Lord General Militant Egough Van Deer, supreme commander of the campaign for reclamation of the Vernum System from the Orkoid menace, took another panning sweep of the battlefield with his telescope - an ancient relic that the Lord General favoured to this day over more advanced technology - standing upon a crest overlooking the wide expanse of what had once been fields beyond the walls of the planets capital city; they were no longer fields though, mused the short-of-stature strategist inwardly, for now they were criss-crossed by trenches, pockmarked with shell and foxholes, and layered over with the corpses of man and brutal alien alike.

Yes, he could see the remains of some once great regiments moving into their positions now, the shattered carcasses of already damaged formations that he was about to throw in as the opening gambit to take the city from the mad Warboss Thrakta.

Down on those fields, assembling and forming ranks even as a chill wind blew the stench of death toward them, were a certainly mixed bunch of regiments. Some, such as the 3003rd, were hardened but weakened regiments - tired and weary from years of numbing conflict and now shrunken to a portion of their original strength.

Others, such as the 8th Tushienia, or the Hirisit 482nd, were almost at their full compliment of soldiers but were as green as ripe fruit! What better way to forge them into soldiers than with a baptism of fire, flinging them into a crucible of flame and gore that would either make them or break them utterly.

They were not alone, of course, for there were two large, gaping, breeches through which these men would pour - reinforced in the first wave by other regiments of similar circumstance as their own, all to be sent against the heavily fortified city and the warren-like maze of buildings within. It would be hard, bloody, street-to-street, building-to-building urban conflict, and the likes of the Cadian 978th, the Brontian 59th and the all-female Xenonian 8th would be entering the breeches with them.

Behind them all was the second wave, a full force of complete regiments complimented by armour, aircraft and artillery, and if those of the first wave had anything to say about them...well, it was far too late to back out now, especially with the Commissars at their backs,

"Major Augustian," questioned the Lord General, his nasal voice grating against the ears of his aide-de-camp, who turned quickly and waved off a perfect salute, "yes, sir?"

Van Deer put his telescope away, sliding the bronze tube shut with a dismissive wave and a snap, "then order the attack to begin and let us go in search of our lunch, I am famished, gentlemen."

The time was 14:00 hours, the attack was ready, and the order was given.

The Emperor protects.

The assault on the city had finally begun, much to the excitement of the Cadian 88th Mechanized Infantry, and to Lance Corporal Caius Mortem in particular. He was currently sitting, alongside the rest of Echo squad, in a Chimera armored troop transport vehicle, rolling straight for the left breach in the city walls. The Orks, using a supply of makeshift and looted artillery and explosives, began shelling the advancing Cadian vehicles. The rocking explosions made Mortem's stomach flip and lurch inside him, though he still maintained the grim determination he always showed during battle. After losing two of the fifty Chimeras before even reaching the interior of the city, the guardsmen inside were given the order to exit the tanks, though Caius was under a different command. His orders were to begin battlefield repairs on the Chimeras, which he quickly set out to follow. Fate was against him, however, as the Greenskins began to push forward into their position. Caius found himself fighting for his life against an innumerable amount of the smaller 'Grotz', as his squad and regiment were slowly cut down.

---

After a time, one which seemed like hours to Caius but was far less in reality, his regiment was finally capable of holding its ground. They held two of the Chimeras, one critically damaged, and numbered at around two hundred and thirty of their original force of six hundred. Caius, the sole combat engineer still alive, was at work on the damaged Chimera, attempting to get its Autocannon and rotary turret back into working over. After finishing the repairs he was currently capable of, Caius joined in the counter-attack, pushing forward alongside the others of his regiment, his lascarbine firing shot after shot of red energy at the Greenskin horde, all the while silently reciting a prayer to the God-Emperor as he marched.

...and though I stand face to face with death itself, I know that I shall withstand any attack, for I am His hammer, and with my might the God-Emperor shall smite the foes of Mankind. Praised be His name, and blessed be His light.

Ninke had never felt so alive in her life, standing in the trench alongside the rest of the Hirisit 482nd, unblooded and engulfed in trepidation of the coming battle, where they would bring death to the hated greenskins. She was shaking, ever so slightly, not in fear, but in preparation, she had on her ochre poncho like many other in the Hirisit 482nd, they wanted clean armor when they marched victoriously from the city. The heavy vox on her back was silent for now, covered in a plastic sheet to keep mud, muck and dirt off of the sensitive parts of the communication device, she expected she would need it soon, communication was going to be important and it was her job to keep communication smooth. She looked to her left and right, other Hirisit fidgeted as they waited for the orders to come, some were praying others talked amongst themselves, sergeant Boers was right next to Ninke, he stood tall, his chainsword and laspistol out and ready to be used. He saw the much smaller Vox officer looking up at him and smiled, "Well, Ninke, not long now. We'll be going over the top... you ready little faithful?", a rather uncreative nickname her squadmates called her, referring to her small size and extreme faith in the Emperor. Ninke just smiled, responding in her thick West Hirisit accent, "Ja! It won't be long now, the Emperor will see our wictory ovair the greenskins!"

Boers chuckled, her accent made her sound funny even to other Hirisit, not many westerners had signed up so Ninke's accent made her seem more exotic, "Well, I hope your optimism is right... 'wictory' would certainly be nice...", she was almost a full foot shorter than Boer's but she wasn't scared at all... Boer's was terrified and his knuckles had gone white he was holding his weapons so tightly, but she just seemed excited... he couldn't get his head around that, maybe she really was just THAT faithful in the Emperor. He exhaled slowly, and Ninke now noticed his knuckles and the fact he was shaking more than she was, and unlike her he was scared. Ninke put her hand on his and looked into his green eyes, "You are alright, the Emperor protects, the greenskins are faithless xenos, we are the Emperor's warriors! Wictory will be ours!", she reasured her sergeant, hoping to instill a bit more faith in his own strength. Boers smiled, and just nodded, he needed to steel himself.

Ninke moved her hand away, she felt she had done her duty. Sudenly, her vox sounded, she heard the order but waited, she heard the grumbling stop, and it was like everyone stood bolt upright as the order came... waiting for the officers to confirm it. She listened as the lieutenants shouted the order, it spread down the line with a cheer, as she saw men climbing over the trench, and then her lieutenant shouted the order they had all been listening for, "OVER THE TOP! CHARGE THE BREACH! FOR THE EMPEROR!", Ninke threw herself at the trench wall, climbing up and over the ladder, practically flinging herself out of the fortification, landing feet first and charging with the rest of the regiment. The smell of the battlefield hit her as she started running, corpses, sulfur, death, fire and other less easily identifiable scents, the packed dirt underneath her was covered in dry blood and corpses, as the Hirisit neared the breach the corpses only got thicker, she looked to her left to see Boer's still with her, shouting at the top of his lungs, just like the rest of them, a rushing line of ochre and cream colored soldiers rushing the breach in the great hive cities walls... then the gunfire started. The orks weren't just going to let the guard rush through the breach, and Ninke saw a large contingent of them had set up at the hole, and started firing at the charging force. At first it wasn't bad, not to many orks and their guns were wildly inaccurate, the bullets flying wide of their intended targets... until the haevy shootas popped up in the breah. The orks guns were as tall as they, the size of heavy stubbers, and as they opened fire infinitley more terrifying. The large automatic weapons roared to life, and bullets spilled into the charging Guardsman as more and more orks stuck up on the breach and opened fire, a man to Ninke's right was thrown back hard as blood exploded from his chest, and Ninke distracted by this tripped on one of the many bodies littering the ground leading up to the breach.

She hit hard, but quickly got back up, if she stopped moving she was as good as dead. As she got up she saw Guardsman going down in droves, firing inaccurate return shots from their lasguns as they ran, hitting a few orks but making little difference. She ran low now, until she found adequate cover, a large fallen Aquilla statue, several others were crouching behind it as well. She slammed into it, panting as she heard bullets chewing at the cover. Most of the others behind it were wounded, or just shaking... cowards. Ninke glared at them, but quickly removed a grenade from her belt, getting low to the ground and peeking at the orks at the top of the breech. They were all quite close together, to caught up in the fight to maintain intervals. Ninke shouldered her lasgun, and ripped the pin out of the frag, hurling it over her cover. It landed between two of the heavy gunners, who's last thoughts were, "Deez humies sure is soft! OI! What was tha clinkin noi-", before the frag went off, and shredded the orks, knocking quite a few others to the ground. It was the opening the Hirisit needed, and they rushed up the rubble, on top of the orks before they could get back up... Ninke rushed with them and... throne it was a mess. The first few Guardsman had simply been split in two by the orks, or their heads smashed in, but now the fight for the breach had begun in earnest. Ninke kept her distance, cracking shots into the melee, trying to help her comrades. Before Long the Orks were overrun, and Ninke charged with the rest through the breach... until something caught her leg. The Ork hurled Ninke through the air, and she laded face first in the muck of the hive, the stench was incredible, it smelled of Ork and death. she tried to get up, but felt a rough kick to her side. She rollled away, looking up as the ork brought his choppa down, Ninke barely managed to stop it with her lasgun, the heavy sword clashing with the metal barrel of her gun. The Ork drew back, intending to hit again, but Ninke was faster, and searing las shot drove through the beasts skull, and another through his neck. The young ork boy stumbled backwards, before his body realized he was dead, and collapse. Ninke was panting, and turned to see her regiment... being... throne emperor... the orks were all around them, she saw men falling in droves... she shakily stood, and tried to rush back in, but was stopped when another guardsman slammed into her.

(@Bright_Ops thought since we were charging the same breach our characters could go ahead and interaact. If you'd rather not pls tell me and I will edit this.)

Rubio Oretento, commissar in the Emperor's Guard and a hero of countless battles, stood frozen in place, his eyes on the ork in front of him. Time seemed to stand still as the enormous greenskin fell from the sky, axe raised high to split Rubio's skull. He was perfectly calm, though. At least it's over, the commissar thought wearily. He wouldn't have to live in this endless hell any longer. He closed his eyes, at peace with his fate.

"Commissar-!" the faint voice of a trooper echoed.

He opened his eyes in a flash, time rushing back to full speed. There as a deafening crash as his chainsword struck the axe, its teeth grinding against whatever foul metal the orks made their butchering equipment with. He threw himself backwards at the last possible moment, as the ork came crashing down on where he had stood seconds earlier, his booming "WAAAAAAAAUUUUU-" cut short. After a stunned second- his reflexes were somewhat dulled with age- Rubio scrambled forward and brought his chainsword down on the giant's head with all his might. "Battle formations! Ambush!" he shouted as loud as he could to the troopers accompanying him.

Somehow, he was still heard over the downed greenskin's deafening yelling, though whether it was pain or laughter only the Emperor knew. But when Rubio tore free his chainsword and sliced off the beast's head, he saw that it didn't really matter. Orks were pouring in on them from every direction in a way he had rarely known to be so literal. The guardsmen under Captain Dedmaet were rallying, firing in every direction, but the sheer chaos prevented any kind of organized defense. It was everything he had feared when they had entered this Emperor-forsaken city.



They'd been ordered through the right breech with the first wave. As waves of troopers from the fresh regiments made their mad charge across the field into the left breech, catching the attention of the excited orks, the 3rd Endorans had driven their chimeras on the far right flank, catching the greenskins almost unawares. From atop his vehicle, he saw their motorized line crash into the greenskins, raining death below them. He made a few potshots himself with his bolt pistol, but he still had a headache from last night's drinking and didn't hit anything living.

He had plenty of time to sober up after that, though. As epic as their charge was, they found themselves faced with a city in such a state of ruins that even their chimeras couldn't navigate the streets. The Endorans found themselves sent ahead while engineers struggled to clear the rubble. They slogged through the city on foot for hours, encountering light resistance. Too light; with every step not payed for in blood, Rubio's mood darkned further. The Orks were not known for retreating. Worse, they had to travel through narrow streets filled with all kinds of rubish, with some passages being as narrow as three feet. Above them loomed the towering ruins of apartment complexes. It was the ideal setting for ambushes. And they were being sent in on foot, without support! They were cannon fodder, their lives thrown away by apathetic superiors. Rubio's fury grew as they made progress into the city, not so much angry at the danger to his own life as the stupid waste of life.



And now he had been proven right. All around him was complete and utter chaos; orks came up from behind, from the front, from side alleys, even jumping down on them from above like the first one had. In the corner of his eye, he saw an ork pin down Private Jenkins, axe raised for the kill. Rubio wasted no time: he dashed forward, driving his chainsword into the beast's back. Jenkins sat on the ground, dazed, as the monster grunted and tried to turn to grab the commissar. "Your lasgun!" Rubio gasped, trying desperately to keep the greenskin locked in place. The private seemed to understand, as a moment later, the ork fell to the ground dead, a hole in its ugly face. Rubio helped the young trooper up.

"Where's the Captain?" he asked. Jenkins only pointed, still white in shock. Captain Dedmaet as plastered against a wall, sliced in half. Rubio swore: "Damn it!"

"Plakehaulder! Anemar!" he shouted to two troopers who were rushing towards them. "We're sitting ducks out here. We need to get into one of these buildings!"

Plakehaulder got there first, firing a few shots as he came to a stop. "That isn't going to be easy, the nearest entrances are all beyond those fine gentlemen."

'Those fine gentlemen' turned out to be a line of half a dozen greenskins charging from behind them, from the intersection the company had just passed. There wasn't much hope in that direction. But then, they had none at all where they stood. Rubio looked down at his chainsword, which had seized up while he was struggling with the second ork. He cursed the machine gods silently; the sword was now a useless tangle of metal and ruined teeth. He looked at the three troopers around him in turn: Plakehaulder, grinning in excitement despite all the madness around them; Anemar, who despite being the largest of the four was shaking like a baby; and Jenkins, seized up after his first taste with death. They were all fresh recruits, in the guard for less than a month.

"Frak it," Commissar Rubio finally said. He threw aside his broken chainsword and drew out his bolt pistol. "This isn't the day we die! We're cutting our way through them!"

Someone had been playing the guitar.

It was one of those strange little things that people remembered after the fact, but as Belgond had been waiting in the trench with the rest of the Tushienia Lizards, someone had been playing a guitar while they were waiting for the signal to climb out of the trenchs and charge the ork held city. Objectively the guitar player wasn't even any good, but against the backdrop of artillery and the war cries of Orks on the wind he was exactly what the company needed to calm their nerves and get them ready to go over the trench.

Soon enough the first whistle blew. The sign that they were about to go over the top and find out who the God Emperor was truly protecting today. Belgond gripped the ladder tightly enough that his knuckles turned white, breathing deeply to steady himself.

The second whistle blew. The Tushienia Lizards charged over the trench and into the companies first battle.

Belgond didn't truly know what was going on after he left the trench; They were charging towards the hole in the wall that had been called the 'Right' breach, but he couldn't actually see how he rest of the company was faring. He had been one of the first out of the trenches and the fact that he was just a standard grunt instead of one of the specialists meant that he didn't have any extra gear or duties to slow him down, leaving him as one of the lead front runners of the charge.

While being the person in front of such a charge would normally result in dying horribly to snipers or gunfire, Belgond was quite confident that he would be fine in this case; The primer was quite clear that Orks used guns to appease their primative, heretical 'gods' for granting them a battle to die in by firing them randomly into the air. He was more likely to get hit by an imperial solder by mistake then by an Ork actually aiming at him.

The artillery was still a concern; While Orks were stupid, most of them seemed to understand the concept of pointing the end of the weapon and fires explosive death in the general direction of the forces of rightousness that were attacking them and those things didn't need much more in the way of aiming to be deadly.

As he neared the breach, Belgond caught up with the tail end of the regiment that had managed to beat the Lizards to be the first one into the fray; From the amount of bodies (both human and foul xeno), the fighting had been bloody so far, but the tide of the battle was still clearly in Imperial favour!

Running past the wounded and those attempting to help them, he tried his best to ignore the smell of death and the insane gore that was before him in order to continue forward... Only to see the tide of Orks that had surrounded the regiment that had gone in first; The poor bastards had charged in to far and gotten themselves surrounded!

Belgond trusted that bulk of the Lizards had gotten through and would be arriving shortly to save whatever was left of the lead regiment, but watching good, loyal humans be slaughtered like coigs at the butchers made his blood boil with rage!

Before he could open fire on the green skinned monsters, something caught his eye. One of the solders of the forward regiment was not caught in the ambush; From the body nearby, it was clear that they had been delayed and thus had been outside of the net when it closed.

... And there was a small, vermin like ork thing sneaking up behind them with a pistol, trying to line up a shot.

Without thought, Belgond charged forwards on legs that were aching, slamming into the solder about to be ambushed in order to knock her (and himself as a happy bonus) out of the way of the bullet as the little wretched creature fired and hit nothing but air and an old wall that was still standing.

Belgond's counter shot was much more acurate, nailing the cowardly little xeno prick right between the eyes from his position on his back on the ground. Rolling onto his stomach to push himself to his feet, he offered the guardsman that he had just saved a hand up... And noticed for the first time that they were a rather attractive female. Still, this was a war zone and he needed to stay focused. "Are you alright?"
@agentmanatee

The Guardsman who had knocked Ninke over had proceeded to put a las shot into a diminuitive greenskin that had apparently been behind her. As he rolled off and stood offering her his hand, "Are you alright?", Ninke saw he was no Hirisit, his fatigues were a combination of Green and Grey with much lighter flak armor on top, but she took his hand nonetheless, made it easier to get up, "Eh, ja, ja... I am fine.", she smiled lightly, before turning back to where the rest of her regiment who were... surrounded by orks,
"We need to help them! The Orks are killing them come!", she tugged on his arm as she moved, hoping he understood her through the accent.

Belgond blinked a little as the woman grabbed his arm, turning his attention towards the Orks that we currently lost in their twisted bloodlust. A steel entered his eyes as the blood in his veins started to boil once more. as he opened his mouth to verbalise his agreement with this plan, he felt the ground beneath his feet start to shake. Looking towards the source of the shaking, only to feel his jaw drop a little as what could only be a ramshackled abomination of metal appeared and started to march towards the encircled slaughter.

Belgond's mind was rather blank as he looked at what was clearly some kind of orkish killing machine. "...We need to take that thing out.

Ninke saw the fourteen foot metal beast as well, one arm a great pair of shears and the other some sort of high caliber machinegun from the looks of it. It was wading into the slaughter of her regiment, and the hate boiled over as she watched it start to lay into the Hirisit, cutting anyone to close down. As Belgond spoke she realized she had no idea HOW they could take it down... as far as she could tell he didn't have anything to combat armor and neither did she, but maybe as it was he who said it he had an idea. She turned back to him squeezing his arm as an outlet for her anger and rising fear, "How? What do we do? Do you hauve an idea? Please!", that beast would spell doom for the Hirisit and his regiment if it wasn't taken out, and Ninke couldn't think of any way to stop it.

As his arm was squeezed, two conflicting thoughts entered his head. The first was that taking down an orkish war machine that was twelve feet tall and powered by a desire to murder was a tall order; Even more so because he didn't have anti-armour. The other was that a very beautiful woman was squeezing his arm and asking him for help.

Looking at the ramshackled nature of the machine, Belgond took a deep breath before an idea came to him. "... If we can jam a grenade inside of that thing, if it doesn't take out the machine itself, I doubt that the pilot would survive.

Ninke's eyes flashed, the idea was... incredibly dangerous, but it could work. She nodded at him, "Ok, that can work! We... we can kill it! Come, let us do it!", again she pulled on his arm, though she would let go once she got running, and now it was at the Kan. The Orks seemed to give the machine a wider berth, seemingly afraid the raging machine may kill them on accident, and the metal beast had broken out of the line, cutting down a few Hirisit who had broken out of the ring of orks... they had almost gotten away.

With the Hirisit it had been pursuing dead, the ramshakle walker had turned to fire with its high caliber gun, pouring lead into the trapped Hirisit, but its back was now to the two Guardsman rushing it from outside of the ring. Its jagged outer shell had plenty of handholds, and Ninke hopped on the metal beast, climbing up the monstrosiy. It was difficult with her vox, but as it was short for a walker shereached its exhaust vents quickly, pulling her second and last flag from her belt. The big, smoke belching cylinder was more than wide enough, so she pulled the pin out with her teeth, and dropped it in. She didn't bother climbing down, dropping the ten feet and landing hard, she fell over but got back up, scrambling to get as far as possible. She got about 20 feet away before she dove to the ground, covering her ears... she hoped that the man responsible for the idea wasn't far behind, be a shame for him to die before she even knew his name.

Belgond's heart pounded in his chest as he took off after the so far nameless woman, keeping his breathing steady as they vaulted over broken turf and bodies. He had to give credit where it was due, the woman was fit; Even with a head start, the fact that she was able to beat him to the machine first while carrying a Vox unit was impressive to say the least. While she climbed up the machine's 'back', Belgond kept his attention somewhat lower, searching for a part of it's body that was weaker then the others.

One was quickly found; The ramshackle nature of the beast provided a weak spot around where the leg joints connected to the main body. Aiming his lasgun towards it, he pushed the power of the shot to as high as it would go before firing it. At range it would have done jack shit, but point blank into weak metal, it managed to make a hole in the body of the metal beast. One big enough for a flag to be put inside of it.

Shoving Imperial wrath into the orkish machine, Belgond's arm got stuck in it for a moment of pure terror. Tugging his arm violently to free himself he managed to pull it free with only a minor gash before he took to his heels and started running after the woman he was with. Knowing that he wouldn't cover the same distance as her, leaping to the ground to duck for cover at fifteen feet and hoping that the Emperor was watching out for him.

While they wouldn't see it, both Imperial guardsmen would hear three blasts. The first one sounded like a firecracker inside of a metal drum one louder and the flag that Belgond placed inside the Kan went off, causing the heretical thing to slump. The second came from around the back, the exhaust pipes rupturing as the second flag exploded within them. The third took a little longer to happen, but without the ability to vent exhaust properly, the machine's engine started to overheat and set the fire on fire. The explosion of the Kan rained burning fuel and molten metal around the area, hiting unfortunate Orks and guardsmen alike; But the Kan itself was no more then a memory.

She heard it, three explosions, all of increasing volume, until the last one shattered the air. She felt the heat from the dying walker, hearing orks and men screaming, in anger... in fear... in pain... for a moment her ears rung quietly from the concussion, before the sounds became clear again. She pushed herself up with her hands, twisting to see what was left of the Greenskin monstrosity. It's legs still stood, as well as its front lower half, but the volatile fuel in the engine had incinerated metal and the beast inside, she saw shrapnel all around her, flaming metal embedded in the ground, and in orks... and Hirisit Guardsman. Ninke gulped at that... but it had to be done and collateral damage was to be expected. She checked the Vox caster for damage quickly, and finding nothing Ninke pushed herself to her feet and glanced around for the other guardsman, the man who had had the idea in the first place, and found him less than five feet away, in a similar position to her. Ninke rushed over to him, a short dash, and kneeled next to him, pointing at the wreck of the orkoid walker, "Look! You wair right! We killed it, aund now the greenskins are starting to break!", it appeared she was right, as after the explosion of the kan the Orks seemed to be falling back.

If he was being honest with himself, Belgond hadn't expected to survive the blast; That delay might have been brief but as far as explosives went, that delay could easily be fatal. he could feel the heat was over him and was just waiting for either the flames or burning wreckage to end it all. He didn't pray to the Emperor; Either he was going to watch out for him or his attention was elsewhere, praying to him wasn't going to change it.

And then an angel helped him up. If there was ever proof that the Emperor was keeping an eye his way, this was it.

Getting to his feet and watching as the Orks started to break with the destruction of their war machine. It brought a smile to his face. The smile only grew as lasgun rounds started to fire on the fleeing xeno filth that was not coming from the besiged regiment; The Tushienia Lizards had finally arrived! "My name if Belgond, it's nice to meet you Ms. Now shall we go ork killing? Emporer knows the lazy cunts won't kill themselves.

Ninke couldn't stop smiling, as the orks fell back and the Regiment Belgond was a part of rushed through the breach to reinforce them... but her smile faded as she realised she couldn't see Boers, or any of her squad for that matter. She was broken from this by her most recent comrade, who introduced himself as Belgond, Ninke responded in kind, "I am Ninke Ingran, it is good to meet you, and I thank the Emperor for sending you to me, or else... they could all be dead...", she smiled lightly at him as she watched the Hirisit who could regroup with the new Guardsman and those that could not attempt to move out of the way. She grinned at him regarding the killing of Orks, "Yes, they won't will they!... I will ehm... stick with you, where is your squad?"

Belgond actually blushed a little at the praise he was receiving; He hadn't been planning on making a good impression with a beautiful woman today, but then again he hadn't been planning on shoving his arm into an orkish war machine to drop a flag inside of it of it either. Sometimes you had to play it by ear. "I couldn't just stand there and let all your friends be slaughtered, could I Ninke?"

Her question about his squad was actually a very good one. Looking around at the squads of Lizards around him and not spotting his own, he waved down a guy that he recognised from training to ask "Hey, where's squad Delta Three?"

"In with the other push most likely; Some tank company charged in to far, to fast and got their dumb asses cut off so orders are to see if we can save any of them. Stick with us for now and we'll join up with them later."

The matter settled, Belgond turned to Ninke and offered her a somewhat shy smile. "Looks like we'll be working together for a while then..." Any future attempt at conversation was cut off as orders were shouted from officers. This was still a war zone after all and they still needed to secure the breach for the second wave come in and while the Orks had broken for now, the dumb brutes might attempt a counter attack.

It was time to dig in.

The assault on the left breach was relatively light, considering the amalgamation of regiments attacking the right breach. But those regiments were rumoured to be green or understrength, so anyone who cared would probably assume that the forces were roughly equal, thanks to that. Felix wasn't entirely sure if it was either, or both. He also didn't care. He'd mastered not caring a while ago, and for the most part it was useful. He was still covered in some of that apathy, though, one of the negative effects of not caring. Someone he didn't recognize, someone not from the 3003rd, had gotten their head blown off by an ork potshot right in front of him. Blood and brain matter had splattered onto his flak armour, and the olive drab fabrics were browner for it. Beyond that, however, the man had seemed entirely unphased, and he didn't waste long in returning to his nap. Indeed, he'd only paused long enough to make sure there was none on his face before returning to sleep. Napping in the trenches wasn't a pleasant ordeal for most, but there were a select few who had no trouble with it. Most of them were probably in these trenches here. The Grenadiers of Lord Strathcona's Raiders numbered in the thousands, and even that was a stretch at this point, and they were all here in the trenches that stood between the leftmost breach in the wall, and the rest of the world. And they were waiting.

Most of them were fairly good at waiting. All of them were hardened veterans who'd seen at least six months of fighting in their previous campaign. And a month there was almost a year's worth of fighting experience anywhere else, so there was no doubt these men had their heads together. It was just a matter of what they did to pass the time. Most of them, the smarter ones at least, slept. The rest smoked, joked, played cards, or got up to the usual guardsmen shenanigans. A few of the luckier ones passed around a bottle. Unfortunately for all of them. The waiting was just about over.

A shout came over the vox. The Grenadiers' Sergeant Major, the most senior non-commissioned officer left in the regiment, bellowed wordlessly into his comm-bead and roused everyone to action. A deafening cry of "Three-Oh-Three!?" with extra stress on the single "oh" had everyone on their feet and replying in unison. A deafening roar of "Raiders clear the way!" preceded the remnants of the 3003rd rushing to their positions as everyone prepared to charge. Once at their assigned position, the guardsmen acted as one. Their left hands came up and pressed the respirators hanging around their necks to their faces. Then their right hands moved to the back of their heads, where they tightened the straps that would hold their respirators in place. Then they reached up and pulled the goggles sitting on top of their helmets down over their eyes, settling them in place. Only after they had completed this, did they carry on with anything else that concerned them.

"Prepare to charge!" the bellow over the vox was heard even over the thunderous activity as the soldiers prepared to rush the breach. Metallic clattering filled the air as heavy stubbers and autoguns were loaded up. Angry whines steadily increasing in pitch indicated all of the plasma and lasguns powering up. Corporal Hazard set his own weapon to its lowest power setting to maximize the number of shots he got before needing to recharge the hallowed firearm. The occasional "whoosh" made it through the background noise as flamethrowers got tested. Then the first mortars fired. A volley of recoilless rifle rounds roared to life as the bombs whistled through the air. The explosives struck various positions around the breach, taking out pre-selected points believed to house heavy weapons and trying to scatter pockets of increased resistance. And then the Sergeant Major bellowed over the radio once more. "Raiders clear the way!" He shouted with so much force that he blew out one of his temples. That didn't stop him from trying to lead the charge despite his position in the command tent. The Grenadiers' last commissar did that.

The 3003rd didn't need motivating from their leadership, however. They'd fought in worse conditions and survived. The breach didn't even look that heavily defended. Looks, as most were aware, could be deceiving, however, and once the Grenadiers were over the top, the Orks seemed to pile out of the woodwork. The Iceman, his Sergeant, and the rest of their section, were tasked with clearing out the rightmost flank of the breach. The hole had been divided up so that each section would have a strip of no-man's-land to clear for the Chimera's slated to advance behind them. Why they weren't riding in the perfectly good vehicles wasn't entirely clear, but the grunts weren't given an opportunity to argue.

Felix found himself in the lead for his section when the first stubber-coated contraption appeared up on top of the wall. The Orks looked to have strapped as many heavy stubbers as they could to some sort of aim-able frame, and despite its ramshackle appearance, it seemed to work just fine, probably thanks to the amount of "Dakka". A torrent of gunfire ripped from the monstrosity, immediately shredding most of Two Section and pinning down the rest. The Sergeant wasted no time in screaming over the deafening roar.

"Hazard! Hazard! Hazard! Down!" he bellowed, knife-handing each soldier in turn. The first two Hazards were unrelated, and the third was simply nicknamed "Hazard" because he liked to tinker with his flamethrower more than was considered safe. Felix dropped down into the indicated foxhole, dug by a mortar, with his impromptu companions, and while the second Corporal Hazard laid down some "suppressing" fire with his lasgun, the third Hazard whipped out his e-tool and started digging in the mud like he'd found treasure.

Refusing to concern himself with such shenanigans, Iceman set his plasma gun to "Maximal" and waited for it to charge. When the whine got so high in pitch that he couldn't hear it any more, he knew it was ready. The first blast shredded the Ork piloting the stubber-covered gun emplacement, and most of the guns on it to boot. That didn't stop another Ork from stepping up to keep the tracer-show going, however, and the half-dozen guns still capable of working kept on chugging. At least until a second gout of overcharged plasma put a stop to them and their new pilot. By then the Hazard digging in the mud had unearthed an actual treasure. An incredibly muddy, but still functioning heavy stubber, and at least one full box of ammunition.

"Get that running soldier! If we win this fight, you're getting promoted!" the Sergeant didn't make it sound like that was a good thing, but no one had time to dwell on it. The second Hazard jumped over to load for his fireteam partner, and the Iceman charged up his plasma gun again. There were half a dozen more gun emplacements at least, and they were all raking the Raiders with crippling torrents of gunfire. The rockets and mortars flying both directions weren't helping, either.

The rest of Three Section hadn't made it much further before digging into another pair of improvised foxholes. They weren't lucky enough to find a heavy stubber, but the weight of auto- and las-fire they put down was almost as good. Slogging things out at relatively short range was the sort of thing the Grenadiers were excellent at, and if they weren't being hit from above so viciously, they might have stood a chance to win the breach all by themselves, assuming they were given enough time and ammunition. Of course, that wasn't the plan. The plan was to clear the way and then bolster a Chimera-based assault. And so far, they hadn't done much clearing. Not that Orks were smart enough to plant tank traps or anti-armour mines. Even the ones that were had been picked off from the trenches.

The only thing the Grenadiers had accomplished that actually was part of their mission, was flushing out the rocket and mortar positions being used by the Orks. They'd even managed to destroy some of them by the time the Chimeras finally rolled up. The steel beasts were immune to the surprisingly erratic gunfire of the Orks, and the 3003rd wasted no time in piling behind them. The Cadians provided excellent cover, and only two of their vehicles ate it before they rolled to a halt. It was a terrible idea, but understandably, none of the drivers wanted to get any closer. Their guns were all in range and it was definitely safest to just sit here and blaze away at the greenskin horde. And that was why they had to charge.

"Grenadiers!" the shout over every vox-casting device owned by the Raiders was audible even over the now-much-louder roar of combat, and the Sergeant Major had blown out his other temple. Every single Grenadier paused what they were doing, checked that they were in throwing range, and then produced a frag grenade, "Attaaack!" the scream sent every single member of the 3003rd into action. A perfect volley of mortar bombs and recoilless rifle fire raked the Ork positions and those in throwing range pelted the greenskin positions with a synchronized volley of fragmentation grenades. Those lucky enough to be toting the Regiment's automatic grenade launchers emptied their weapons as fast as possible, and the rain of explosive death seemed perfect. It wasn't, of course, but the shock-and-awe was, at the very least, palpable, and it sent just about everyone into motion. The Grenadiers charged first, despite having taken cover behind the Cadian's vehicles, but the 88th didn't seem far behind, their Chimeras taking up the rear to provide covering fire while the 3003rd's heavy weapons teams redeployed closer to the breach with new arcs of fire.

Felix and his compatriots had crept up the right side with a pair of Chimeras, and he was once more leading the charge temporarily, blazing away with his plasma gun on the lowest setting until it screamed at him. He was pretty sure it was actually shrieking in binary, but he didn't speak the language, and hadn't risked asking any representatives of the Mechanicum. All he knew, was that it needed to be given a rest now. Someone with normal hands would have had to drop it or face vicious burns. He just held it away from his body and dropped behind a pile of rubble while it cooled down. He shuddered as he waited, having caught a glimpse of the tide of greenskins beyond the breach. Their "Shock and Awe" hadn't even phased the now-Christmas-coloured horde. There were so many Orks that even if they won this engagement, they wouldn't be able to capitalize on it, because they would be out of ammunition.

And of course, the Orks picked now to come boiling out of the breach. Just as the commissar, who seemed to have taken over for the Sergeant Major, came shouting over the vox-waves. His voice was notably higher pitched, and had more of a whip-like crack to it, than the bass-y Sergeant Major, but it was no less effective. "Gentlemen! Fix bayonets!" it was not a welcome order, but it was one they'd all survived at least once before. Felix just wished he had something to fix his bayonet to. The tech-priests got awfully rowdy when he suggested welding a bayonet lug to his plasma gun. Instead, he fiddled with the power settings on his plasma gun as if that would help it cool down faster. He was just in time to look up and see an Ork cresting the mound of rubble he was hiding behind. It was more surprised to see him, than he was to see it, and his burst of plasma ripped through its head before the hulking beast could do anything. It slumped to the ground, giving the rubble some more substance. Of course, that was largely moot now, since there were so many more Orks behind the first, but it at least slowed the next one down a little.

Iceman set his primary weapon back to "maximal" now that he knew it was cool, and whipped out his laspistol. It worked fairly well as long as he aimed for the eyes or throat, though it wasn't something to be relied on, as his supervisor was demonstrating. The Sergeant next to him was screaming largely unintelligible orders and revving his chainsword between hacking at increasingly-less-surprised Orks. Thankfully Felix was able to change that with an overcharged bolt of plasma that tore through a whole swathe of greenskins. He just wished he could have made it wider. It did have the desired effect of re-surprising them, though, and at least for a brief moment, they got a little easier to kill. Lucky for all of them, "Hazard" had finally gotten his head out of his ass, and the half-mad guardsman let rip with a delightfully toasty deluge of fiery death. He was too late to save almost half the section, but it was better than nothing. A few more well-timed bursts of flame, and they seemed to be making some kind of progress. If nothing else, they would have their own little mound of crispy critters to fight from. They just had to hope that everyone else was meeting similar success, so they could actually get through the breach, and maybe win the battle before they all died and got replaced by more valuable troops. Of course, no one would be getting anywhere if they couldn't hold on long enough for the heavy weapons teams to redeploy and provide more much-needed fire-support...

The Cadian 88th were glad to finally have found some friendly support, namely that of the 3003rd Raider Regiment. As the two remaining Chimeras and their infantry support reached the friendly soldiers, Lance Corporal Caius Mortem almost found himself letting out a cheer. He knew that the battle was far from over, that it had just barely begun, but to him it felt as though they had just conquered the Eye of Terror itself. Advancing forward with the rest of the two decimated regiments, Caius quickly adapted himself to the now-mixed fighting tactics. Eventually, Caius would find himself hunkered down with others from the force behind a large pile of rubble, the orks still continuing their headlong charge at the ever-dwindling guardsmen. Looking around between shots, He witnessed a nearby plasma gunner cut a fiery hole in the greenskin mob, enough for there to be a brief moment for the two Chimeras to re-align the brunt of their weaponry, cutting down even more of the orks in a hail of autocannon and heavy stubber fire. With this, Caius took the opportunity to shout out a rallying cry of "For the Emperor!", which the remains of the Cadian 88th met with a resounding "For the Imperium!" as they crept forward, slowly advancing. Caius found himself drifting nearer the 3003rd's plasma gunner, knowing that if anything would provide an advantage, it would be that.

@Sarpedon

Felix felt a little better when the Cadians starteded to rally. The 3003rd had wound up taking the brunt of the greenskin assault after the vehicles of their comrades started taking getting bogged down or destroyed. Now that the Cadians were with them, though, the plasma gunner decided they needed to be shown how real guardsmen rallied. The Orks didn't attack in waves so much as a stream that ebbed and surged. So when they started another surge, he stood up and blasted another hole in their line, tripping up the charging monstrosities with their own dead. His fellow Hazard cut down more of them with his flamethrower, and then, knowing it was an awful idea, Iceman led the charge over their little pile of bodies and rubble.

"Three-Oh-Three!?" he bellowed, loosing another gout of plasma as he crested the ridge. His timing couldn't have been better. The heavy weapons teams they'd been waiting for had finally gotten into position, and a barrage of mortars struck the surging greenskins an instant after he reached the top. Explosions and gunfire drowned out the first response to his rallying cry, but the second try was just as good.

"Raiders lead the way!" it was unanimous, if a bit ragged. And then the Grenadiers followed him up and over the top like he was some kind of inspiring figure. He'd never aspired to such things, indeed, usually he was one of the least the inspiring figures around, often in the background napping while others sorted out a plan. At this point, though, it was do or die, and he didn't really like the idea of dying in this particular spot.

Unfortunately, the charge was short-lived. Their enemies got piled up in the rush forward, and the two sides, refusing to give, resulted in a sort of corpse-induced stalemate, at least on Felix's portion of the line. When all the Orks were reduced to crispy critters or missing large chunks, they tended to get in the way of the greenskins behind them. And thanks to the reassuringly bass-y chugging of heavy stubbers in the background, there were plenty of Ork chunks to get in the way. This time, their cover was purely dead Orks, and not just reinforced by them, but they'd gotten all the way up to the breach.

"Well... Fuck... What do we do now?" the question was mostly directed at the chainsword-wielding senior NCO beside him, but his comm-bead was on broadcast so anyone with an idea was welcome to answer. Leaving his plasma gun on "maximal", he carried on firing bursts of overcharged plasma into the horde of enraged green death in front of them, at least until it overheated and needed time to cool down. This was the point where the Sergeant had one of the best ideas in his career.

"Grenadiers!" he screamed into his comm-bead. And automatically, every member of the 3003rd in broadcast range stopped and pulled out a frag grenade. It was normally a terrible tactic in the middle of such intense fighting, but with the Cadians to provide covering fire for a moment, and their heavy weapons still booming away, it just might work. "Fiiire!" the adrenaline-induced rage possessing the senior NCO leant him an air of authority even his drill voice couldn't match, and this time, rather than pointlessly rush the mob of greenskins blocking their way, the regiment held their ground, and lobbed all the explosives they could into the fray before carrying on pouring fire into the enemies of the Imperium...

The constant thrumming pulse of engines, the flashing images from an ever adjusting pict-screen, the sickly green glow of a holo-emitter that showed a three-dimensional model of the battlefield, all were things as familiar to Van Deer as his own breath; here, deep in the bowels of his Capitol Imperialis - a vast and slow moving vehicle the size of a city - rightly named the Imperator Ira, or Emperor's Wrath, the highest ranking member if the Vernum theatre of war enjoyed some hot food and the good company of his aides and advisors. The only thing that put him off, ever-so-slightly, were the servitors...he hated servitors, with their blank and mind-wiped faces and expressions, the way they moved so unnaturally beneath the glaring red lighting of the dimly lit command room, it made his still human skin crawl.

"How goes the battle?" He casually enquired of a Cadian Major, the other man turning back from studying the progress of the final battle of the decades long campaign, a man who had been young when it all began, "have we won yet?"

Major Erstos smirked a little and pondered inwardly on the disgust which he felt for his superior - this gaunt, lank, and uninspiring butcher who now sat in his military finery and expected almost immediate results - his expression hidden by the shadow in which he stood.

"Not yet, sir - it appears that a number of regiments have reached the breaches and are attempting to push in, the Third Endorans are the furthest," both eyes re-checked the floating hologram just to be certain, "they seem to be surrounded near the central intersection of the city."

"Pffft!" Gasped Van Deer in exacerbation, "when I took the last settlement on Keller Nova, we had it cleaned out and secured within three hours. Three hours, gentlemen!"

There were sage nods from the younger members of the staff, as well as eyes being rolled from the more senior - some who had even fought at Keller Nova themselves - for it was a tale that the Lord Militant loved to regale them with as often as possible, especially when they were all sat around the command table watching him eat.

In front of them all was a replica of the entire city, down to the last building which was no longer there, the regiments represented by numbered tokens. The token marked with the number and insignia of the Third Endorans was lithely plucked up by a servitor, then dropped on their current position. It had only been a couple of hours, but already the KIA/MIA reader was getting ever higher, the Third needed to be relieved quickly or they would cease to exist as a regiment at all...not that there would be much left of them after this anyway, or indeed of any of the other regiments either.

"It appears that they ran into an ambush," continued the Major with all the tact he could muster, "the other formations have split between the two breaches, the Fifty-Ninth Brontians and Eighth Xenonian now moving to help secure the left opening, while the Cadian Nine-Seven-Eight head to help those on the right. We'll send the Albakin to the...right?"

This last suggestion was a question, and Van Deer nodded his acceptance, those men from Alba were more like the Orks they were fighting than the Guardsmen he was familiar with, but they could fight.

"Yes, give it an hour or so and then send in the second wave; I think that should sort out our 'Ork problem'. Now, where is my next course?"

---

Colour-Sergeant Jacob Bourne, a soldier formerly of the Praetorian DLXVIII, watched as the other regiments sprung over the top and made their differing ways forward into battle. He looked on as the Cadian Eighty-Eighth lost their vehicles and their lives, how the regiment know as the 'Raiders' moved in to support them, and how the Tushiena Lizards and their Hirisit comrades-in-arms were casually hacked apart or gunned down by their brutal adversaries. Running a hand over his mutton-chops, a motion that always helped him think, he could not help but imagine that the Endorans - who had hauled arse forward before the signal was given - were probably dead, while he and the commanders of two other regiments now prepared to get forward with their own commands.

The Seventy-Second Albakin, well, what could one say about these Feral Worlders that did not make them seem like trouble?

Closely related to the inhabitants of both Drook and Finreht (perhaps a shared heritage?), they shared the formers penchant for body-art of the swirling and blue variety, as well as the traditional chequered garment of wool - apparently known as a 'kilt' on Ancient Terra - which they generally wore everywhere.

Yet the intergration with a Praetorian regiment had not been a one-way process!

Like himself, the officers, NCOs, and veterans of the regiment were actually all survivors of the DLXVIII - most who had settled on Alba Fortis as colonists and now helped lead the headstrong natives into battle - remaining in the crimson jackets of their homeworld and wearing their iconic pith-helmets upon their heads, although most had chosen to don the kilt in order to fit into their new regiment; Bourne was one such man, with the pale skin and curled brown hair of a Praetorian hive-dweller, but the tartan garment of an Albanach chief wrapped around his waist.

Perhaps the oddest thing was that the Albanach - the native men and women of Alba Fortis that made up the majority of the regiment - had chosen to adopt the red jackets and pith-helmets of their neighbours; what they now wore was a curious mix of native dress and imported Praetorian regimental fashion. It was said that something about the crimson of the jackets really appealed to them, something possibly about blood. Others commented that they believed wearing Praetorian clothing would help infuse them with a greater regimental discipline and spirit of camaraderie, both of which seemed to be true to an extent.

At his hip was the customary basket-hilted 'power claymore' of the chieftains, a las-pistol holstered on the other side, both weapons to which he would trust his life. This was good, since the flak armour he wore beneath his red coat would protect him from barely anything!

"Sergeant!" Yelled Operator MacRae from nearby, the slight woman squatting down in the trench behind his officer, "it seems that they're calling us up to the right breach. Two minutes."

Bourne, who's title of Colour-Sergeant was pretty much void in this regiment that carried no 'colours' of their own, slipped the chin-strap of his helmet over his head and made sure that the message was swiftly and efficiently passed down the line.

The Seventy-Second Albakin had suffered a lot during this campaign, only a handful of the original officers left alive, the NCOs and junior officers doing their utmost to lead their dwindling number of fighters ever onward in the Emperor's service, and now they were to hurl themselves into yet another meat-grinder to support two rather green regiments.

When the brass bugle sounded, the distinctive legato skirl of the native Alban bagpipes starting up for the sprint to the city walls and the right-hand breach, the Sergeant hauled himself up the ladder and made sure that his las-pistol was in his hand. Next to him jogged MacRae, her unkempt locks of fiery red hair peaking out from beneath her helmet, and to either side of them spread out the crimson and tartan lines of what remained of the Seventy-Second.

Far to their left, in support of both they and the already engaged formations, came the Cadian Nine-Seventy-Eighth - soldiers born and raised on perhaps the most hellish planet in the Imperium, dressed in their dull beige and green flak that was as distinctive as it was inspiring to 'lesser' regiments. They were a 'line regiment', some heavy weapon support among them, but without armour backing them up.

Now both regiments sprinted as swiftly as they could toward the assigned breach and, as he drew closer, the keen eyes of the Colour-Sergeant picked out milling figures in two variations of uniform - one in green and grey camouflage fatigues of an urban pattern, the others dressed in cream with odd flashes of ochre in amongst them. Here and there he could pick out officers or Commissars motivating their charges to dig into the rubble and softened earth of the inner breach, green corpses far fewer but still there. He was amazed that any of these young soldiers - for they were young, most probably just out of basic training a few months before - had survived at all.

It was the Cadians that reached the combined Tushiena-Hirisit first, all barking orders and disdain, moving forward through the already bloodied Guardsmen and disappearing into a street leading to the left of the breach, off to some objective that only they knew of without asking for so much as a scrap of help.

Albans on the other hand were far happier to slow their pace as they approached, noting the digging, the bodies and the fact that the Orks could attack again at any time; it was only when they reached the remnants of both regiments that they completely stopped, with his own commander, Major Lenox, risking his life by stepping atop the crest of the breach and demanding in a rather loud voice "who is in command here? I'd like to speak to them."

The pipes had now fallen silent, and Bourne was only too happy to join his regiment - the few hundred that remained after years abroad in this campaign - in getting their own hands dirty by moving to help their fellow Imperials in digging and assembling a form of 'beachhead' that could well save their lives.

@agentmanatee@Bright_Ops

---

While this was happening the Brontians and Xenobanians, two regiments that were not as different as might be thought, advanced toward the Cadians and Stratchona's Raiders with all speed.

Although the Brontians were as most thought, large with an assortment of knives and daggers and a spattering of flamethrowers, the Xenonians were an all-female regiment commonly known as the 'Amazons' and sometimes it was hard to tell them apart from their male comrades in other military units. Now, while they might not have looked like men, on average they were at least six-foot tall and as muscled as any Guardsman that had undertaken the process to join the Guard in the first place. In place of knives they used straight-bladed swords, but like the Brontians they too had a penchant for flamethrowers, the ignited fuel usually reflecting from the breastplates and helmets that were customarily worn by the regiment.

As they neared the fighting, the right breach filled with flames and explosions for a moment or more, they let out their signature roars and undulations - the warcry of the Xenonians sounding not unlike the continuous cry of the Tallarn Desert Raiders - preparing what weapons they had to take the fight to their green skinned foes and drive them back into the city.

@Lord Coake@Sarpedon

---

Somewhere far above the field, Valkyrie engines roaring and clouds swirling past, the soldiers of the Thirty-Third Harakoni and Twelfth and Thirteenth Elysian Drop-Troopers took care of everything as they made ready to leap from their transports.

Their mission was seemingly a simple one; help the Third Endorans in any way they could to break free from the encircling Orks, before joining up with the rest of the first wave and heading toward the Governor's Palace and the headquarters of the leader of the green infestation.

Gesturing to his comm-man, the Harakoni Captain attempted to contact the Endorans, "Endoran Third, Endoran Third, this is Captain Idro Keris of the Harakoni Thirty-Third! Do you read me? What is your situation?"

@Vahir

The question of who was in charge on the combined Tushiena-Hirisit forces was rather up for debate; Major Nelson of the Tushiena company had given the order to dig in and secure the breach in order to prevent an ork counter attack from cutting off Imperial forces that had already gone into the city before taking several platoons worth of troops forwards in an attempt to aid the Endoran forces that had charged ahead and gotten themselves surrounded by green skin forces. For reasons currently unknown, vox contact could not be established with him and the remaining officers were trying to work out who exactly was in charge of the Tushiena forces in his absence... as well as who was in charge of the combined forces.

This didn't bother Belgond all that much; He was just one of the base line grunts after all and thus he only had to worry about making sure that the trench he was helping to dig would serve its purpose correctly. The arrival of new troops caught his attention briefly; The first regiment to pass through the trench didn't seem to think much of them despite the sacrifices of blood and lives that had been given to give the arrogant bastards safe passage into the city.

The second regiment seemed to be much more friendly as it stopped in order to discuss matters with them. Some of the red coats were even helping them dig their defensive positions, making them alright in Belgond book. Taking a moment to roll his shoulders a bit, he glanced over at Ninke for a moment before asking "Any word yet?"

Ninke had been trying to contact her regimental command for a while now, but to no avail. She got plenty of transmissions from other regiments picking up on their rather amateurish lack of security on their frequencies... of course she supposed they were fighting orks, who were not infamous for being particularly bright. She hadn't seen any of her squad members since the charge, further confirming her fears on their... status. She had been turned away from Belgond and kneeling next to the vox, her helmet was off to use the headset easier. Before responding she quickly rubbed her eyes, a motion Belgond could not have missed, then turned to him and shook her head, her eyes were slightly red. Then she returned to the Vox, she didn't really care about the leadership problem or the new regiment.

Belgond couldn't really say anything as he saw how upset Ninke was becoming with every passing minute without word from her squad. They were honestly most likely dead at this point...

Taking a quick break from trench digging in order to walk over to the Hirisit vox operator, he carefully placed his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure that they will turn up sooner or later." Belgond meant his words as he said them with a strong conviction. He truly did believe that they would come across her squad sooner or later; If they were still alive when they were found was something only the Emperor could tell at this stage through. "Working yourself up with worry isn't going to help you find them sooner; At the moment you're here and I for one would like to thank the Emperor that you are. Try to keep your chin up, alright?"

She listened to Belgond's words and nodded, a faint smile coming to her face as a few of the last tears fell, "Ja... ja I... is ok, I know. Thank thee Emperor I am alive Ja... thank you, Belgond.", she took the headset off and replace it on the Voc Caster and put her helmet back on.

Now she took notice of the Red coated regiment that had joined them, and actually pondered the question of who was in charge. The Hirisit officers were... few and far between at best. She had seen one of the Lieutenants and Commissar Jarack but other than that no real commissioned officers. She was technically an NCO but that didn't really matter, she looked out over the defenses they were building, trying to see if the Greenskins were coming back. Aside from some of the little bastards looting corpses there wasn't any sign of a counter attack yet. She took a quick few shots at the little ones, more out of frustration than anything, and caught one in the arm severing the extremity. They scattered after that, she looked at Belgond, "So, vhat is happening? Are we just digging in?"

Belgond shrugged a little at the question as he raised his gun up and took a moment to look out over the ruined street that was in front of them. "From what I've heard, we're digging in to secure the breach and make sure that the green skinned fuckers don't retake it. Something about preventing Imperial forces in the city getting cut off from support. Not the most heroic of jobs but someone has to do it. Beyond that, no idea."

He paused in his sweep as Belgond noticed what appeared to be movement coming from the ruins of an old building. Focusing on the ruin for a moment, he carefully said "We have movement over there. Could be friendly but I doubt it-" The ear splitting sound of some kind of cannon firing cut Belgond off, his eyes almost closing as his ear drums almost burst from the sheer force of it... and -felt- the orkish mortar shell hit the dirt somewhere nearby. There was screaming.

Ninke was about to say it was probably the Gretchin she had stirred up when the sound of Ork Artillery split the air. She grabbed the sides of her head reflexively, before she was thrown from her feet. The impact was close. Her eyes shut and she slammed head first into something hard, and then the ground came up to meet her. She looked around, everything was blurry and disorienting, She tried to stand up, but just fell again, the world was swimming and she was terrified, the Orks... Ninke found her Lasgun, but could do little more than hold it, the loud ringing in her ears caused her to shout, "BELGOND! WHATS HAPPEING??! WHERE-", her voice was cut off by a second shot, and impact close by.

Belgond was fairly certain that he had started shouting out for people to get down; He could feel his mouth moving but he couldn't exactly hear the words themselves. He could still hear noise, but it was much like being underwater with something covering your ears... very muffled and distant. He really hoped his ear drums hadn't been destroyed... Being deaf would rather suck.

Looking around to try and get an idea of the damage, he noticed that Ninke was on the ground, shouting something that he couldn't quite make out. Reaching down, he helped her to her feet and pulled her to join him against the wall of the trench in the closest thing to shelter that they were likely to get in an attempt to let them recover their respective senses of balance... The fact that he was effectively holding her rather protectively was the furthest thing from his mind as there were greater concerns at the moment.

The foul orkish device was still firing; You could feel it shaking the ground whenever it fired or one of its shells landed. Risking a glance over the top of the trench, Belgond noticed the trails of smoke coming from the building he had seen movement in... Glancing towards Ninke, he took a deep breath before leaning in and kissing her for just a quick moment before letting her go and climbing out of the trench and running towards the building he had seen.

Was what he was about to do insanely stupid? Most likely. If he survived this the Emperor clearly had some grand plan in mind for him.

Ninke felt as someone tugged her up from the ground before her back was against the trench wall, she opened her eyes and found herself staring at Belgond. The shells shook the ground, and the sound of them being fired was now more consistent, the ground shook as dirt and blood were thrown into the air, her ears roared with the sound of blood, it was incredibly loud. She saw Belgond looking over the trench wall, and didn't get what he was doing, then he appeared to take a deep breath as if steeling himself for something, then kissed her. She was to surprised and in to much shell shock to have much of a reaction, and it was over as quickly as it had begun, and Belgond had hopped over the trench wall. For a moment Ninke just stood there, confused, before she took a look over the trench and saw what he was doing,

The smoke from the building he had pointed out earlier, and the fact he was now sprinting towards it told the story, and she thought she heard herself curse as she pulled her lasgun up, ready to do what she could to provide covering fire. On his heals she noticed, a few of the red coated Guardsmen had run after him, clearly having the same idea... Emperor protect him she thought, I have to talk to him about this, so please don't let the orks kill him

The charge across no-man's land was reportedly one of the most suicidal things that a guardsman could do; The fact that had leaving the trench and making that charge alone was insanely stupid and suicidal was not lost on Belgond in the slightest but time was a factor and despite the fact that he was almost certainly going to die he couldn't just leave that mortar there; Every shot it managed to get off endangered lives.

He didn't look back; He needed to focus on running and looking back would just slow him down and risk tripping over something. Lasgun in hand, Belgond tried to keep his breathing under control as he focused ahead and tried to not think about the guns that were no doubt trying to draw a bead on him at this very moment...

The sprint was brought to a sudden halt as an orkish shell landed in front of him. For Belgond, the universe seemed to hold its breath as he looked at the shell, half buried in the ground and waiting for the moment to explode.

And yet... it didn't.

Belgond's heart hammered in his chest and he wasn't afraid to admit that he had pissed himself a little bit at the sight of death staring him in the face and offering him a wink. With great care as to avoid accidentally setting the damn thing off but keeping in mind that standing still would most likely get him shot, Belgond made his way around the unexploded shell and just kept running until he had reached the relative cover of the building that the orcs had sighted their mortar at.

Looking back at the distance he had covered, he finally noticed several of the red coated guardsmen had followed him... One of him seemed to have been hit by a bullet, but his movements suggested that he wasn't dead. He was fairly certain that Ninke was in the trench, providing him covering fire... or lining up a shot on him for kissing her. Both were possible.

Luckily for Belgond, Ninke wasn't vindictive enough to try and kill him for a kiss, especially not when it was most likely because he thought he was going to die, though he wasn't in the clear if he didn't die. Ninke had started firing on the building where the Ork mortars were coming from, being careful to not hit any of the Guardsman who were with Belgond. Down the line, others were taking her example, Red coats, Lizards and Hirisit started to fire, pouring a steadily increasing amount of Las into the building around the charging Guardsman. Ninke hoped it was enough.

The lasfire that was flying around him was something that worried Belgond a little, but it was to be expected. It did seemed to be pretty well aimed; He hadn't been accidentally hit yet... through he did had the misfortune of seeing one of the red coats suddenly grab at an arm that took a stray hit.

Breathing deeply, Belgond carefully looked through a hole in the ruined wall. There were about three proper orks standing around what had to have been their mortar, with several of the tinier, goblin like creatures running around to carry shells and load it. None of them seemed to notice him through, far to focused on loading the next shot.

The shells themselves were hap-haphazardly stacked on top of each other, the foul things clearly looking rather unstable... and located rather close to the mortar itself.

Removing his last two frags from his belt, Belgond prayed that this would work before pulling the pins and throwing them, one towards the shells and the other towards the mortar. Both bounced along the ground before hitting their respective targets.

Recognizing that one hell of a boom was about to happen, Belgond started running back towards the trench line, making it a good twenty meters before jumping to the ground and covering his head and ears. This was going to be loud.

Ninke watched Belgond toss something into the building, then sprint back towards the trench and hit the deck. She decided to follow suit, kneeling behind the trench wall and covering her ears... not that it helped that much.

The grenades went off, the orks never even realizing what it was that killed them. The unstable shells went off, and the sound was something amazing. The crack sounded like the air itself had been broken, and that the sky would be split in two. The Fireball incinerated the building, vaporizing its occupants, mortar, walls, ceiling everything. For a few moments after, their was relative silence as the ringing filled everyone's ears... before several men started cheering. Followed by a few more men, until the trench was essentially shouting as loud as it could. Ninke didn't join in, instead she searched for Belgond, praying to the Emperor he hadn't been caught in the blast.

Depending on what point of view you wished to take, Belgond was either having a really good day, or a really bad one. Still, as he lay on the ground with his hands over his head, he was surprised by the fact that he didn't appear to be dead. Admittingly he was fairly certain that the hair on the back of his head had been somewhat scorched but he was still alive to be aware of it. On the plus side, the heat from the blast meant that his pants didn't feel damp anymore.

Shakily getting up, Belgond started the slow but steady process of getting the fuck back into the damn trench before he got shot or exploded. The Emperor might have been looking his way long enough to save his stupid ass but he wasn't going to push his luck; Emperor had a lot on his mind and you really couldn't count on the next shell being a dud...

When he finally made it to the trench, he was visibly shaking; His heart seemed to be slowly down and the rush that had been going through his veins was starting to fade. Sitting down with his back pressed against the trench wall, Belgond barely had the strength to raise his head to look at Ninke. He didn't say anything through... talking took effort and he didn't want to waste words right now because he didn't know what to say.

Ninke watched Belgond walk back, slid into the trench shaking, and sit down. He looked like hell, which he very nearly went to with that maneuver. She looked down at him for a few moments, no angers in her eyes or cutting words from her mouth. What he had just done was quite possibly one of the most dangerous things a Guardsman could do, period, and he had not only survived but was virtually unscathed... Ninke let out a small sigh and dropped he lasgun. She walked to right in front of him and took off her helmet letting her dirty blonde hair out from underneath it. She dropped the helmet next to him, then slid down until she was sitting on his lap and looked hm straight in the eyes, "Don't ever do somesing that stupid without telling me again. And, don't kiss me without my consent, ja?", she planted a light peck on his lips and stood up, "That is for killing the Orks, come on, our job isn't done.", she picked up her helmet and turned away from Belgond, picking up her lasgun and moving to her Vox caster.

Belgond blinked a little in stunned silence. That... was not how he was expecting things to go at all. His eyes lingered on Ninke for a little while before he finally felt strong enough to get back on his feet and hold his lasgun again.

If he hadn't believed in the Emperor before, he certainly did now. But deep in his gut he just knew that what had happened with that shell had been a once in a lifetime deal and he had better make the most of it. Before he went back to keeping an eye out for orks through, Belgond walked up to Ninke and gave her a quick hug from behind before letting her go with a smile on his face and turning towards the ruined city scape, now just that little bit clearer.

Orks weren't going to kill themselves after all.

Ninke sighed as Belgond let go of her, not out of sadness but more or less exhaustion. A lot had happened in the last few hours, but there was more to do, she shouldered her Vox and joined Belgond in his scanning, happy that the Emperor had made certain that she wasn't alone on this field. She gripped her necklace once, squeezing it, before returning it to her poncho and returning to the duty at hand.

Nervous and inexperienced, the squad from the Endoran 3rd held a room in an old inn. It might have been a nice place once with walls stained brown by burnt lho sticks and that homely scent of spilled beer, were it not for the broken window, orkish scrawls and the old splattered remnants of a former human uprising. For now it served as a temporary forward ammunition dump/rendezvous point.

Then a man in a black coverall burst into the room, ducked under a stray reaction shot and pointed at the various fear stained faces.

“YOU LOT, FOLLOW ME!” he yelled. The guardsmen looked at him in surprise before their instinct recognised his sergeant's chevrons of authority and hurriedly followed.

“Sir, what's the plan?!” a corporal asked hurriedly as the troops trotted after the sprinting tanker. Then the door, and part of the wall around it exploded. A massive Ork waving around an engine block as a whiffle bat charged out of the dustcloud with a furious bellow.

“Run from that thing!” the man explained with a flash of white teeth. One poor sod instead decided to make a stand and emptied her lasgun at the rampaging nob. It swept her aside with an offhand and her body flew off like a ragdoll with a wet crunch. It did not appear to notice the fact it's face now sported several bloody lasgun wounds

“IMMA RIP YOUR SPINE OUT HUMIE!” the Ork yelled.

“Name's Jack, Sergeant Vries if you feel formal.” the sergeant continued unperturbed. Pure adrenalin made Jack a poor imitation Ork of his own as he charged across the street into another door. The wooden door flew off it's hinges, saw marks clear on the metal. An empty manufactorum stretched ahead, built into a naturally occurring valley. The corridor with the guardsmen turned into a flimsy walkway two meters in, while dozens of workbenches littered the floor below. Metal chains protested loudly as the guardsmen thundered forwards. The chains went on strike completely when the Nob reached the walkway and with loud curses the creature plummeted to the workshop floor below.

“EVA BEEN STRANGLED WIV YA OWN INTESTINES?”

“That buys us a couple of secs, keep up!” Jack hollerred. Down below the Nob scrabbled to it's feet, and gripped the ruins of the workbench it landed on. With a mighty heave it ripped the bench clean off it's bolts. Jack did not hang around long enough to witness the impromptu projectile impact. Instead he hurried through the maze of ramshackle bridges and flimsy walkways, guardsmen trailing like a bunch of ducklings with lasguns.

“Where are we going?” a greenhorn asked.

“Heavy bolter emplacement. Here.” Jack replied. He ran out on a new street, this one with a clearly Ork dug trench into it halfway across. A heavy bolter defiled with metal bits and spikes rested halfway across, omnious black barrel pointing directly at the group.

“Traitor?!” one guardsmen yelled at Jack, eyes wide. Jack shook his head.

“To the orks maybe.” a voice called out, coarse and weary like a coal fired engine. A closer look at the barricades revealed many dity figures in rags. Hunched over ramshackle weapons, dirty lasgun and stubber alike held in thin hands. Then Jack bodily threw a guardsman at them.

“Don't just faf about you idiots! MOVE!”

“Buhwha?” was the most intelligent response he got. Fortunately for the guardsmen their bodies obeyed with considerably more intelligence, as they formed a gunline in the trench in mere seconds. Just in time, as the door they stormed out of, along with most of the wall around it, exploded. Again.

Like last time, the massive ork with the engine block was responsible.

“I WILL MAKE YA GARGLE YER-Aw zog.”

Over fifty lasguns, several dozen stubbers and one heavy bolter opened up as one.

“So yeah, short storytime. I got here on the first assault, give it about two dozen of this planet's days ago. Got lost while my unit was being fragged to the warp and back, soon found out the Orks still used human slaves in their factories. Got a little guerilla rolling while you guys massed up for another attack. Open revolt is kinda hard with the food shortages so most loyal imperials are chilling in safe houses guarded by the most able with whatever weapons we managed to squirrel away. Look for drawings of Ollanius Pious, make sure to yell Deus Vult before you go in or you'll be shot. Need water.” Jack summarized. One hearty swig from an offered flask later he started to talk again.

“Okay you can best stay here and try to link up with whatever unit you're from. I'll give you my contact codes for the radio. Now, fill me in, what's happening where, roughly?” Jack said as he pulled out a dataslate with a map. One brief briefing with the most senior Endoran guardsmen present left Jack with a fairly accurate idea of their situation, best described in one rude four letter word.

“Okay. Okay we can deal with this. I'm off to rally what's left of my squadron and give them Orks a nasty armoured punch to the cunt on that square here. If you can get the word out, there are safehouses here, here and here.” he said, stretched and then jogged past two smoking Ork boots.

“Orks have cunts?” one guardsman asked. Silence reigned in the trench as everyone briefly gave the dimwit a look.

For some reason this made Jack giggle uncontrollably even five minutes later as he finally strolled into the improvised hangar that had served as home for the past days. Three Leman Russ main battle tanks stood silently in a row as their crews crawled over them like ants. The last few stowage bins were being secured, engines were given their final inspection and mounted weapons tested their range of movement.

“Sarge! We're ready to move sir, what took you so long? We compromised?” a beefy dwarf of a man asked. Jonas Lubbers, Jack's loader, and close friend from their initial recruitment.

“Not compromised, got diverted by a Nob. I made some friends, apparently there's guard here already.” Jack explained.

“What? Then what about the warning?” Jonas said, brow furrowed.

“Too late, and Orks found the broadcasting station on top of that. Apparently the Endoran 3rd blundered right into the ambush already.” Jack outlined quickly as he hopped up and onto the turret. Jonas paused before he hauled himself up.

“Damn.”

“Indeed, still there's only one thing for it. Let's go blow shit up.”

+=+=+=+
The battery of Ork shoota boyz gleefully and ineffectually fired their guns along with their actually effective artillery pieces. What was once a wide open market had been filled by the ugly greenskins to the point of comedy with a variety of mortars, looted basilisks and rocket racks. Once the initial payload expended itself, the horde scrambled to reload, and a moment of relative silence fell over the square. Silence broken by a faint cheerful tune from a wide stairwell that led to the lower levels.

“QUIT THAT GORKIN NOISE!” the ork Nob overseeing this particular battery yelled, and ambled over to the edge of the square to see what the noise was all about. Only to be promptly shot in the face with a heavy bolter, liberally spraying the xeno around the landscape.

“No.” Jack replied.

The engine of the Caerbannog roared and treads clawed at the air as the tank clambered up over the rubble filled stairway. Sponson bolters swept the artillery park clean of xeno filth while the turret turned to and fro as if the metal behemoth looked for a target. It found one in the shape of the ammunition piles that fed this particular battery, and one high explosive shell later it went up in a stupidly massive explosion. Jack referenced his map as Caerbannog lumbered forward, followed by the shapes of You There and Dirty Hubert, commanded by Rosetta Steen and Ramon Ramirez respectively.

“Alright Rosetta, take up the left flank, double R get the right flank. We should have a decent view on the Endorans from here. Tell your sponson gunners to watch the entrances to the square, if the greenies decide to hit us we need to know instantly and we're slinging enough lead downrange anyway.” Jack ordered. The Orks had taken up the market square precisely because of the dominating sight lines this particular ridge provided over much of the lower quarters: A fact that Jack now wanted to use against them. The local human slave population had been key to get them here, their hidden tunnels the only way the tanks got were they were undetected. Now, Jack counted on the Orks simply not noticing that this particular battery of Big Gunz was not on their side. A lot more likely than at first glance one might think: From a distance, the squadron looked like just another patch of gunbarrels unleashing hell on the suburbs. On top of that, most attention would be on the Imperial Guard attack down below anyway.

“Okay gunner, HE, enemy infantry in the open.” Jack rattled off as he selected the first target for his gunner Frank. As Frank fiddled with his controls, Jonas sprang into action.

“Up!”

“Target identified.”

“Fire!”

The entire tank rocked back on it's treads as the first HE shell splattered Ork around, showering some poor sods and their commisar with Ork bits. Jack chuckled briefly. He was about to select the next target when he noticed fliers come in. His radio crackled with static before Willem Maas, his radops, cut through whatever jammed most airwaves.

"Endoran Third, Endoran Third, this is Captain Idro Keris of the Harakoni Thirty-Third! Do you read me? What is your situation?"

"Okay the guns are yours Frankie." Jack ordered, and turned his full attention to the radio. "Maas pass me the mike."

"Harakoni Thirty-Third be advised there is friendly armour on the ridge at coordinates three three mike Oscar Lima fiver four fiver niner eight. Don't bomb us please kay over?" Jack said into the mike.

"What kind of armour? Who is this?"

"Sergeant De Vries, Nendardel 5th armoured. I have three Leman Russ standard patterns here, callsigns Toolbox one, toolbox two, toolbox three, over."

"Toolbox one two and three, affirmative. Shoot the red flares we drop, repeat red flares are a call for fire. Green is for friendly drop sites, over."

"Affirmative. Toolbox one out." Jack said and hung up.

"Okay Maas, keep trying to get in touch with the Endoran 3rd." the tank commander ordered and consulted his dataslate. His mind raced as he checked his map with what he could see going on around him and the sporadic reports over the radio. Most of the Endorans were locked in a vicious close quarters brawl in streets to tight to swing a cat, let alone blunder through with a Leman Russ. No, he needed a new angle...

The hum of engines and the crack of flak was a sound all too familiar to any of the 12th. The combination of both dulled, but did not drown out, the roar of the conflict far below.

"All right troopers, the foot-sloggers have got themselves in a hole, charged and the orks have done a fine job of making them look 'right silly. We're going in to dig them out. Most of the regiment is going to deploy and cut 'in' to the trap, we are among the lucky few that are diving straight into the mess, reinforce the Endorans, questions?" Sergeant J Emanuel Tyrick was not a man of doubt or one who suffered it in others. He wouldn't allow any form of complaint as to the recklessness of their deployment, when he asked for questions, he meant exactly what he said and nothing more.

"Anything to get out of a box with a witch." Not all of their current squad had fought together long, the drop troops had a relatively high casualty rate in comparison to the length of time it took to train one, and so squads were reshuffled to move back to full strength rather than relying on a stream of recruits. Four of the 12 man squad currently housed with the Valkyrie were new, and formed their own little 'corner' of the transport. The comment was quite squarely directed at the currently silent figure at the far end of the hold, an empty seat between her and the rest of the squad, as the sergeant was standing to address them all. The figure was quite clearly, even under flak and the PT-38 jumpsuit, female, even if her facial features had been covered. With bleached white hair and the I of the ministorum marked across her cheek, she could almost have been an out-of-place sister of the Ordos, instead, the thin metal collar snaked around her neck marked her for that she was. Ariel's eyes turned to the speaker, and the trio that surrounded him, matching their hostile stares with her own cold eyes.

"You're new here Guardsmen Samuel, and maybe they don't teach damned respect in every squad in this regiment, but I had a 'slight' inclination they do, either way, you get one slide. Now if you speak out of turn, unwarranted, one more fucking time, I'll have you dropped right in a warbosses' damn stinking hut. Is that understood you piece of shit?" Tyrick's tirade was as much a response to the guardsmen contributing nothing in the way of a question as in defence of a member of his squad, but it was about as much as Ariel could hope for even from a man who, on a good day, she might consider a friend. Such was the fate of a psyker that even those who supported them had to do so in careful measures.

"Yes sir, sorry sir." The response was snapped back, disciplined, so not a complete waste of air.

"Very good, now, on your feet guardsmen, lets go save the day." With that the entire squad stood, the 'wings' of their grav-shutes unfurling as they did so, each firing off a test 'blast' from each wing thruster out of well trained habit.

"Fight!" The sergeant roared, before the squad, as a whole, chanted back.

"In his name."

"Kill!"

"In his name."

"Triumph!"

"In his name."

"Die!"

"In his name."

"Wonderful fucking day to save lives." With that, Sergeant Tyrick slammed his fist into the door release control, the hold of the Valkyrie opening up and the man himself disappearing in the next moment. The remainder of the squad dived in twos. It felt like an age before Ariel herself plummeted out, but in reality they were all gone within a pair of moments. The grav-shutes enabled them to descend at breakneck speeds, the fast moving, relatively tiny figures of descending guardsmen almost impossible to track for the orc anti-air response. In the reverse of the battlefields of old, the drop troopers were odds wise safer out of the transport than in.

From behind the helmet shield that prevented her eyes from being blasted back into her skull, Ariel watched the battle below, the sprawl of Vernum awash with the tide of battle. The scale of the conflict might have been enough to drive one not used to it insane. Hundreds of lives, alien and human, were being spent every moment, termites within the mound of the hive city. When her thoughts snapped back to her own private war, she had to adjust her flight path to avoid a barrage of flak that ripped apart two of her squad further ahead. The odds were one thing, but a guardsmen being caught in the line of fire would certainly have rather been in a Valkyrie.

A further eight seconds passed before she had to reverse the direction of her thrusters, slowing her fall from high enough that the velocity did not rip her body apart. Ten seconds later, she touched down, the survivors of her squad, the two losses being the only to account for, all landing within 20 meters. A perfect landing in the wrong place. Rather than land among the imperial troops they had been placed a little into Orkish lines, and so they came down guns blazing. Ariel snapped off a trio of perfectly placed las shots, downing a roaring ork as it neared them. Wordlessly, the squad began to form a circle, fending off the orcs that noticed they suddenly had a much closer target to hack. A temporary defence until they could find a path to reach the Endorans. The Elysian troops were a far more well-drilled regiment than most, shots being fired in careful bursts rather than sprays of las rounds, but even still, slowly being encircled by an increasing number of orks charging them through the rubble of the city, their firing was beginning to come at a more frantic pace.

The first orks began to reach uncomfortably close soon after, clambering over their fallen brethren with roaring glee. As a pair charged Ariel, she dropped her lasgun, instead pulling the long combat knife from her belt. One of the orks was a few steps ahead of the other, and she took its first blow, a wild swing of the axe, on the blade, the force shuddering through her causing her to hiss in pain. She pushed back, unbalancing it for the moment, before turning to the other, and opened her mind to the madness of the immaterium.

Bringing her hand down in an arc, a curved line of purple light scythed through the air, splitting the second ork in two before it could process the new threat. The guardsman beside her, one of the new additions, jumped out of his skin at the sight, mumbling off a furious curse and prayer, before his distraction was cut short when the first ork's axe became buried in his skull.

Idiot Ariel thought, cursing both the now-dead squadmate, and, more inwardly, her self once again for what she was.

The remaining ork, eyes on the guardsman it had just slain, proved an easy finish, her blade buried in its neck before she lifed her lasgun from the ground. Her squad had bought themselves an opening, and so they were all running, to what remained of the embattled Endorans, just as the remainder of the Elysian squads jumping to this section of the fighting touched down among them, guns trained on the orcs. Soon, the remainder of the 12th and 13th Elysian drop regiments would deploy on the other side of the Orks ambushing the foot-sloggers, and be caught between the new arrivals and those they had previously entrapped.

Sergeant Bourne had been squatting with his back to the inner-left wall of the breach when Ork shells had began falling on the Guardsmen attempting to dig some form of defense for a counter-attack that they all knew would come; by the time the explosives did start to rain down upon them all, they had managed to dig a shallow, but serviceable, semi-circular trench. Behind them rose up the huge mound of the rubble, metal and ruin that was the breach itself, but between that and the trench being dug some feet forward from it there was nothing but open ground.

He had been watching his own people begin to help with the entrenching when bloodied parts of what had once been Privates O'Shey and MacRostie had struck the ground nearby, one hand moving up to brush a speck of dust from his uniform while the other moved with a will of its own to un-holster his las-pistol, one smooth motion seeing the short-range weapon lifted from his hip and leveled toward the assembly of buildings in front of their position.

With great interest, and some small feeling of jealousy, did he watch as a soldier of the Tushienia 'Lizards' lifted his youthful frame up and made a frankly suicidal charge straight at the semi-concealed artillery position. The fact that this attack, as well as his successful return, were all undertaken beneath the gaze of a fetching Hirisit women of a similar age did not go unnoticed by the now standing veteran. Then again, neither had the fact that several of his own regiment - a few of which had returned with wounds that needed seeing to - had upped and advanced with him into an unknown and foolish situation.

"Colour-Sergeant?"

Two eyes that had been staring at Ninke and Belgond now shifted to focus on a heavy-set soldier, Corporal Humphries, a man who had served with him in the Praetorian Guard and was known as the finest pugilist in the entire regiment. It was even said that he had knocked a Greenskin unconscious with a powerful left hook, and Bourne could well believe it.

"Aye Corporal, what is it?"

"It's the Major, sarge...well, he's gone to meet the Emperor."

Humphries pointed one large finger at the crest of the breach behind them, the prone form of Major Lenox clearly visible and his face now nothing but a bloody hole.

"Cac," exhaled the Sergeant, automatically dipping into his jackets breast pocket and pulling forth a small metallic flask, "I do believe we shall be needing a new CO then," a swig of the amber coloured uisge-beatha or 'Alban fire water' left a burning sensation down his throat which went deep into the pit of his stomach. Emperor but that was good stuff!

"We will that," after taking his Sergeant up on the offer of a drink, the subordinate soldier returned to his duties and left Bourne once more by himself, alone with his thoughts. It was then that his focus returned to the man that some were now calling a 'good luck mascot', this Hirisit with dirt blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, and he decided to go and see exactly what the man was made of.

When he was close enough that he could be heard, the breach oddly quiet for once, he smiled and halted about an arms-length away from Belgond and his fancy.

"So," he began in a most casual manner, "how have you found your first action, Private..." while waiting for a reply, he lifted the flask up that he still clutched in one hand and offered it to both the man and his female companion, a Vox Operator by the looks of her.

Little did any of them know that they would soon find themselves assailed once more, Thrakta nearly at the end of his patience and more than willing to throw these soft, squishy, humies back from the breaches using some of his finest warriors. Soon.

@agentmanatee@Bright_Ops

---

Green flares proceeded the Elysian drops, Captain Keris making sure of that, his goggle-covered eyes watching as the fellow drop-troops piled out of their Valkyries and straight into the perimeter of the Orkish ring that surrounded the isolated Endoran Third; yes, he had to admit that they were good, but they weren't Harakoni good. It was also not lost on him that the Elysians were possessed of a truly terrible record of entering warzones but never leaving them, their forces annihilated in much the same way as some regiments of his own people.

Unlike the Twelfth and Thirteenth, his own regiment were to be dropped much closer to the Governor's Palace - a drop into an Ork infested sector of the city that he and his forces would probably not survive, such was the duty of the Militarum to their God-Emperor.

Once their transport was about a mile away from the palace itself, he gave the order to drop red flares, hoping that those Leman Russes and any captured artillery could be turned on the crowds of Orks that now began to psyche themselves into a frenzy in preparation of a counter-attack at both breaches in the city walls. The next moment, the flares safetly away and smoking, he strapped his helmet to his head and turned to his men, "Thirty-Third, Harakonari an tellika regala!" He yelled into his helmet-comm, the same phrase shouted back in reply.

With a clear soul and a clear purpose, his Hellgun clenched in his fist and his grav-shute ready, the Captain threw himself headlong out of the Valkyrie and feet-first into the fire...

@Tenlock@Agent B52

Felix was inspired once more when the second wave finally appeared. The grenade barrage hadn't been quite enough to break the Ork charge, and things were looking awfully grim until he heard the obnoxious cries of their allies. He sighed with relief, and all of Lord Strathcona's Raiders cheered as the Brontians and Xenonians rushed the breach. The heavy weapons teams continued to pour fire into the breach until the second wave was very nearly under fire themselves, and only then did they commence another redeployment, the machine-gunners rushing forward while the mortarmen and recoilless rifle operators followed more slowly, looking for convenient positions that would keep them out of the line of fire. As the heavy stubbers approached the front lines, Iceman realized that they were all going to need to move forward if they wanted to keep the Brontians and the Xenonians in the fight. Not seeing anyone else inclined to motivate those around them, he hopped up and started barking orders.

"Stubbers on the Chimeras! Stubbers on the Chimeras! Get them moving forward!" he bellowed over the din of combat, motioning the machine gun crews to get on top of the armoured personnel carriers and provide supporting fire from there. "Raiders! Forward!" he added a little louder, getting his section of the line out of cover and moving forward once more. The Brontians that had just run past their defensive line were firmly stuck-in now and the Orks were trying to push back. They were going to need to break up the Orks not currently in combat to have any hope of breaking through into the hive proper. So when the Chimeras didn't start moving with the rest of the troops, Corporal Hazard took things into his own hands, and clambered onto the thing under the cover of heavy stubbers with fresh barrels.

Tearing open the driver's hatch, he smacked the man inside on the helmet and then gestured wildly toward the greenskin horde. "Forward, fucker! Keep the pressure on! We're going to fuckin' win this! Tell the other fuck, too! Let's go! Forward!" he screamed as wildly as he gestured, and then quickly slammed the hatch and locked it back up before hopping off and rushing back to his comrades. The rest of the line seemed to be moving now, as well, so it was just a matter of keeping the Orks that weren't getting killed, from rallying in any way that might stop their counter-charge. Charging up his plasma gun, the grenadier did his best to inspire his section-mates by blazing holes in the press of Orks, and he just hoped that things were actually going as well as they seemed like they might be. The Brontians in front of them were certainly adept with their massive knives and bayonets, and the occasional burst of flames was certainly helping.

The real problem, of course, was the fact that it was a lot harder to shoot Orks when your allies were in the way. Thankfully, mortars didn't need line of sight, and most of the heavier weapons were now moving forward on top of the remaining Chimeras. The only way they were going to break through the gap was with weight of fire. Once the Brontians and Xenonians got tired, they were going to have a hell of a time trying to back off if the Orks weren't all dead yet...

Taking cover alongside the Chimeras, Caius fell in line with the newly-arrived wave of Brontian and Xenoian soldiers. As his lascarbine did not feature a bayonet lug, he had to make due with firing the occasional potshot between the engaged melee soldiers. As he fought on, he noted the various heavy weapons teams taking position on the hulls of the two remaining Chimeras. Continuing his slow advance alongside the others, he once again noted that same plasma gunner taking charge in the fight, cutting swaths through the Ork forces. This is when the Orks would once again bring out the heavy weaponry. A lucky greenskin armed with a makeshift missile launcher fired off a lucky shot, grazing one Chimera, dealing damage but luckily leaving the heavy weapons teams relatively unharmed. Caius would find himself signaled back into the Chimera, which had sustained damage to its steering mechanism in the explosion. He would call out to the soldiers nearby the APC saying "Keep this Chimera covered while I get it moving again!" He rushed to pull out his repair kit, and despite the shaking and rattling, would begin work on the steering controls. He spoke calming words in an attempt to soothe the vehicle's Machine Spirit, offering up a prayer to both the God-Emperor and the Omnissiah. As he raced against the clock with his work, he couldn't help but think of a few words from an old song he had learned from an old veteran in his regiment.

You can stand me up at the gates of hell... But I won't back down

[A swift collab between @agentmanatee, @Bright_Ops and I. This not the update though, that will begin in a moment.]

Ninke had just finished giving Belgond his little 'reward' for coming back alive when the Colour Sergeant had approached the pair. Her face lit up with a red hue as she quickly got off of Belgond's lap, and looked to the Red Coat before giving a little gulp,  "Eh, I am um... sure Private Belgond ees eh, sateesfied with his first combat action Sir.", she looked at the flask in the man's hands but didn't move to take it, she had responded to the question directed at Belgond, but she didn't want to make things worse somehow.

This was not the first time that Bourne had seen 'in-action' rewards of this type, after the Battle of Olivier's Knoll - which had actually been far more like a mountain - he had seen the citizens of Carden City copulating most heartily in the wide open spaces of the streets, and the embarassment that it seemed was affecting this young woman only made him chuckle all the more.

"Please, " he said, thrusting the flask forward in the direction of either of them, "don't stop on my account; I wanted to come over and congratulate your companion on his survival, after the suicidal Grox dung that he pulled not moments ago."

The presence of the Colour Sergeant seemed to finally bring Belgond around from the state of shock that he had been in after... recent events. Forcing himself to stand up on his own two feet (Using the trench wall to assist in both getting him up and keeping him there), the grunt offered the Sergeant a salute for a moment before answering, his face only slightly less lit up then Ninke's own.

"Honestly Sir? I didn't expect to be coming back at all. But if I ever needed proof that the Emperor likes to glance towards the guard every now and then, I bloody saw it when that shell landed in front of me and didn't explode." Shuddering a little at the memory, he took a deep breath to calm himself before continuing "Still, considering what happened with that green skin tin can earlier, the Emperor seems to be favoring suicidal heroics today. Wouldn't be surprised if Ninke got a medal for that Sir."

Ninke blushed even more at Belgond's praise of her actions, shuffling uncomfortably. "Eh, no, that was eh... that was Belgond's idea not mine. He suggested we stick grenades into eets weak points so we could deesable eet. I just helped. He deserwes credit not me sir.", she wasn't sure how she felt about being called Belgond's 'companion' but she imagined he meant nothing by it. She looked at the flask in his hands, gesturing to it, "What ees in your flask Sir? Amasec?

She would take it and sniff the liquid inside. It burned her nostrils and smelled like tar. She recoiled slightly from the foul drink, wondering how men could drink such ridiculous liquids. Though... she did feel slightly self conscious at her recoiling from the liquid, she was a Guardsman after all, seemed silly to recoil from a drink.

The Colour-Sergeant reached over and plucked the flask away from her with a slight huff - she had called his adopted planets favoured drink mere 'Amasec', and neither of them had bothered to take the offered flask, something that most Alban soldiers would take as a grave insult.

"No, Private...in Gothic is roughly translates as 'water of life', although it is far more likely to kill you," he replied, turning away to look toward the ruined buildings that jutted from the ground, listening for a moment in a way that only those well versed in war found possible; the good thing was that, for the moment, he could sense nothing wrong. For the moment.

Remembering the earlier comments of the young, but tired, Guardsman, Bourne took a pipe from his other jacket pocket and pressed down on the auto-lighter stud. Very soon he was puffing away, looking out once more at their surroundings with a growing sense of unease.

"I am truly sorry to say this, to the both of you, but it takes far more than what the pair of you may have done today to gain yourself a medal in this Emperor's army..."

He might have gone on, had not MacRostie made her way over to the pair - flaming hair trailing down her shoulders, and her pale, freckled, face with a concerned look upon it. Once she reached them she snapped off a salute - something only Ninke had not done, and another thing that Bourne had noted about her behaviour - clearing her throat and speaking up.

"We have recieved a transmission from HQ,  Sergeant. It would appear that we'll be going foreward soon, along with," her gaze momentarily took in the NCOs new conversational partners, "long with this lot."

Bourne gave a chuckle and a nod of understanding, "very well, you've informed the Lieutenant of this?" Lieutenant Greyson was the regiments highest ranking officer left, and MacRostie informed him that she had, as well as recieving the co-ordinates for their route.

"Tell the men to fix bayonets and look to their power-packs, and get those pipers ready!"  

Turning away from his own Vox Operator, a smile on his lips and a show of white teeth with it, he gave another long drag on his pipe and pointed toward where his men were beginning their preparations for an order that the other regiments had not yet recieved.

"It was a pleasure to make your acquaintances, both of you, truly," complimented the Sergeant, his peaked helmet placed back onto his head as he made ready to return to his men, "I would advise you both to stick close to the Albans and I, at least because we make a bigger target and, if you should find yourselves split off or on your own...well...come and find me then."

Taking one of each of their hands into his own, he closed his fist and pumped them thoroughly, letting them go before facing about and striding back in the direction of his own unit, a sense ofcalm purpose coming over him as he did so; he had been bought here to slay the enemies of Him on Terra, and as of yet they had all been out of his reach. All that, very soon, was about to change.

The discovery that what he had done was not considered medal worthy caused Belgond to blink a little; If that hadn't been deemed good enough, he shuddered to think of what would be required of him in order to actually get acknowledgement at all. As the heads up about the charge was given to him, Belgond offered him a snap salute before taking his hand. He might not have been as strong as the Sergeant, but he felt that at least he managed to make the handshake firm enough to make a good impression. 

"It was a pleasure to meet you Sergeant. I hope we get to meet you again after this is over." A simple message, but honestly the best that a guardsman could hope for. Glancing towards Ninke for a moment, he offered her a small, somewhat shy smile before he went to the task of fixing a bayonet to the end of his lasgun. He didn't really know if he was excited or terrified at the idea of fighting an ork in melee combat, but a part of him suspected the latter... Still, couldn't show it in front of Ninke or anyone else for that manner. 

Ninke exhaled slowly as the Colour Sergeant informed them of the coming charge, the second one she would be a part of today... and it felt no less suicidal. Even so, she took his hand with a smile, and simply nodded to the man as he squeezed her hand a bit harder than she had expected. She caught Belgond's smile to her before he went to affixing his bayonet, but knew he was scared. It... it was like how she knew Boers was scared early, at the first charge, Belgond hid it better but it didn't change the fact he was scared. So was Ninke, to an extent, but she was far more angry at the Orks than scared, they had taken everyone she had known from her in a matter of hours... even minutes. She affixed her own blade, hoping she could kill as many orks as possible, though even still she shook slightly, the trepidation and excitement from the first charge mixed with her new fear and rage and she simply couldn't stop it.

She glanced at Belgond over her shoulder, and once she was done with her bayonet decided he, like Boers, needed encouragment something to keep him fighting that wasn't fear. She slung her lasgun over her shoulder, bayonet now affixed, and walked up behind him. She pressed against his back, and put a hand on his right shoulder, sliding it down his arm to his hand, he was a fair bit taller than her by a foot and a half and she had to stand on her toes as she pressed against him to speak quietly to not be heard by others and still have him hear her, "We will make eet Belgond, I will be weeth you... and you will be with me.", she gripped his hand tight, trying to reassure him, and maybe put her in the front of his mind and not the fear.

If Ninkie's plan was to put herself at the front of Belgond's mind, she was successful. Very  successful. Shuddering a little in delight at her presence, he turned to look at her softly before squeezing her hand tightly and leaning in to kiss her again. It was a short one, but it lasted a bit longer then the last time he had tried it. 

Once it was over, he chuckled a little as he softly muttered in kind "You know I will be, no matter what happens."

Ninke didn't stop Belgond from kissing her again, she made no objections, and even returned the favor. She knew it could give Belgond the strength he was going to need, the strength they were going to need. Besides, right now? He was one of the only people Ninke knew, her only companion, who had saved her and who had helped her when she most needed it. Perhaps it would sound ludicrous to the less faithful, but Belgond had to be a gift, a sign from the God Emperor to Ninke that all was never lost and that we all have something to keep us going. She smiled as Belgond pulled off, chuckling, and made his muttered vow.

She looked into his eyes and squeezed his hand once more before letting go, "Yes, you will. The Emperor guides us, he guided you to me and he will guide us through these days... trust me and trust him, and when we have time I can learn more ouf you and you ouf me, now I feel there may be little time for much at all, unless you feel there ees a question you must ask?", truly they did know little of eachother, and she was curious but felt Belgond may be more so. She knew this may be the last chance they would get for speech like this for a long while, and gave him the oppourtunity to use it if he wished.

Smiling a little shyly at Ninke and feeling somewhat self aware about the whole 'gift from the Emperor' thing, he didn't exactly deny it; Considering what had happened earlier, it was clear that the Emperor had at least glanced his way for a moment... why not glance her way as well? 

Her question caused him to pause for a moment; She did have a point, they really didn't know each other very well. Still, he did manage to smile as he asked "When we get through this, what do you want to do together first?" A simple question, but there were was ways to ask a girl on a date.

She thought about the question... when they got through this what would even happen? The Hirisit regiment was as good as gone but the Tusheina still stood, largely unscathed by comparison. Before she could just answer she had to think what would happen to her... what would the guard do with her and the other Hirisit? She supposed it was possible and even likely they'd just be mixed in with some other regiment- she shook her head, these thoughts were for later. Belgond had taken advantage of her offer and she would oblige.

"Well... after all this I... ehm...", she blushed as she struggled to grasp at what she truly wanted after all this, a harder question than she had imagined it would be, "I suppose w-we could... eh, well a simple dinner would be nice... with food not the rations in thee guard... i-is that... good?", she asked with genuine worry, not wishing to sound horribly dull to Belgond, after all that had happened.

Belgond smiled warmly as he nodded his head. "That actually sounds really good." Considering how interesting the day was going to be, something as simple as having a dinner that wasn't guardsmen rations with a beautiful woman sounded absolutely divine! Taking a moment to check over his lasgun to make sure that it was up for the task of seeing him through the coming carnage, he took a deep breath before saying "All we have to do is work up an appetite first. Sound good?"

Smiling affectionately at Belgond, Ninke gently squeezed his arm like when they had first seen the Killa Kan earlier that day, before she checked her own weapon, making certain it was clean and would work how it needed to. She looked back at him and smirked at his suggestion they 'work up an appetite', "Indeed, as a man I met once said, 'Orks aren't going to kill themselves', and I vould hate to disapoint him.", she winked at Belgond and turned around first, making her way to the Redcoats where they were preparing to begin the next charge... she wondered if Belgond was staring, following ot both.

Belgond didn't follow Ninke right away... He took a moment to look out over the ruined city that they would be charging into shortly. It was not a pleasant sight... Turning his head to look in Ninke's direction, he smiled a little as he found something a lot more pleasant to admire and look at. Following after her, he tried not to think about what the future would bring.

Left Breach - @Lord Coake@Sarpedon

All was not going too well for the Cadian 88th and their comrades at the left breach; as skilled as both the Brontians and the Xenonians were with their chosen weapons, their flamethrowers far more effective against the fungus-spawned enemy that they now faced, it would only be a matter of time until the Greenskinned monsters got the upper hand. It was well known, and well stated in the Uplifting Primer that going toe-to-toe with an Ork in close-quarters was almost certain suicide, but for two regiments as centered upon personal combat that could mean only annihilation at Orkoid hands or the complete destruction of their enemies.

Was it then the Emperor's hand at work, an unseen and unheard signal from their own Orkish overlord, or genuine fear from the Xenos that caused them to break from their formerly aggressive assault on the humans? Perhaps, as some who were there later stated, it was a combination of all three? It is well known that those proclaiming it was just the grit-and-strength of the Guard are talking out their arses.

Slowly backing away from their adversaries - roars on their tusked lips and pot-shots from ill-working Sluggas as they did so - the Orks eventually turned away from the Guard completely, thumping their way back through the ruins of the city and in the direction of the Governor's Palace.

Now, what the four bloodied regiments of the breach would make of this, only they knew!

Maybe they would even have remained put, digging in and holding the breach against an assault they were certain would come, but orders were son forthcoming from HQ and staying in place to consolidate was not an option.

---

Imperator Era, Imperial HQ - Late Afternoon, Incoming Storm.

"It appears that the Harakoni have done it, Lord General," exclaimed Major Erstos, professional appreciation for their skills obviously quite clear in his voice, "the Greenskins are withdrawing back onto the Palace."

"The Harakoni, they will not make it out?" Questioned Van Deer, idly inspecting a smattering of dust on the lapel of his black dress coat.

"No, sir," came another voice, this time of Major Augustian, always eager to lick the boots of his superior - in spite of his excellent service record and general dislike of the smaller and weaker man, "it does seem that our Captain Keris and his regiment will fight, and probably die, to the last man."

This received a grunt from the Lord General Militant, finally taking the time to peer at the constantly moving pieces on the board, inspecting everything with a look that had silenced the sternest of commanders; there were many who forgot that the Lord General had once been a career soldier, who had once commanded his own regiment - the Yugurtan 28th - and who had gained his position of rank not simply through connections, the way some other officers did. His body may have become more idle and less healthy over the decades, but his mind was just as keen as it had been when he was a young subaltern.

Around the table, large enough to seat the entire General's Staff, silence soon began to wash over them to leave only the whirring of the Servitors, the soft humming of the engines, and the occasional cough that was soon followed by an apology.

"Major Erstos," spoke Van Deer to the Cadian officer, his voice calculated and smooth, an obvious change having come over him somehow, "listen very carefully to my orders, then relay them through a secure (Ork proof) vox channel to every regiment presently engaged with our enemy, is that understood?"

A few moments passed as Erstos made the preparations, informing the Vox-General of the Capitol Imperialis of his superiors instructions, before the Cadian gave a curt nod to his commanding officer and awaited the message.

"This is Imperial HQ to our forces in the field - please stand by for orders," there was a slight pause and the slight man, his fingers steepled before him, went on, "your orders are to converge on the Central Present-Day God-Emperor's Church of Holy Light Cathedral, located in the very centre of the city, coordinates to be transmitted presently. This is a take and hold, I repeat a take and hold operation. You must hold the cathedral and surrounding area until the Second Wave has time to surround our enemy. When the occurs, we shall reign victorious upon this planet and your loyal service shall not go unrewarded; the Emperor protects.



"The Vox Operators of the nine regiments that made up the First Wave, assuming any remained alive among their number, would shortly receive the coordinates upon their vox' pict-screens and, essentially, directions to the centre of the city...and their new position.

The Cathedral of Holy Light could be reached by a number of routes, every road in the city actually leading back to it, and the structure itself a most impressive piece of Imperial engineering; crafted from stone but reinforced by metal, the cathedral stood at over one-hundred-and-fifty feet tall at the highest point (that being the largest of several spires), as well as being over four-hundred feet in length. Contained within it was central hall of worship, cloisters for the holy men and women that had previously worked the Emperor's will there, and windows - now shattered by gunfire and explosives, like so much of the outside and inside of the cathedral - that made mere mortals wonder at the power of their divine overlord.

True, chunks of masonry had been blown from it, rotting corpses of those that had tried to shelter there could still be found, and the windows and vast doors were of little use now, but if there was a place that could be well-defended by determined fighters then it was here.

Spread out on all sides of it was an open space that had been a huge circular garden, once upon a time, but now was blackened and filled with craters, PDF equipment and bodies. Beyond this were buildings of the city's hab-district, fully equipped and supplied domes that could had held many extended families, and intersecting through the whole space were four broad roads - large enough to manouvre along them at least six tanks abreast - which formed a cross.

It just so happened that the Endoran 3rd @Vahir, and because of them the Elysians sent in to support them - currently encircling the Orks, using their own tactics against them @Tenlock - as well as the tanks of Nendardel @Agent B52, were only a few klicks north-east of that position. Should they choose to attempt it, they could most likely reach it via a short march back toward their allies and more probably safety.

Meanwhile, it appeared that the Tushiena sent to look for the Endorans had, far from being hacked apart by angry Orks, actually found their way to the location simply by following one of the roads straight through the city! Before them, through the hab-domes, rose the towering form of the monolithic site of worship, but what would they do now?



Back at the right breach (@agentmanatee@Bright_Ops) it did not seem that the issue of who was in command was going to be corrected by the time all light had faded from the sky, and with it the pendulous and swollen clouds had fallen across the city to pour ice-cold rain upon them; with some trepidation Lieutenant Greyson of the 72nd Albankin, although probably not the highest ranking officer out of all those currently assembled, stepped into the role of overall CO without any opposition from his peers.

"Keep low, keep to the road and use any available cover on our flanks," he said to the small cadre of leaders without a leader, pointing toward the same road that the Cadian 978th had taken not so long ago, "we shall be using that road there, which should get us to the cathedral in quick order...or at least before it gets too dark to see the green bastards."

With their orders given the officers dispersed back to their own regiments, Colour-Sergeant Bourne checking his weapons and uniform, as well as those of each of his soldiers, before joining up with the rest of the 72nd. It was they, the so-called 'redcoats', that would be taking point - as the largest formation out of the three regiments, they could afford to soak up some enemy fire if it came to it; separating between themselves, one line on one side of the road and one on the other, bayonets held low and ready, and feet making almost not a sound, the Albans advanced in a half-crouch and the entire mass of Guardsmen moved off.

They had not been moving for long when they came upon what remained, or rather the remains of the arrogant Cadians, the entire bit-regiment laid out in a mound in the centre of the road. Orks, while not known for being intelligent, at least seemed to have some sick and base sense of humour; everything was piled there, weapons and armour, limbs and heads, and anything that the 'Skins hadn't been willing to take with them when they pulled back.

What a shock it must have been then when the foremost men of the 72nd, eager both for action but quite happy to take what they could, padded forward on quiet feet to start rooting about \for anything of value - spare power packs, lho-sticks and generally anything else they could find.

Probably best that they did so now though, for soon enough that could well be them as well.

The moment Felix realized that the Orks were breaking, he stood up from his little mound of rubble and started shouting. "Grenadiers! Forward!" he hollered with all his might. He didn't know where his Sergeant had gotten to at this point, so the junior NCO took it upon himself to lead the way. He was far from the ranking NCO on the line, but on his little section of the right side, no one was doing anything, so the Iceman saw no reason not to take charge. "Into the breach!" he screamed as added incentive as his comrades began moving forward. Then he realized the Cadians seemed reluctant to leave the illusory safety of their Chimeras, and he growled to himself. The 3003rd were moving forward steadily, and relatively quickly, returning the Orkish potshots three-to-one of the heads of the Brontians, but Corporal Hazard wasn't among them. He was too busy trying to get their only mechanized support moving.

"Get these fucking things rolling! Let's fucking go!" he bellowed, but the machine gunners on top only shook their heads. That had the grenadier filling with rage, but he fought it down. The Cadians weren't his to command, so he supposed he would just have to leave them to their own devices. "Gun line, then! Stubbers in a gun line!" he was going hoarse rapidly now, but he was still easily heard over the din. More veterans started moving, and Felix started motioning for the nearest vox-caster. A fellow grenadier came running over as the Raiders reached their hole in the wall. He took up a stride ahead of the Iceman as he played with the man's radio settings.

"Three-oh-three! Form a gun line in front of the Brontians and Xenonians. Take their flamer troops with you. We're going to burn them out!" he didn't have to shout nearly as loud with the vox-caster on broadcast, and it was only a moment before everyone assumed he was in charge and started moving. Corporal Hazard made his own way toward a clear spot in the gun line, but on the way, nearly ran down a Warrant Officer from Delta Company. He barely recognized the man now, but that didn't even slow him down when he saw the crown on the man's chest.

"All yours, Warrant." he declared, and the senior NCO realized he'd been identified as the highest ranking member of the Grenadiers.

"Fuck me..." the man muttered, before taking up a position in the middle of the extended line, just behind his troops. From here he could direct everything more effectively, and ensure as many soldiers as possible made it through. The time it took everyone to finish getting in position was roughly the same amount of time it took for another vox-operator to sprint over to the man in charge. "Grenadiers, advance!" he barked over the radio, and everyone started moving forward.

The heavy stubber teams laid down blistering torrents of fire against potential enemy positions while everyone else took pot shots at anything that moved. The flamethrower troopers were tasked with clearing buildings quickly and violently, and were often teams of Brontians or Xenonians directed by a Raider NCO. It didn't take long for everyone to realize that the greenskins had well and truly retreated, however, and after about a block of pouring ammunition into ghosts, they began conserving their ammunition better.

"All callsigns, this is Lima-Delta-Zero. Request resupply, over." the warrant spoke calmly into the radio this time, and listened hopefully for a reply. Unfortunately, the only reply he got was orders to take and hold the cathedral in the centre of the city. As a senior NCO trying to take care of his soldiers, the man nearly lost his mind. He turned up the signal strength, and then issued a quick command to all local vox-operators to shut off their vox-casters for two minutes. The moment he received confirmation, he began screaming into the handset.

"All callsigns, this is Lima-Delta-Zero. Request Resupply. Over." he bellowed with the same furious gusto that the sergeant major had mustered earlier, and while he knew it wasn't like to produce any better results than his first request, at least they'd know he was serious. Time lapsed, and the vox-casters turned back on just in time for orders. "Charlie-Charlie-Three-Oh-Three, this is Lima-Delta-Zero. All sections not on the gun line move up. Conserve ammunition. Over."

The replies were quick and precise, with everyone sounding off just like they'd been drilled to. And Lord Strathcona's Grenadiers continued their advance toward the centre of the hive, though they moved slowly, mostly because the sudden lack of opposition was unnerving...

"The Orks, t-they're falling back!" Chimera pilot cried, just as Caius finished repairing the piloting mechanism. "Then let's get this thing moving!" He said, patting the driver's back before bailing out of the rear hatch. Vox orders were quick to come in after that, signalling the march to the Cathedral in the city-centre. The Cadians, although reluctant to follow the others of the Left Breach, would eventually advance once the Chimeras did so. Following in close order with the line of guardsmen, Caius stopped only to ensure the Chimeras were still capable of advancing whenever one of them slowed. During their trek to the Cathedral, Caius noted a young whiteshield conscript nitpicking with his lasgun, which vented steam and hissed in the binary language of the Machine Spirits. Caius rushed over, smacking the boy on the back of the head before taking the rifle from him. "The damn thing's overheating, boy! Give it here!" He shouted, carefully examining the weapon, and working to soothe the angered Spirit. "You had the bloody venting ports shut, almost blew your arm off. Next time you won't be so lucky..." Caius told him as he shoved the lasgun back into the boy's arms, falling back into marching order. As the force progressed, Caius found himself rushing from person to person, repairing, fixing, and jury-rigging the myriad of weapons among the group. In one instance, he had to very carefully explain to someone why he couldn't just weld the bayonet to the lug, and straight-up hitting him when he tried anyway. By the bloody Emperor, it's like I'm surrounded by idiots... he thought to himself, having to show another conscript that he was trying to put the lasgun power pack in the wrong direction. Lastly, he found himself stopped with a heavy stubber gunner, showing him how to swap out the overheated barrel for another one. "Why else would they give you the damn things?!" Caius shouted, clearly angry. "I-I thought they were spare Chimera parts...?" The gunner tried to offer, almost cowering from Caius' wrath. "Spare Chimera parts...? Do you really think I'm that bloody stupid?! Just put the damn barrel in the gun next time..." He said, walking off. "I swear, if this damn regiment didn't need me so much I'd up and quit...." He mumbled to himself, once again falling in line, and continuing the march to the city-centre.