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I was at one point simply mad with the story and detail displayed in Imperial Armour 5, much to the annoyance of the people around me. These two are my own attempt at trying to portray the faceless ranks of the Death Korps. This doesn't take place on Vraks, just another generic planet X where for some reason trench warfare seems to be the order of the day.

Kudos to the person who can tell where the titles for these two short stories come from.

+ + + At First Light + + +

'Incoming!'

The cry had barely rung through the air as the first whines resounded through the air, a split-second later followed by the heavy explosions of enemy artillery hitting home. Shell after shell slammed into the earth, ploughing through the dirt and mud in a slow and creeping barrage. The trenches were hit, entire concrete sections torn apart and disintegrated. And with them, entire squads of defenders, fearfully waiting for the onslaught to end. The seconds felt like hours as the shrieking torrent of shells kept on coming in, leaving virtually nothing untouched.

And then, as suddenly as the shells fell from the heavens silence returned, only punctured by the odd moan or scream of the pitiful wounded.

The few survivors that remained scurried from their boltholes and dugouts, trying to find a place to hunker behind and defend what was left of their line of defence. What few support weapons remained were set up again and sighted, though things were looking grim for the defenders. Their enemy had finally decided to go over the top. After months of raiding and harassing they finally did it.

A new series of dull thumps came from the side of the enemy. Men shouted for cover and dove away. Only the shells never hit their lines, they fell short, hitting no-man’s land instead. One brave defender peeked over the edge of what remained of his trench and called the others back. No, the enemy shells were not falling short, nor were they standard explosive shells. A thick grey fog was being thrown up by the enemy. A smoke screen. This was really it then, they were really coming.

The defenders prepared for the inevitable: their own deaths.

A low, constant rumble came from the artificial fogs of no-man's land. The defenders clutched their weapons a little tighter as the noise grew closer, a loud revving sound rumbling through the fog followed by dull thuds. The mines! They are going straight through the mines! With a little luck that would keep them away, or at least off their backs for a moment longer. More dull thuds came as the rumble grew louder and louder. The mines were not doing their jobs after all. Massively large dark and boxy shapes loomed through the smoke. Desperately the defenders opened fire.

+ + +

Slow, monstrously huge, nigh on unstoppable. The first wave of attackers, all mounted in Gorgon super-heavy transports, made their way to the enemy lines. No obstacle could stop them, mines were useless and the enemy would by now be left dazed and half-dead.

High up from the ground, the two gunners checked their dual-stubbers, training their weapons at the thick smoke covering their advance. The driver of the massive transport effortlessly ran the armoured prow through a section of razor wire, crushing it underneath the heavy grinding tracks. Nothing could stop them now, no mines, no flimsy wires, no enemy guns. A coded message screeched across the vox net and the driver punched a rune on the instrument panel, the quad mortars on the side of the Gorgon thumping once, their payloads launched into the enemy lines.

'In range, fire at will,' the driver told his gunners. From the thick smoke up ahead tracers whipped through, a lonely stubber opening fire on the advancing monsters. If only they knew what was heading their way. The gunners opened fire, following the enemy tracers and stitching that area with their own fire. It didn't matter that they couldn't see their targets, they were just suppressing the enemy.

A missile screamed from the fog, impacting on the armoured prow of another one of the Gorgons, the steep angle deflecting the missile down into the mud where it exploded harmlessly. In reply the Gorgon’s driver gunned the engines and turned to face the source of the missile attack, slowly grinding towards the source. Calmly he ordered his gunners to operate the remotes. Scorching gouts of flame scoured the trenches, burning the defenders and their only means of attacking enemy tanks in a raging inferno. Like the others, the Gorgon had stopped a few scant meters short of the enemy trenches, its heavy engines idling as the gunners on the superstructure raked the enemy trenches with stubber fire. Then, they too stopped firing.

Nothing?

One by one the heavy armoured hatches of the Gorgons slammed open, revealing entire platoons hidden away in their holds. Faceless and bayonets fixed they advanced, screaming at the top of their lungs as they flooded out of their transports and into the enemy positions.

The killing had begun in the earnest.

+ + + Entrenched + + +

Just as the first wave disembarked from their transports and launched their selves into the enemy the second wave rolled across no-man's land, in the form of three dozen Centaur carriers whom brought forth heavily armoured Grenadiers tasked with taking out enemy strong points and bunkers.

The enemy trenches might be cleared of the enemy with some ease now, but the remaining bunkers would be a tougher challenge for the regular infantry lacking the equipment for such a thing. As the Centaurs closed in on the fray they could see that a Gorgon was turned into a blazing inferno as a lucky lascannon shot punctured the fuel tanks of one of the sponson- mounted flamers, which in turn reached the main fuel tanks.

The Centaurs slew to a halt, the small squads of grenadiers jumping free and into the cover of the enemy trenches as quickly as they could under the heavy weight of their equipment and armour. From there onwards they followed the trail of dead, shoving their selves to the front of the fighting, their external vox speakers screaming as they went along.

+ + +

The enemy was upon them and only one directive remained: hold them off at all cost! The trenches were easily overtaken by the massed artillery and infantry charges, the bunkers and strong points were a different matter. They were designed to withstand enemy artillery and remain standing.

Long thin firing slits were cranked open, their metal hatches grinding down as weapons were hoisted into position, a plethora of heavy weapons poking from each pillbox, bunker and strong point. Each location had interlocked firing lanes, creating effective kill zones that were hard to get through.

Yet the enemy kept on coming!

Undeterred by their own casualties they kept up the assault, entire squads scythed down as they stepped into the kill zones with reckless abandon for their own lives. The gunners inside the bunkers kept their cool, gunning down any that strayed into their sights. This would be easy.

+ + +

Several men were cut down as they tried to cross the opening, scythed down by a pillbox with several stubbers. Grenadiers now joined the blooded guardsmen, issuing the order to stay put. Someone called out for smoke and several canisters were thrown into the open, the men impatiently waiting for them to pop and create a thick smoke screen. Jostling through the ranks of guardsmen eager to assault the pillbox were several Grenadiers, barking orders to stand aside so that they could take point. One of them carried a flamer, elbowing himself a way to the point position.

'Go!' barked their sergeant, the demi-squad of Grenadiers running from cover and into the smoke, tracers blindly screaming through it as the gunners tried to keep the area suppressed. Several of them were hit, their bulky carapace armour clanging as a round pinged off. One of them got hit, several rounds chewing into his torso.

The survivors made it to the other side, one of them clamping magnetic melta bombs to the bunker door as the others kept watch. The door was fused open, molten slag dripping inwards as a sinister greatcoat clad soldier with heavy armour and a metallic skull mask stepped into the opening, a flamer gripped in his hands. One gout of promethium was all that was needed to reduce the occupants of the pillbox into shrieking ragdolls as they danced to and fro in a blaze.

'Clear,' was all the Grenadier said as he moved on to the next enemy strongpoint. Their work had only just begun. One hole was not enough, in order to succeed they would need to take out more enemy bunkers.

Slowly, over the course of the day, the bunkers were taken out, one by one. And by the end of the day the signal was sent back to the lines, mission accomplished - line cleared.

The stalemate of trench warfare had been broken, static warfare would now be replaced by mobile warfare.

Well... it's really good. Just a few things... very minor things I might add, as there is little else for me to complain about.

You switch from past to present tense. I first noticed it during the advance of the centaurs. I'm writing a story on this forum too, and I understand how hard it is to be consistent... hell, I'm not consistent. But if I were you, I'd take care of it now, while your story is still kinda short, before it becomes the monster problem that it is in my story.

I wouldn't use exclamation points unless people are talking. The writing should speak for itself, as opposed to the punctuation.

It seems like you have the elements for a great story here... you just need characters, which you can introduce at the end of the battle...

Then again... judging by how good you are, you probably already know this, and I sound like an arrogant, condescending b@$t@rd