Here's a little one shot for you. I hope you will enjoy something a bit different. Might as well read it, it's dead short 
. With his face close to them, the rails seemed squint, wobbling down their straight course. Miserly glints shined where the rails had worn clean, shimmering where the track had been laid imperfect. A smoggy sunset marked the horizon, ash falling like snow. As he lurched to his feet he gifted the wreckage behind him a glance, sickly luminous flames licked around the shattered carriages. A half-kilometre back muted explosions blossomed from the incessantly detonating magazine wagons . What a perfect shambles the day, this tour, had run into. He gave his misfortune a smile, acknowledging it like an old friend. The soldier felt for his radio, although the flames had warped the casing it still appeared intact. He didn't care where his lasgun lay or in which fire it burned.
'
Hold the Emperor's Light in your heart. [End of Line]. A place the great enemy has no claim. [End of line].'
The general enlightenment broadcast was all that remained on the channels now, it's percussive bleeps and pauses small consolation. He let the radio clatter to the ballast, deciding to keep it on so the battery could die a dignified death. The lack of chatter sung a solemn hymn, they were all dead. Or at least heading that way, he smiled at that.
On his feet now he looked ahead, down the rails again. They had seemed to straighten since he gained his vantage point. Stretching towards an indistinct goal. He started walking.
A time had passed, between a quarter of an hour and three, in his mind it dilated and accelerated when it left the present moment. Ahead lay a pointing, it was jammed to the right, the left was rusted to almost nothing, a civilian siding in a time of war. Some time ago he had passed the signal, or at least what remained of it, a sheared metal stump. Since that milepost the track had borne the pock-marks of a strafing run, deep divots buried autocannon slugs and warped track failed to bridge craters. It amazed him how fragile imperial 3-metre gauge could be, there was no way the locomotive could have crossed it. The ash was deeper here, almost like snow, snow where the atmosphere was too toxic to birth it.
He had let his attention wander too far, his shuffling gait fell away as he tripped on a piece of debris. He didn't even fall with much force, it was more of a slump to the ground, deep ash cushioning the fall. The soldier rolled onto his back and looked to the darkening sky, or at least what passed for darkness, a bruised, neutral, orange. When he squinted he saw bright blooms behind the thick curtain. Angels were fighting in heaven, the last of the defence fleet was being systematically annihilated. He sat up, he left a great bloodstain in the ashen carpet along with his impression.
He felt the blood rising in his cheeks and temple, a hot flush of panic. It subsided with a euphoric resignation, he rose again. Stony faced he wiped his hands on his scorched fatigues, they were ripped and ragged, burnt in places, just like their owner. Above, the dull pulses of light grew brighter and more frequent, closer. He noticed an ending to the tracks far off, there was once a bridge, that much was clear. Within moments he was on his back again, rising only to fall again not long after.
No buffer marked the end of the line, just an abrupt plunge into the biggest crater he had ever seen, one final landmark. The solid founding of the track acted like a jetty into a dried up lake. It would never be known how many bodies were strewn amongst it's rubble concave. He didn't feel like adding another. He took a seat on the final ferrocrete sleeper, and waited for the first bombs to fall.
No inspiration drawn from me?