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Rain.
Rain for three days strait, the ground no longer solid. Its a soup of blood, casings and cloth in mud and pebbles. The ground is littered with empty craters and flooded fox holes. A vox-caster chatters soft, crackling and spatters out random chatter from other lines. Several men lay in this, a heavy bolter with only 125 shots left. Near by in a ruined building, a heavy tank lays in wait, engine purring softly, like a predator in wait. Lasgun's; fixed with bayonets, aim down the path craved out by shells and machine gun fire. Two men rest in a water flooded shell hole, while several other in the building with the tank. Melta-guns and Lascannon aim for the first vehicle to attack this position. On to of the build a flag softly flaps int he wind, stained with blood and mud. The men, members of the planets imperial militia, lay in calm silence, ready for death to appear before them. Three days prior this was a full regiment of 1259 men, 26th Azrosian Infantry. The Colonel, now dead, lead them to their valiant death's, and now little remains of this once great Regiment.
Brothers, friends, fathers, and sons, now mangled on the ridge ahead of them. On top a traitor regiment lays in wait, thousands of damned men watch the loyal and true men of the Emperors most valiant defenders. A man stands up and moves solemnly to another position, calm collected and calculated. This is the their leader. His uniform, now grey with the mud, resembles that of a lieutenant, although he is a Captain. His eyes, now weary and weathered, have never seemed more bright. His stance is affirming and unchanging. He stopped, only to light a Lho stick, before moving on.
He knows he's being watched, traced by snipers and rifles. He does not wavy once as he steps from dug out to dug out, confirming with the men their worst fear are true, but that they will over come it. He look's like a ghost of a man now, made muddy and bloody, who's faced a grim fate of death and lived. He knows the step must be taken to ensure victory for the Emperor.
Men begin to stir from there positions, stepping out of water pits and craters, the Lasguns in hand. A priest, old and weary steps forwards and begins the Prayer to the Emperor. As the prayer proceeds the men join in, the volume growing, their eye filling with a new flame of hope. The Captain; a top the ruined build, grasp the flag by is pole and carries to the front the men.
One hundred and Ninety-eight men standing determined, screaming their prayer to the Emperor. The Leman Russ roars out as it surge out of its hiding spot and takes aim with it's grand Executioner Plasma cannon at the lines. In a final climatic cry, then men started forward, breaking out of the lines for the glorious victory ahead of them. As the charge began, the sky finally stopped raining.
Then came a thunderous crack as Pods began to fall from the sky.

Compliments: I liked your "lone captain." That sort of irrational, badass behavior is exactly what I expect from a military officer in 40K. Plus, I love characterization through small actions.
Issues: Present tense is often quite distracting to read, and I'd suggest you self-edit your paper at least once to catch spelling errors.
Question: What kinds of pods fell at the end? Dreadclaws? Drop pods? Mycetic Spores?

Ya...
On the edit thing. It was kinda rushed since the Word was working, and I had this idea

And the Pods.. well Who ever said i was done?

Relentless. That's all it could be described as. Relentless charge, at the head, the Captain, crying out the battle cry of the Imperium. his men fell around him, but they charged valiantly forward into the teeth of the monster. The cracks of the enemies guns, the screams of pain and glory. But some screams were heard above all others.
Three Large pods smashed into the ground. Screams of others are heard above as the pods break open, door slamming into the ground. From one a crimson red dreadnought steps forth, its armor adorned with purity seals and battle-scars. The others release the Emperors finest, the Adeptus Astartes. Bolter fire begins to be heard as they rip into the traitors lines. The Captain and his remaining men hit the enemy lines fire madly, thrusting bayonets into the enemy. Blood begins toe soak the land as other Pods land. Other Chapters and troops arrive. With in minutes of the battle the Captain, still grasping the standard, stands next to a Marine, orders being spat from his lips.
The men seem unstoppable, their leader and hero standing atop the battlefield. Next to the Adeptus Astarte. They were what they were. Unstoppable. The mud seems solid to them, not slowing them down. The Machine gun fire seems silent in the Roar of voices. The 125 rounds of the bolter now gone, replaced by the furious charge of the men. The Leman Russ pulling over the hill, firing into the retreating enemy. Broke and shattered the day is theirs.
But the Victory is short lived. As a Captain of Chapter approach the leader of the Valiant Gaurd regiment, a small crack is heard, and a round pass through flesh and bone. The Captain slumps for a moment, stumbling forward. The Astarte stakes the standard and keeps it from falling as the man slumps further. The men carry on, now in search of vengence. They lose hope for a moment, but there faith weavers not. He falls whipsering his final word.
"Forward."

sounds good dude (:
sucked me into a story that is really interesting.