy.
In a blinding spray, the enemy began to falter against the deluge of lasfire. One by one, they began to fall to the ground in the onslaught.
Sanario could feel the rush of battle as the hydras behind him began to light up and engage their targets. It was not difficult to see the Emperor's work here, amongst his blessed people.
There was something else that Sanario could see, though. From in front of the conscripts, a new threat emerged.
Sanario was torn. On the one hand, it was his duty to rush forward as fast as possible and save the lives of his conscripts with chainsaw sword in hand. On the other hand, he felt the burden of command. Who would now lead said conscripts were he not there to give them his guidance, both holy and tactical?
Furthermore, something just didn't seem right without Melchoir at his side. Really, it wasn't a matter of protection which the conscripts would utterly fail to provide, or a matter of competent close combat abilities of those around him, which the conscripts would utterly fail to provide, or really even a matter of the odds of success, which the conscripts were certain to make as low as possible.
Unbeknownst to the conscripts, the priest slowly began to back up, into the squad of regular soldiers behind him.
The enemy charged.
The conscripts, caught mostly unawares, began to be on the receiving end of a brutal slaughter. With minimal effort, the space marines began to hack them down horribly.
"Keep fighting!" Sanario shouted from behind the conscripts, but it was very much too late.
"Men!" he shouted to the new soldiers around him, "Now is the time to prepare for battle! Show me and your king that you are not such cowards as these. Prepare your guns! Aim for their faces and groins!"
As the conscripts quickly broke and fled, the enemy were laid bare before them. Eight feet tall, covered head to toe in armor, a terrifying array of melee weapons crackling with energy in their hands.
"Men!" Sanario shouted, "Prepare-"
A thunderous blast practically knocked the priest to his feet as a massive fireball erupted in front of him. Disoriented, the priest looked forward on one knee to see a smoking crater where the space marines had been.
"Hey!" a voice shouted from his right, "How's that one for ya?" The officer of the basilisk gave him a beaming grin and a thumbs up.
"Umm," the priest replied, regaining his senses, "Surely point-blank basilisk fire is deemed holy in the sacred light of Terra!"
"Well hey, speaking of!" the basilisk commander shouted.
Sanario looked in front of him. From out of nowhere an even LARGER squad of space marines had materialized in front of them, charging over the corpses of their slain brothers in the crater.
"Men!" Sanario shouted for a third time, "Level your lasguns and bring murder to the enemies of you, your friends, your king, and your God-Emp-"
Another enormous blast from a few yards away rocked the frigid air, a massive fireball erupting from the earthshaker cannon to his right, and once again impacting with an enormous blast of violence. The priest shielded his eyes from the flying dirt, and bits of power-armor-made-shrapnel as it flew over them.
The priest looked forward into the now even larger crater gouged out in front of him, now littered with little more than metallic shavings, smeared everywhere with blood.
"Well, that was easy," the priest had to confess.
The priest looked over to thank the basilisk commander again, when he saw it challenged by a pernicious new threat.
He looked forward and a lone, injured enemy soldier stood on the other side of the still very much smoking crater. It looked as if he were glowering through his helmet.
"You know what?" Sanario shouted, "Just open fire."
The men under his command eagerly obliged. A sheet of lasgun rounds cascaded into the enemy commander, but the shots seemed useless against his armor. The space marine ran down the side of the crater.
"Keep firing!" the priest shouted. The enemy commander sprinted up the other side and collided with his squad.
"Fine," he muttered to himself, "It appears I will have to handle this myself." He turned on his eviscerator, and gave the giant chainsaw sword a solid set of revs. This was his favorite part of the job anyways.
He charged forward with a great shout. The men around him bowled out of the way. The space marine commander turned from his butchery and parried the massive chunk of whirring steel at the last moment. He turned his power weapon with lightning speed and thrust it at the priest's face, but the shot bounced off in a shower of sparks from his rosarius field.
Again the enemy attacked and then again. Taken off guard, the priest desperately tried to parry with his eviscerator, only to see it hacked in half by the enemy's disruptor-fielded blade.
He kept chopping, over and over again, brutally hacking at the priest's invulnerable shielding. The priest desperately reached for his backup sword, but it was too late.
***
Sanario awoke in pain. He was lying on his back. A few guardsmen were staring down at him.
"Ugh," the priest began. It hurt even to think. "Who are you?" he asked.
"Us?" one of the conscripts asked, "We're the second wave. Turns out they can beat some of us, but they can't beat all of us."
"Yeah!" another conscript replied, giving the first one a high-five. Sanario coughed and started to sit up before realising just how terrible of an idea that was.
"Some others brushed them off before we got here, though," the third man standing above the priest commented, "I guess we dodged having to actually fight this time."
"You'll-" the priest started before another quick fit of coughing overtook him, "You'll get your chance," he finished.
"Hey, look, some dead guys left their lasguns!" one of the conscripts noticed. "Dibs!" shouted another as the soldiers ran off.
Sounds of post-battle rumbled by.
"I've seen worse," a voice came from behind him. The face of Melchoir appeared above the priest.
"Where did you run off to?" Sanario asked, attempting to scowl.
"Well, you see, it was all part of this plan that I came up with right before the battle..."
***
Flesh Tearers - 2,500 pts 
