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***
Melchoir could hardly believe it. He had survived. Their tiny convoy had managed to make it, apparently completely unnoticed over a trek of going on a thousand miles over the course of over a 48 hour period. At no point had the tanks stopped - the vehicles refueled on the go - just an endless, two-day trudge over open terrain. And not so much as a whisper of the enemy.
Yes, they were running out of food and fuel, but, as best as Melchoir was capable of estimating, they were almost at the drop zone.
The evidence began to mount as the sunlight began to slant towards evening. At first, it was wrecked materiel scattered about. Then it was defensive lines that looked long-breached. The farther they went, the more recent became the scars of battle on the land. The sunlight was just tinging with a golden hue as they made it into a ruined city. All about there were scattered dead bodies, and a few burning vehicles sent up thin, oily smoke trails up into the air.
The enemy was close. Melchoir stuck his head out of the top hatch of his chimera, watching for signs of danger. The sky suddenly dimmed as lazy clouds drifted in front of the setting sun, their grey forms edged with brilliant yellow lines. The long shadows faded as the treads of the tanks slowly crunched the gravel, rubble, and pavement underneath.
Melchoir slowly mulled his options. Undoubtedly he would be breaking through the rear of enemy defensive positions in order to be able to rejoin Foleran forces on the other side. On the one hand, he could wait for dark, sneak through the unsuspecting enemy, and make it through under cover of darkness. On the other hand, the Folerans on the other side might assume that a pack of battle tanks racing towards their lines in the middle of the night was the beginning of an enemy attack. He really didn't want to come all this way just to become the victim of friendly fire.
He would rather take his chances with the enemy, personally. Plus, the sound of combat, Emperor forbid, might well lure the good guys to the attack, and he just might get bailed out by friendlies.
The officer looked out to his right. Between a few tall, narrow trees, he could see a few ruined buildings, and beyond it a proper road. That would do.
He ducked back down into his transport and closed the hatch behind him. He staggered over the knees of the veterans inside as he made it over to the vox set.
"This is Melchoir," he said, "To our right, there is a road that we're going to get on to take us the rest of the way into the drop zone. Let's go ahead and cross over here between these buildings."
The tank column slowly began to wheel to the right, and after a few moments started to come up to the road.
And then he heard it - the sickening crack of a sniper. The blast snapped through the air and crunched straight through the viewport of one of the Russ drivers.
"Deimos Command to all units, be advised, enemy counter-vehicle sniper is in the area."
Well, maybe this wouldn't be so bad, maybe he was just a lone sentry out there. A single scout. So long as they stayed in their transports, they would all be fine.
The air cracked again with a sniper round. This was no ordinary sniper. This one had some sort of special anti-tank munitions.
With the second shot, the sniper's location was revealed and the tanks began to return fire in the general direction of the hidden enemy. Melchoir looked through the viewports. To his dismay, it seemed that this wasn't an isolated incident. As the exchange of weapons fire across the street intensified, the officer could see movement. The enemy was stirring.
Over on the left, transports began to move through the ruins. Anti-tank fire began to rain down on them from across the street.
But what Melchoir didn't know was that the most dangerous threat came from the right, where fast-moving units had already crossed over theroad.
His gaze, however was fixed across the street. Amongst the incoming enemy long-range fire, there was something strange. It took him a moment to see it, and then he saw it again. Those were xenos weapons being discharged. With a bit more searching, he found them tucked into the ruins side-by-side with the enemy.
Once again, it was these special kind of grey space marines that were allying with a sworn enemy of the Imperium in order to kill loyalist guardsmen.
He spotted another knot of them high up in a ruined building. A barrage of anti-tank weapons slammed down into them. Visible through the side hatches were a pair of Russes, which took the brunt of the incoming fire. The first vehicle was pierced repeatedly, the front panels of the armor peeled away as if the enemy were peeling an orange. With a catastrophic thud, the internal workings of the vehicles exploded, and the tank quickly caught fire.
Moments later, the same anti-tank rounds sheared right through the ruins that the other Russ was hiding behind and with just a few projectiles ruined the vehicle completely.
Melchoir looked up at the tower of smoke being created when he saw it. Something was stirring behind the ruins to his right. Had the enemy already crossed the street?
Then he saw it again. They had!
The officer's arm dashed down to push the button on the vox.
"All units, enemy coming in from the right. Right turn, now!"
The tanks quickly jumped to life and began to pivot according to the orders.
One by one, main gun and sponson weapons began to fire into the walking monstrosity behind the ruins, the smoke and rubble obscuring their targets. The shooting they did, though, was too little, too late. They had been surprised.
The chimera closest to the enemy was suddenly blown apart. The veterans staggered out, desperate to continue to engage the enemy.
Melchoir felt his own transport seize violently as the sniper across the street found its mark. He looked around. Nobody inside had been hurt. It only took a moment for his nose to pick up the scent of burning oil. The chimera had been hit in the engine and had started ablaze. Here was no place for them anymore.
"Come on!" Melchoir shouted, opening up the back hatch and leading his men out into the open.
The enemy poured in from all sides.
"Come on!" Melchoir shouted again, "Defend yourselves! Open fire!"
The mechanical creature they had been shooting at strode around the ruins and cast an unholy blast of psychic flame into the dismounted guardsmen. They screamed as flesh and soul alike was wasted away by the fires. Nearby space marines opened fire with bolters into Melchoir and his squad.
But the guardsmen heard Melchoir's call for action. Now exposed, the Leman Russes had a clear shot against the monstrous creature, blistering it with anti-tank fire until the massive machine began to buckle and collapse, helped along by meltagunners from his veterans. The lone survivor of the squad hit by the flamer turned to run away as the massive machine attempted to lumber forwards.
"No!" Melchoir shouted, pointing his pistol at him, "No! You will stand and fight!"
As the mechanical beast fell to the ground short of eviscerating the guardsman, he heeded orders and prepared to take down the enemy with his meltagun.
Melchoir turned his attention back to his own squad as it began to advance on the enemy, meltaguns ablaze with hot death.
The meltaguns found their mark, their heavy, anti-tank blasts ripping the space marines apart. The nearby tank also opened fire, smearing another with its massive vanquisher cannon. Melchoir himself downed one with his pistol. Stunned by the ferocity of their counterattack, the enemy began to falter.
But from behind them, an enemy transport burst through the ruins, nearly running the marines over in the process. The new force of steel charged forwards, enemy firing bolters in rapid succession out of the hatches.
Meanwhile, the enemy continued to pour in on the left.
Shot after withering shot slammed into the transports everywhere. There was nowhere safe on this side of the road for the vehicles to be. Slowly but surely, the remainder of the chimeras were ripped apart by enemy guns.
On the left, the veterans inside desperately bailed out. They unleashed the full might of their weapons, obliterating an enemy squad of meltagunners. From right behind them, though, came in another enemy unit.
Brandishing large shields and deadly close combat weapons they charged in. Helpless to defend themselves, the guardsmen were butchered.
The guardsmen around Melchoir rushed in. The last, brave survivors charged forwards.
Melchoir was starting to get the hang of last stands.
With contemptuous ease, the veterans used their meltaguns at point blank range to utterly ruin the chimera in front of them. Burst into flames, only a pair of survivors managed to escape.
Melchoir pointed at his veteran squad in silent order to take down the remaining space marines which the guardsmen did with ease. He, on the other hand, broke forward to handle the survivors of the transport.
Melchoir leveled his pistol as he ran and dispatched the nearest of the enemy. The other one, surrounded by guardsmen and traumatized by the wreck of his transport broke and fled.
"No!" Melchoir shouted, "Get back here!"
With all of his effort, the officer managed to make it over the ruined vehicle and catch up with the fleeing enemy.
"No! Melchoir shouted again, bringing his power fist around and punching into the soldier in front of him. The attack instantly crunched through flesh and bone, smashing apart an arm and ruining his torso. The enemy collapsed to the ground.
"No!" Melchoir shouted, smashing his vanquished foe again with his powerfist, "No, you will NOT get away!"
Again and again, Melchoir's fist hammered into what was now the greasy smear of what had once been a human being. The disruptor field on his fist crackled angrily as blood and gore fizzled onto the armored gauntlet.
His breath heaved in his lungs as he looked down at the grim end of his work. What was left of it.
Around him, the battle continued to fight. He turned and saw the ruins of his transports. He saw the wrecks of his tanks. It was all falling apart.
Only a few men and a single tank were left to him now.
He didn't know what to do.
***
Melchoir felt sick. It was nearly pitch black except for a few small indicator lights. He was horribly wedged in between two bulkheads. Even his relatively diminutive stature didn't help. He shook violently. It was seethingly hot. He couldn't even hear himself think over the noise.
He had no idea how tank crews did it.
The lone Leman Russ trundled through the darkness. Vask's tank. Its crew and Melchoir were the only survivors. The only survivors of two months of fighting. Out of thousands and thousands of men, and hundreds and hundreds of vehicles. It was just them now. Melchoir tried to come up with a rough calculation of his casualty rates, but being wedged between the engine block and the drive train made it impossible to think.
There they were, slowly escaping in the darkness, probably deep behind enemy lines. Searching the inky night for a friendly face.
The officer was despondent. Everything just felt so hopeless now. He couldn't even bring himself to remember Sanario, whose guidance he could have used at a time like this. As if the tank could hold ANOTHER stow-away. He rested his head on his knees, which were pinned up against his chest.
He let his mind get carried away by the horrible heat and noise and vibrations piercing through his very existence.
The transmission system suddenly ground down on itself and the engine briefly surged before falling down to idle. The tank came to a halt. Melchoir lifted his head with a jerk. What was going on?
"Melchoir!" came the echoing voice of someone mere feet away in the darkness.
The officer uncrouched himself up to his knees and managed to crawl out to between the driver and hull gunner. A piercing beam of light was shining through the driver's viewport.
He squirmed up past the gunner and peeked his head up into the turret.
"What's going on, Taiaphas?" Melchoir asked in a quiet voice. A dazzling beam of light was illuminating the deeply scarred commander, light glinting off of his respirator and bionic eyepiece.
"We are being ordered to stop," lord Vask replied in a scratchy voice.
"By whom?" the officer asked.
"I don't know, they are shining spotlights directly at me."
Melchoir closed his eyes. His mind briefly tried to wriggle a solution out of this new situation, but it quickly failed.
He sighed, heart collapsing into anguish.
"Well," he finally said softly after a long pause, "I guess we'd better surrender, then."
***
Successful Trades: 2
I beg to dream and differ from these hollow lies