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***
"Rally!" Melchoir shouted in a hoarse voice, "Rally to me!"
Around him were grouping in the last few tanks. The infantry, not so well endowed with armor, were fleeing in a panic. His forces were slipping through his grasp like sand through a sieve.
"Rally!" the senior officer shouted again. He reached out with his gloved hand and grasped a guardsmen hard by his sleeve. The guardsmen spun around and faced the officer.
"Where are you going?" Melchoir demanded.
"Away, sir!" the frightened guardsman replied.
"Emperor damn it!" he shouted in reply, "If you run down that hill, there will be nowhere to go, you will be wiped out, soldier!"
The guardsman stared at him wild-eyed, eager to escape the officer's grasp.
"You have exactly one choice for survival, and that is to stand and fight! You will RALLY!"
Melchoir wished it wasn't true, but it was. He had just barely managed to escape the slaughter of his line the day before, but this time, he wasn't so lucky. The terrain for retreat was a wide-open plain. If they ran now, there was no possible way to escape a complete and total massacre. They had no choice but to fight for their very lives.
The enemy bombardment had been overpowering, and their initial attack was only rebuffed with appalling casualties. Once again, Melchoir had found himself accidentally in control of what could very, very approximately be called a regiment. Those precious few hundred men were now predominantly escaping down the hillside to their immanent peril.
"Come with me," the officer growled as he strode up to the nearest Leman Russ. Lord Taiaphas had been one of the survivors, and required a speaker system to be heard due to his various war wounds. The commander marshal strode up to the tank and had his newest aide-
de-camp help boost him up the front panel of the armor.
He came face to face with the one-eyed vacant stare of the tank commander. He didn't seem to register even the magnitude of the danger around him. He cocked his head to one side, anticipating the senior officer's request. He leaned over and produced a small microphone, its wire dangling back into the tank.
Melchoir nodded and grabbed the metallic tube from the tank commander's hand, and strode up over the turret behind the speaker. Taiaphas flicked on the switch.
"Men!" Melchoir shouted, his voice booming through the vox system, "At the bottom of the hill is certain death! You can not flee from this enemy, they will cut you down as you run. You have only one choice, for the love of the Emperor, you have to rally. You have to stand and fight! It's the only way!"
As it is in war, the most cowardly are the first to flee. Those already beyond the grip of reason were now too far down the hill to be reclaimed. Those of sterner stuff were only just starting to run past him. Guardsmen from all around began to coalesce around Melchoir as he stood defiantly on top of the tank.
Thoughts raced through the officer's mind. In a few brief moments, he had been able to collect about a third of his forces. If he stayed and barked orders, or drove down with his tanks, he could get that back up to half, or perhaps two thirds. Time was critical, though. If the enemy counterattacked before they were able to retake the ruins of their hilltop fort, it wouldn't matter how many forces were there to meet them. He needed the defenseworks more than he needed the manpower.
"Alright, come on, men!" Melchoir shouted as he tossed the microphone down to the tank commander, "Move forward, man the battlements!"
The soldiers around him started to regroup themselves into rough squads and the tanks jostled into something resembling a formation. Melchoir looked up the hill. The jagged hunks of ruined buildings and defense lines stood above him. He prayed harder than he had in his life that the enemy hadn't managed to take them yet.
"Hurry, come on, we've got to move!" he shouted to his men, "Just go!"
Thick clouds of smoke boiled out of the Leman Russes as their engines went into full gear to advance back up the gentle slope. Terrified, but with no other option, the infantry filed up around them, running up the hill as best they could. Melchoir hopped off the tank and landed hard in the dirt. As quickly as he was able, he ran forward with them.
Above the fortification towered massive thunderheads. A horizon-spanning back anvil teeming with energy. The sky was darkening around them. The air was still but for the sounds of advancing tanks and guardsmen.
Melchoir managed to crest the top of the hill. Just on the other side, the enemy's lead elements had broken through the outer defenses, and were just starting to enter into the fort itself.
This was it. It was do or die. The enemy needed to be stopped. Now.
"Come on!" Melchoir shouted, "Attack!"
What was left of his forces crested the hill behind him. They would make a fight of it after all.
The tanks were the first to open up as the infantry scrambled to get into position. Massive vanquisher shells fired at point-blank range on the in-rushing bikes, while hull anti-tank weapons joined in after.
Melchoir quickly scanned the ruined fort in front of him. Bikes were already pouring in on a wide front. They would soon overwhelm everywhere at once. There wasn't enough time to react.
Then something caught his eye. One of the lead bikers was holding something in his right hand as he sped forward. It was a wand of some sort. It had a red light softly strobing on the top.
Melchoir froze.
"Teleport homer!" the officer shouted, "Somebody take it down!"
But the battle was already complete chaos as both sides bumped into each other unexpectedly. There was no one to receive orders. The officer turned and looked back at the biker. This wasn't even their main force. The main force was -
The air suddenly filled with a fizzling thunderclap.
In a bright flash, the enemy suddenly appeared in front of them.
Terminators.
From all around them, the bikes poured in.
"Open fire!" Melchoir shouted to no one in particular as he began to climb up to the second floor of a ruined building in front of him. Guardsmen formed ranks around him as the enemy sped in. Soon lasguns and lascannons alike began to shoot out of hastily prepared positions. The sound of revving engines pealed over the escalating noise of battle.
On the right, the bikes began to slow slightly as they approached the guardsmen in terrain. The lead biker waved his teleport homer over his head, as if daring anyone to stop him from bringing in more reinforcements.
Once he made it to the second floor, the officer drew his pistol from its holster. He prepared to direct his makeshift command squad to bring the lead biker down.
Then there it was again. Another bright flash, and another. More enemy reinforcements appeared on top of them.
Instantly, the newly arrived vehicles began to unload their deadly anti-tank firepower onto a pair of Leman Russes just below him.
Caught by surprise, the tanks scarcely had time to react, much less turn and present their heavier front armor to the newly arrived foe. Multimeltas sizzled the air and a barrage of rockets slammed into the side of the tanks. The front Russ sparked and flashed as a multimelta ripped a huge gouge across its side, slicing one of the tread wells near in half and ripping the track clean in two, ending only when it hit the engine block. The tank's engines violently sputtered to a halt.
The other Russ saw an endless stream of anti-tank fire pour into it. First the sponson facing the enemy was blown apart followed by the track well. The tank agonizingly disintegrated against the onslaught until its end was suddenly brought about by a massive explosion. Melchoir lurched backwards as the shockwave heaved up directly underneath him, and his head just barely managed to get out of the way as flaming shrapnel crashed into the window of the ruin.
One of his new command squad guardsmen steadied the officer as a thick plume of black smoke gushed up into the sky in front of the window, completely obscuring the attacking enemy on the other side.
Now steadied Melchoir ran down to the next window. Below him, his guardsmen were under attack.
The guardsmen desperately attempted to retaliate. One of the survivors fired a lascannon into one of the newly-appeared speeders. The blast ripped clean through the vehicle, causing it to crash as a flaming wreck in front of them.
From behind the wreck charged in the bikes. All but immune to the small arms fire of the guardsmen, the bikes slowed and formed up, presenting a wall of steel, rubber, and bolters. With brutal power, the twin-linked bolt guns blasted into the guardsmen, ripping them to pieces. Blood sprayed into the air as they were leveled to the ground like a strong breeze over grass.
As the guardsmen were slaughtered, the terminators began their implacable march up the field. Already all but invincible, they marched forwards unharmed - there were simply no weapons available to shoot at them. Melchoir pitched a few shots at the bikes before returning his gaze to the slowly-moving threat.
They would have to wait. Let them expend their ammunition, it was the bikes that were the main concern. If only something could be done to slow the terminators down. It would take a miracle.
But, little did he plan, a miracle was just what he got. With no targets in front of them, the guardsmen of the center had followed their officer's orders to attack. Bravely, squad after squad charged forwards into the guns.
The terminators were forced to slow their advance to handle the new wave of onrushing guardsmen. One after another, the guardsmen fell, but those who weathered the storm of bolter fire advanced none the less.
This might just be Melchoir's only break. His only bit of luck. His only chance, purchased with the suicide of his troops, loyal to the last.
He turned his attention back to the right. His army was nearly overrun.
There was only one thing left to do.
"Attack!" he shouted with a hoarse voice, "Attack right! Take them down!"
The officer pointed down the ruin at the bikes. The men from behind, those few who were left, charged forwards in a desperate counterassault.
He fired another few shots down onto the remaining speeder, joined by the heavy weapons team he had managed to scrounge. Guardsmen below charged forward and opened up with a meltagun. The vehicle careened out of the way at the last moment, and the shots went wide, slamming into the hull for minimal effect.
Then from below, a loud crack and a series of cascading thuds. Below him the other Leman Russ had been ripped apart and was on fire, it's desperate crew attempting to flee the flaming wreck with their lives. More smoke billowed up in front of the ruins.
The officer struggled to find a new position when a shout broke out from behind him.
"Incoming!"
Melchoir turned to see an enemy aircraft descent upon him and his command post. As the fighter swooped over, it let loose a pair of rockets which screeched towards him, impacting in the ruin. The shattering blast ripped the broken building apart and flung the officer to the ground. A sheet of dust and debris cascaded over him, burying him in a pile of broken concrete.
The fighter's engines roared as the passed overhead, the engine wash scorching through the cloud of floating grey dust.
Melchoir's mind slowly began to coalesce around him as he lay half-buried in rubble. Around him, the sounds of the terminator's gunfire pounded into his ears as it sprayed through the air. The stench of burning oil and seared metal of his broken tanks assaulted his nose. The gurgling screams of his guardsmen pierced into his hearing as the bikes below ran over the infantry and began hacking at the survivors with chainswords.
Above him, the massive dark grey front of cloud continued to advance over them. The faintest hints of lightning snapped at the sky.
Melchoir closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. As he exhaled he turned to his right and found his pistol. He gripped it firmly in his hand. He closed his eyes and breathed in again.
***
Commander: We'll, boys, looks like we'll be sticking around after all.
Driver: What? The little gribblies get to run away and we're stuck here?
Hull: Uhh... yeah, that doesn't seem very fair to me, sir.
Commander: Well, it's Lord Vask's orders, so that's that. Get yourselves ready, we've got a fight on our hands.
Driver: Hey, who's that climbing on Lord Vask's armor?
Gunner: That's Marshal Theleos.
Driver: Haven't seen him before.
Hull: You're kidding right?
Driver: Not a day in my life.
Hull: That's the guy who's been giving us orders all week.
Gunner: Now, see, this is why we don't allow you to shoot anything. You have the observation skills of a skunk in a burlap sack.
Driver: Do not. Plus, I don't see why boots here gets to boss us around anyways. He looks like an idiot shouting at people through the vox. Yeah, you're standing defiantly on a tank shouting at people. Real original.
Commander: All right, now, shut it. Prepare to move out.
Driver: Engines engaged. Steering armed. Standing by.
Gunner: No matter how many times you say "steering armed", that doesn't make your drive bar a weapon.
Commander: I said can it. Turn two right and prepare to move out.
Driver: Turning right. Turn complete.
H40: Deimos command to all units, move up the hill in support of the infantry, wedge formation. Prepare for action.
Commander: You heard him, come up in behind H42 and move forward.
Driver: Moving forward.
H40: Deimos command to all units, stand by to engage possible enemy targets.
Commander: we all good in here?
Hull: Hull weapon good to go.
L.Sponson: Sponson one, good to go.
R. Sponson: Sponson two, ready.
Gunner: Round loaded, prepared to fire.
Commander: Deimos one, standing by.
H42: Deimos two, standing by.
H43: Deimos three, standing by.
H44: Deimos four, standing by.
H40: Deimos command, standing by.
H44: Enemy spotted, twelve, ten. Fast-moving targets moving seven.
H40 (Vask): Break them.
Commander: Nice shot, Vask. All crew, open fire on designated target. Driver, right point five. Gunner, left eleven. Fire when ready.
Driver: Holy Terra, that's a lot of firepower.
H40: Target is neutralized, prepare to engage next target.
H44: Deimos command, be advised, the enemy is attacking in strength on the right. Repeat, enemy in force at two and three.
Driver: should we go over and help them?
Commander: Deimos command, what's our status?
H40: Stand by Deimos one.
H44: They're right on top of us! Taking fire!
H42: Enemy fast moving targets spotted eleven and twelve moving eight.
H40: Deimos three, four, engage enemy units at discretion. Repeat, fire at will. Good luck.
Driver: Well hell.
H40: Deomos one, two, shift fire left. Prepare to engage enemy at eleven.
H42: Enemy sighted, firing.
Commander: Gunner, traverse left ten, sponson one, hull, fire when target acquired.
Hull: I've got a target.
Hull: I've got one!
R. Sponson: What's going on over there?
Commander: Driver, reverse tank, pivot to ten.
Driver: Moving Backward.
R. Sponson: Hey, what was that?
Gunner: Why have we stopped?
Driver: What the hell? What's going on back there?
L. Sponson: Umm... I think we might be hung up on something.
Driver: Emperors bloody boil! We're stuck on terrain!
Gunner: That's some real smooth moves.
Driver: Shut your face!
Hull: Just drive if backward and forward real fast.
Driver: That's what I'm doing, ass-face!
Commander: Driver, get us on the move.
Driver: It's what I'm trying to do here, sir!
Gunner: Well try harder.
Driver: Can't you see here how I'm practically tearing my arms off!? The Emperor-damned thing won't move, because the Emperor-damned thing is stuck solid!
Hull: well go out there with the shovel, then.
Driver: YOU go out there with a shovel.
Hull: I'm too busy shooting my gun. Tell me, what are you shooting?
Driver: DAMMIT!
Commander: Deimos command, we appear to be stuck on terrain. Repeat, Deimos one is immobilized.
H42: Enemy approaching the infantry from twelve.
Commander: Keep firing.
Hull: Target has traversed out of range.
L. Sponson: Damn, these guys are fast!
H42: Enemy has engaged infantry.
H40: Continue to engage enemy.
H43: Ahh! We're being hit!
H44: The enemy is -
H40: Deimos four, what is your status?
H40: Repeat, Deimos four, what is your status?
H43: Keep firing! Target those skimmers! Deimos command, we've lost Deimos four!
H42: Deimos command, the enemy is running over the infantry right in front of us, sir.
H43: Argh! We've been hit! Fire! Fire! Bail out! Get the hell out of there! Everybody move!
H40: Deimos one, two, continue firing on enemy at twelve.
R. Sponson: I still can't see anything.
Commander: Keep firing. Driver, any progress?
Driver: No luck, sir.
H42: Come on, we've almost got them!
Commander: Wait, what?
Commander: Deimos two, command, be advised, enemy aircraft approaching at our nine. Repeat, incoming enemy aircraft.
L. Sponson: Why won't this bastard just die?
H40: Keep fire on present enemy. Engage as able.
Gunner: He's in the infantry again.
Commander: Incoming!
R. Sponson: Woah, gak! What the hell was that?
Commander: Be advised, enemy aircraft strafing ground targets with rocket attacks.
H42: It's not going down. Deimos command, we are almost out of infantry support. The boots are getting pretty thin, sir!
H40: Target right, target right! Shift fire twelve, one, two!
Hull: Well hello, there!
Commander: Get him!
Hull: He's too fast!
L. Sponson: Get the hell out of the way, boots!
Gunner: He's in the infantry again!
Driver: This is not going well.
Commander: Be advised. Enemy aircraft circling around for another pass.
H42: We're all out of infantry!
Commander: All right, boys. Enemy aircraft is coming in at twelve. Everybody see him?
R. Sponson: Yeah.
Gunner: Yes.
Commander: Elevate weapons and prepare to fire on my command. I am so damn sick of enemy fliers.
Hull: Standing by.
Gunner: Standing by.
L. Sponson: Standing by.
R. Sponson: Ready.
Commander: Wait for it... ... Wait for it...
Commander: FIRE!
Hull: What? What!?
Gunner: Yes!
Commander: Hell yeah, direct hit! That is how it's DONE hull gunner.
L. Sponson: Great job!
Gunner: Way to go.
Hull: I can't believe it! I actually hit the thing!
R. Sponson: Confirmed enemy down. Repeat, it's a hunk of debris now.
Commander: Well that was a SUPERB job, gentlemen! Now, what else do we have to do?
***
As the initial shock of the blast started to wear off, Melchoir regained his senses. He tried to get up, but was stuck under the rubble. With great effort and a fair bit of wriggling, he slowly managed to free his torso and then his legs.
If this was going to be his last stand, then by the Emperor, he would at least be standing for it.
Finally, he made it up to his feet. His command squad did likewise.
"All right men," Melchoir said, almost softly, "Let's make an end of this."
Those few he had left to him looked grim, but determined. Resigned to their fate, and ready to see it through.
He strode forward and looked down into the fort. Amidst the blowing smoke and bursting gunfire, he could see the last few attacking infantrymen charging the terminators.
Melchoir watched as the enemy stopped and unloaded everything they had on the few hapless guardsmen. With a horrid torrent of fire, they were quickly reduced to a quivering pulp, all but devoid of traces of humanity against their exploding bolts.
The terminators turned and began their implacable advance. Before him, their tactical dreadnought armor churned the ground. Behind him, the bikes roared in and attacked his few remaining infantry. To his right, utter ruin.
The enemy broke around him like a violent wave, cascading around his ruin like a lone rock defying the sea.
The officer turned and looked to his left. At first, all he could see were dead guardsmen. His forces on the left had been completely wiped out.
But then he noticed it. All of his infantry had been wiped out, but all of the attackers had been as well. The left was clear!
Melchoir's mind raced. This wasn't a one-sided slaughter. This was a game of attrition. And he was an Imperial Guard commander. He played the game with more pieces.
As the bikes slaughtered the remainder of the troops around him, a pair of surviving Leman Russes pounded into the last of the enemy on the left. The leader of the host rode some sort of jetbike. Wounded and trailing smoke, the tanks hammered into it with a blistering fusillade of anti-tank weapons from point-blank range. The energy field shot a massive spray of sparks into the air as the weapons collided one after the other on the front of his bike. In grinding agony, the enemy finally began to falter, and then to fail against the awesome firepower of the lumbering behemoths.
The fighter that had fired into them from the air had come around for another pass. This time, its target was a third Leman Russ that appeared to have become snagged on terrain, or in some other way immobilized. The enemy aircraft came in lower and lower, making straight for the piece of heavy armor. He thought for sure the flier would open fire with a barrage of cannons and rockets.
At the last possible moment, the tank opened fire, all of its weapons blazing in unison. The hull lascannon shot up and sliced a line of destruction through one of the flier's wings. At first it didn't seem much, but then the whole side of the aircraft exploded, raining burning wing and engine fragments all around them. The fighter fell like a stone through this artificial snow and cascaded into the ground with a second, bigger explosion.
Just then, the enemy broke around both sides of the ruin.
They swept in quickly, only to come face to face with three Leman Russes.
The remaining speeder fired its multimelta into the immobilized tank, peeling off huge chunk of the side armor, and crumpling in the right side of the tank. The sponson gunner, somehow unhurt by the brutal display of firepower, shot back with his own multimelta, landing the shot clean on the nose of the vehicle, causing it to disintegrate in a fantastic fireball.
The bikes, unaware of the threat until it was too late, were caught in the side by the advancing vanquisher. Anti-tank shells and lascannon blast into the enemy, easily blowing apart their lightly-armored craft. A lone surviving infantryman found a lascannon and fired it down into the bikes as well. As quickly as they had arrived, they were utterly annihilated.
Melchoir rushed to the window and saw the terminators directly underneath him. He gave out a shout and began to fire his pistol down into their heads and shoulders. The terminators, unhurt, turned to fire back at the officer. At the last possible moment, the officer dove for cover as the ruined building around him shook violently under the weight of their small arms and heavy weapons fire.
He turned and looked from his position of cover. The Leman Russes, now devoid of other targets, finally began to pour their weight of fire onto the terminators. The enemy turned to retaliate, but their weapons uselessly pattered off of the heavy front armor of the tanks. Slowly, the lumbering behemoths ground forward, unloading deadly salvoes of their anti-tank weapons directly into their tactical dreadnought armor.
The terminators were tough, but not that tough. One after another, they began to fall. They were useless to resist the Imperial Guard heavy armor.
The enemy began to teeter and then to fall back. Melchoir laughed out loud as they were swept away by the tanks. He reloaded his pistol and, with tears in his eyes began to fire at the retreating foe.
"Yes!" he shouted, "Come on you blessed bastards! Shoot them! Come on!"
One by one, the withdrawing terminators began to fizzle and pop out of existence as they activated their teleporters, disappearing from the battlefield until, after a moment, they were all gone.
Melchoir stood looking at the empty shell of the fort in front of him.
The piling clouds above boomed a loud clap of thunder overhead. A gust of breeze suddenly lifted up onto him.
It smelled like rain.
***
The world around them was covered with a soft, grey drizzle.
The only sound was the dripping of water off of the ruins and battlements, running into one of the many shallow pools everywhere. The storm had been violent, but relatively brief. Now everything was still. Everything was wet and grey.
It was getting harder to see. Melchoir noticed for the first time that it was decidedly darker than it was before. The sun must be setting.
He looked down at the flickering green display of his beat-up old surveyor. The screen winked out entirely and then sputtered back to life. The thing barely worked at these ranges anymore. He wondered when he'd finally just throw the relic of a scanner away.
The display went black and then came back green a few more times. Yes, there was definitely something out there.
"Yeah, I see it Vask," Melchoir responded in his micro-bead, "It's too many signatures. It has to be friendly."
Vask didn't reply.
"I'll go check it out," the officer continued, motioning for his standard bearer to follow him.
The two crept through the wet, dimming quiet. The rain fell softly on the ruined walls, and the ruined bodies.
They made it stealthily up to the edge of the fort, and then up into the second defense line. Melchoir peered down. A few hundred feet down the hill, a mass of white uniforms and brown flak armor was making its way up the slick hillside.
The officer sighed loudly. He didn't seriously think he was about to be attacked from the rear, but he couldn't possibly allow himself to hope for reinforcements. Here they were, though, right in front of him. Several company's worth. And more tanks.
The tension flooded out of his body, and the officer went wobbly at the knees for a moment. He took a moment to catch his breath as the other guardsmen continued towards him. Once he had composed himself, he and his standard bearer walked up on top of the trenchworks.
"Hail!" Melchoir rasped at them in a hoarse voice.
The guardsmen below gave a start. Clearly they were wound up too tight by half. They had no idea what to expect when they made it to the fort.
The officer's white uniform was conspicuous against the darkening hillside, and the golden hand of the kind of Folera atop his standard quickly assuaged the fears of the guardsmen below.
With a new, relaxed energy, they broke out of their formations and began to stream up the hill.
As the men approached, an officer came up to Melchoir with his retinue. He gave Melchoir a weak salute, which Melchoir returned as best he could.
"Commander Marshal Hagon Drogevar," the officer said, introducing himself.
"Commander Marshal Melchoir Theleos," Melchoir responded.
"Who is in charge here?" the other officer asked.
"I am, and I could not possibly be more glad to see you."
"How many are at your command?"
"Well, your men, now, I guess, if you were ordered to reinforce. That and a few Russes."
"That's all?" Hagon asked, aghast.
"Well, you know what they say about last stands. There's never time to practice them."
The other officer remained mute.
"Come on," Melchoir said, "It's going to be dark soon, and we have a lot of work to do."
***
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