Some critique if y'all would please
First time sharing fiction!
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The blood gushed from Ikanu's mouth and his breastplate shattered. He was sent flying backwards into a mound of broken bodies. Hundreds of mangled men and women who never saw it coming. They were clueless. To die without knowing the face of your killer, where was the glory in that? Yes, death is the only surety in battle and Ikanu could be next. All one can do is try their damn best to prolong the inevitable. Minos, Meeran, Hons, Neindas, Kev'n and sweet Hollun. So many of them already dead, so many journeys come to an end in an instant. The ages to come would not remember them nor would those still fighting for the same cause. They were, all of them, destined to die here. Ikanu turned on his side to alleviate the pain of his broken ribs. He spat the blood from his mouth and dragged himself up into a sitting position, resting against the pile of bodies.
His vision was blurred by the rain and dirt in his eye but he could still see the bright swathes of flame that raked across the field immolating figures in the distance. There were random cracks of red las-fire around him followed by another in retaliation. Ikanu imagined that whoever fired the shots were in the same position as he, broken and still fighting for his life. There would be survivors creeping around the killing field, slaughtering anyone they found still alive. Those firing at their would be killers to protect themselves would only be drawing attention to themselves. If Ikanu wanted to make it back to the trench he had to be smart about it. He unbuckled the broken remains of his armour and gasped from the relief of a lighter chest. He checked that he still had his sidearm with him, a sigh of relief escaped him as he felt the shape of his crude pistol still chained to his belt. He slapped himself and bit his tongue. His wits were back and so were his instincts. He kept to the ground and dragged himself over the bodies of friend and foe alike. The rain fell harder and the air grew colder.
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Ikanu's war-party had been sent to clean up the surviving attackers from the last offensive. The Insurgents had gotten cocky in the night and had attempted a night-raid against Trench 217 with stick-grenades and flamers, no match for bunkers of stone and iron. A sharpshooter of the Mindaris 47th had picked out a flickering pilot light and lit up the attackers front line, it was a turkey shoot form there. Wave after wave they fell against the combined guns of five regiments of the Astra Militarum, their leaders had made a desperate move. There was no tactic, just charge the line and keep the advance moving. The fighting continued into the wee hours of the morning. A wall of corpses had slowed down the attackers, causing them to climb over their beloved dead. There had been an hour of brief respite and Ikannu's war-party, the Urdeki "War Eaters", were let loose. They grabbed their hooks, axes, shotguns and knives and climbed the wall of death, falling upon the resting enemy behind. The piled up dead had become a blessing in disguise to both sides. They served as refuge for the exhausted men and women behind it, serving their kinsmen even after death. For Ikanu's men, the wall was a decent place to jump off and into the crowd of helpless rebels.
The slaughter was glorious. Urdeki tribesmen leaping through the air and crashing into unsuspecting rebels. The crude blades of the War Eaters hacking their way through even the stolen flak vests of the horde of insurgents. Gun fire was reserved for those who tried to run, the Urdeki Gun Wives were nestled atop the wall constructing ad-hock platforms of the dead and sandbags brought from the trenches.
Ikanu waded through the crowd swiftly dealing with the ordinary rabble with a quick jab of his knife to the throat. Conditions were too confined to use chain-weaponry, too many times had Ikanu seen a foolish office fall onto the teeth of his own weapon after clashing into the enemy line. Shotguns and rifles were too cumbersome, one could not turn in time to meet the enemy and would risk hitting a fellow clansmen, the greatest sin in Urdeki culture. The War Eaters were not so primitive however, that they could not use ranged weaponry. Numerous times had they formed firing lines and skirmished in ruined cities, Urdeki Gun Wives were some of the most skilled marksmen in the Imperium. Any commander that employ use of the regiments from the Urdek system know that they are best suited in confined trenches, mob fighting and hives where war is most intimate. The War Eaters reveled in battle and had no love for the weak. Killing to the Urdeki was just that, they know when to show-off with a sword, defend themselves with a shield and axe but when it came to wiping up survivors then a quick death was the only thing needed. Thus was the ensuing fight, quick and effective. Ikanu wrenched his falchion from the guts of a rebel and turned and slashed out the throat of a young boy. He continued his pattern numerous times. Kill a couple in sight and turn to back stab the unsuspecting, assess the situation and repeat. He altered his routine to help those being trampled underfoot or to replace his broken weapons with those on the ground.
Ikanu took a break from the slaughter and grabbed the nearest Clansmen to him. Young Hollun, not even fifteen-years-old, his face caked in mud holding a bloodied rock.
"Get me Babbun, spread the word to reform!" Ikanu barked. "Reform? But we have them, let us run them-" Hollun was struck in the face, his nose busted. He retaliated and aimed to smash his precious rock into the face of his attacker. How foolish of him. Babbun was standing in the path of the rock, the giant effortlessly disarmed the young warrior and quickly put him face first in the mud. "When Warchief gives the order, we fulfill it meat!" he pulled Hollun from the mud by his hair
