Not a single Mordian took a step back that day. Not an inch was given without an exorbitant toll paid for in daemonic blood. The Mordian Iron Guard may have been ordinary men and women, but they fought with the resolve of the Emperor himself.
Private Freum was in hell. Not the hell that was arbitrarily tossed around to describe unpleasant situations, rather he was in the living embodiment of unspeakable horror. He was truly in
hell. The daemonic horde that arrayed itself in front of the Mordian lines stretched as far as the Private could see in the gloom, occasionally lit up by explosives and bursts of gunfire.
But the lines held. They had to, for there was nowhere left to defend. The last remnants of all the regiments on Mordian were clustered around the Tetrachal palace, intent on holding it or die trying. The defenders still numbered in the thousands, but it was merely a pebble in the vast river of Chaos that eroded the final defenders.
Freum was intent on killing every last daemon. His lasgun always find its mark, firing in perfect unison with his squad. His sergeant was bellowing orders and spewing fiery oratories of hate against the Chaotic filth that was running rampant on their home. The sergeant's orations were giving even the Commissars a run. Freum and his squad had taken up firing position behind a collapsed marble column that once supported a decorative archway around the lush courtyard they found themselves in. The beautifully maintained grass and statues that decorated this once magnificent centre of power lay in stark parody of the surrounding scenes of carnage. Freum was in a kneeling position with his squad, while his sergeant was standing with one leg on the column, waving his chainsword mightily in the air. A challenge to any spawn of Chaos, the gore of several warp denizens glistened on its whirring teeth. His laspistol found the enemy each time he pulled the trigger.
A number of lesser Chaos spawns broke through the fusillade and crossfire and were rapidly approaching Freum's position. Sergeant Ghardim levelled his chainsword with the approaching spawn and lept over the column to meet them in viscious combat. Freum followed his Sergeant's lead with the rest of his squad in tow, bayonets already fixed. Freum didn't have time to think, he was running purely on adrenaline, having fought steadily for a day against the invasion of Chaos. There had been no time to rest, but still he fought on. Adrenaline and artificial stimulants provided by the medics were the only thing keeping much of the men going anymore. Inspired by Ghardim's example and his bombastic yells, Freum drove his bayonet deep into the soft flesh of the foul warp denizens. His own yells were drowned out by the din of the battle around him. Heavy bolters and autocannons chattered from high firing points in ornate marble towers and balconies. Lascannons discharged their deadly beams into the hearts of the great daemonic spawns that prowled the ranks of Chaos. Missiles streaked overhead, lending to a constant sound of explosives going off in the distance.
Freum didn't have the luxury to think, he could only react. Pulling out his freshly bloodied bayonet, he discharged a shot into the wounded spawn, ending its miserable existence in the mortal realm. A second spawn threw itself at Freum, its gibbering maw drooling foul liquids. Freum's bayonet met it mid-leap, but the momentum of the beat knocked the young Private on his back, his lasgun leaving his hands, still lodged in the blue creature. Freum quickly scrambled to his feet only to see the creature had beat him to it and had already removed the lasgun lodged in its fleshy hide. Freum was defenseless against the creature, easily a few feet taller than himself. As it lunged at the Private, standing stock-still in shock, unable to figure out what to do, a whirring chainsword lopped off the spawns head. Sergeant Ghardim only stopped to spit on the Chaos creature before ordering the squad back to their original firing position in order to maintain the integrity of the interlocked defenses. Freum was still in shock, but he quickly regained his lasgun and leapt back behind the column.
He didn't know how they were going to win, all he knew was that he would die before he saw the taint of Chaos envelop his home.
All he knew was hell. All he could was hope.
The Emperor protects.
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Been having a hard time writing of late, so I figured I'd write a small bit of fluff on the Mordian Iron Guard to shake out the cobwebs before going back to my other bit of fiction. Not the best thing I've written, and it was done rather quick. Comments and critique always wanted. Don't be afraid to tell me what you really think about it.
Cheers.
