The orks had been caught in the trap as were expected, and, just as one could expect, they had responded to the trap with even greater aggression. The Elysians were used to being dropped into the hell of it, and so quickly adapted around the guard regiments they had been thrust among to turn back the green tide. Pushing them back into the guns of their own regiment, lines of drop sentinels lancing over rubble and ruin to bring their superior firepower to bare.

Before the greenskins in the area could be eradicated in full, new orders cam through, the entire force, those who had already been deployed, were to head to the central Cathedral, whether this was of great tactical need or more an issue of what it should represent, this was not a question for the boots on the ground. They were moving without a grumble, even if it pained to leave a sector of the hive not entirely wiped clean. The Elysians ranged ahead of the Endorans and the Nendardel, without the armoured units of their peers they were a lighter force and so formed a screen of well trained scouts and walkers without any delay to confirm such a formation. Particularly with the risk of surviving orks, it was hardly an unwelcome addition.

Ariel and her squad moved and pace, from ruin to ruin, both screening them for threats as well as benefiting from the cover. Rogue ordinance was hardly a rarity in any conflict, let alone those against the orks. However, it wasn't any rogue attack that finally struck the Elysians with full force. Just as the regiments neared the Cathedral, the ground itself seemed to erupt. Countless explosions along the line as orks burst from the underground, from sewers and underhive, on foot or in their ragtag tunnelling vehicles, it displayed a cunning found only in the most 'cerebral' orkish warlords. Sentinels disappeared by the squadron, brought down by rockets or simply sunk into the earth. Of course, Ariel cared little in the moment for the rest of the regiment, as her squad found itself huddled in the rubble strewn crated that was once a public hall, pinned by persistent gunfire.

"Well shit, command fucked us on this one." Sergeant Tyrick swore, attempting to lean up to take a look at what they were facing, before immediately having to duck away from a spray of rounds. "Might have picked them up if we didn't have to haul ass." His words were followed by a flurry of curses from the remainder of the squad as the orks trained their rockets on their bolthole, evidently having run out of armoured targets. Much of the warped metal and scorched ground that the Elysians were using for cover was churned into uselessnes, and as a squad they were forced to empty las rounds in the direction of the most imminent orks simply to stay alive, keep their heads down so that at least one direction was neautralised. Even still, they began to drop.

Their only hope of salvation would be the imminent arrival of the regiments they had ranged ahead of.

(( @Bright_Ops and @agentmanatee Collab ))

The march through the city had been surprisingly easy compared to the charge through the breach. At least it seemed that way to Major Nelson. He would have considered it almost too easy if it wasn't for the knowledge that most of the green skinned beasts didn't seem to have the sense to set up an actual ambush; The few groups of foul xeno's that they had come across had either charged mindless at them and were ripped apart by lasgun fire or attempted to flee and were mowed down by lasgun fire.

That wasn't to say that he was letting his men let their guards down. While the Major was confident that the forces that he had left behind at the breach would keep their backs clear and keep the supply and reinforcement lines open, it did not escape him that they were in hostile terrain and surrounded by highly dangerous, stupid xenos. Stupidity seemed to give the monsters a courage that they had no rights too...

Arriving at the site of what appeared to be the ruins of massive cathedral in the middle of the city, Major Nelson was about to take out his map and try to work out which direction the Endoran 3rd were currently being slaughtered at when his Vox officer waved his hand to get his attention.

"What is it Corporal?"

"Sir, orders from command. Everyone in the first wave is to try and secure the Cathedral of Holy Light... which is that building over there." Corporal Anderson answered, pointing towards the ruined Cathedral that was just towering above them in a shadow of its glory.

The Major was silent for a moment, pondering the prestige that would come to their regiment for being the first to arrive so far ahead of the other regiments before he went into officer mode. "I want the First, Second and Third platoons to start digging in while Fourth and Fifth platoons start securing the Cathedral one room at a time! I want that building secure! Corporal, report that we have arrived at the target location and are securing it as we speak!"

............................................................................

The breach and clear operation of the Cathedral had started off without incident; While the sight of so many dead humans turned weaker stomachs, the squads didn't encounter any resistance. It seemed that once the orks had won the battle and looted the holy building, they had simply left it out of boredom.

That changed when one of the squads entered one of the side rooms. Squads nearby started hearing screams and lasgun rounds. Before the nearest squad had even arrived at the door to assist, something that sounded like a frag grenade went off, silencing the screams. As the squad arrived and looked in the room, they raised their lasguns up and opened fire on what appeared to be nothing more then living red balls with teeth; Some of them had clearly been injured by the grenade that one of the guardsmen had set off after being ambushed, but Emperor help them the little demons were fast...

.................................................................................

Ninke glanced around in horror, so many bodies... the Cadians may have been arrogant and ignored their comrades but no one deserved to be slaughtered wholesale. Even the Hirisit weren't entirely wiped out, this was just not right. The bodies stacked, stripped of anything an orc would consider valuable, and now being looted by other Guardsmen.

She kneeled before one particular man, his eyes dead and glazed over, a small wooden effigy of some saint clutched tightly in his fist. She closed his eyes, and spoke a quiet prayer over his corpse. She stood sighing, as the Vox caster lit up on her back, the sounds of a transmission coming through. She quickly went to her knee, and pulled the large Vox off of her back and pulling the headset to her ear, removing the helmet to do so. The news was good, the forward platoons of Belgond's regiment had made it to the cathedral, she looked around for him, shouting, "Belgond! News!"

Belgond eyed the bodies of what had been the Cadians that had so arrogantly gone ahead alone in an almost surreal way, his mind having difficulty taking in the slaughter in front of him. He had been expecting to come across dead bodies (This was a war after all, people died) but he had expected them to have been left where they dropped or something of the like; To see them piled up like this and just left...

Shaking his head a little at the sound of Ninke's voice, he turned to look at the vox operator as he asked "Sorry, could you repeat that?" and ignored those guardsmen that were searching the corpses for anything of value that had been left. A distasteful practice, but Belgond wasn't going to stop them from getting a few extra supplies for the road ahead. Honestly, he was tempted to go through it himself to see if there were any grenades left.

Ninke exhaled sharply, annoyed at having to repeat herself, "I said, news! I think it ees about your company! Weren't they the ones thaut went ahead?", she adjusted the dials, the signal becoming a bit more fuzzy, most likely interference from the tall buildings or magnetic atmosphereical problems. The message was very clear, the Tusheina company that had moved forward was securing th Cathedral everyone else was now headed to. Without a real superior officer, seeing as the colour sergeant had his own, she guessed she could tell whoever she wanted.

The discovery that the Tushienia's that had gone on ahead weren't slaughtered in the streets like the Cadians had been caused Belgond to perk up considerably. Granted it didn't mean that his squad was alive, but it was a damn good start at least. "That's great news!" He said with a beaming smile.

... That vanished as something exploded from the direction of the corpse pile. Ducking his head on instinct, Belgond turned towards the source of the noise only to see dead and injured solders crying out in pain while medics tried to tend to them as best as they could. It would seem that the Orks had more then one reason to pile up the dead Cadians.

Gripping his lasgun tightly, Belgond looked around wildly to see if they were about to get ambushed by those cowardly green skinned beasts while swearing under his breath.

Nine hopped up, pulling her lasgun to bear and looking around. The Cadian pile had... part of it had exploded, the orks had laid some kind of primitive explosive device in among the corpses. There were... bits everywhere, from Cadians and Red Coats, and Tusheina and Hirisit... anyone unlucky enough to be too close. It was... Emperor they were screaming, "Mines! Away from the corpses!", she was sure everyone was thinking it but she had shouted it. She back pedaled from the pile, yanking Belgond back with her.

Once she was far enough away, she to started to scan the buildings, going to one knee to reduce her profile. After the explosion things were quiet again... except for the Guardsmen screaming in pain. The buildings seemed empty... no orks, no Grots, nothing... then the gunfire started. A heavy shoota from a concealed position, the heavy caliber weapon roaring its fury into the Guardsmen below, Ninke suddenly wished she had her helmet. She glanced around for cover, a bombed out building seemed like a good idea. Again, she grabbed Belgond, yanking him with her as she sprinted to the hole in the wall, throwing herself through it and hoping Belgond wasn't to unhappy about being yanked around.

Belgond was more then happy to be yanked around if it meant getting out of the line of fire. Following the vox officer through the hole in the bombed out wall, Belgond slammed himself to the side of it so that he could provide covering fire to those guardsmen still out in the open, shouting "In here! Get in here now!" to any human that would hear him.

This honestly didn't make any sense! The orks didn't seem like they had the brains to actually pull of an ambush like this. Trying to find the source of the gunfire and finding himself becoming more frustrated at the like of a green skinned target, he turned to look at Ninke before asking "What in the Emperors name is this?! I'm not seeing orks... Do you think we've got traitors, or something working for them?"

Ninke was pressed against the wall opposite Belgond, and few other guardsmen from the assorted regiments had joined them in their cover. She peeked out from behind the wall, afraid to get too far out without her helmet... which was now out there with her Vox. She cursed, "Damn it! My Vox!", she looked at Belgond, and thought about the heavy Shootas at the breach during her charge, "No... that ees an ork gun, just like thee ones at thee breeach. Eet is... concealed though... like they're hiding.", she couldn't see where the firing was cooming from past a general direction, and shook her head, "What does the primer say about concealed positions? Do you remembair Belgond?"

The idea that the screaming, barbaric monsters that charged into lasgun fire were smart enough to actually set themselves up in a proper concealed position felt like it was the kind of idea that men only had when they were slowly going insane...

Shaking his head in order to focus himself, Belgond was forced to accept the fact that this was actually happening and now they had to deal with it. Ninke's question was quite a valid one... trying to think about what the primer said about assaulting concealed positions, he seemed to recall that finding the concealed position so that it could be assaulted in the first place was a high priority.

Taking a moment to look around in order to see what they had to work with, he quite simply asked "Someone see if there is a way upstairs or a hole that leads to the neighboring building that won't get us shot to absolute shit. We need to know where this murderous fucks are sitting on their fat, green asses!"

Ninke nodded, and looked at Belgond, the stream of bullets had abated somewhat as most Guardsmen had found cover and it was now more sporadic, "Ok, they are going to be hard to find if no one draws their fire.", she began to remove her belt, and the ammo-packs on it, followed by her shoulder pads and then the armor in her legs, "I'll draw thair fire, -you find them and kill them. Once your set up tell me and I'll run.", she was now down to her only armor being the flack armor on her chest, and only her lasgun and one charge pack on her person.

She fixed Belgond with a look that brokered no argument, a look that said This is what is happening, and waited for both his response and for him to get into position.

Belgond looked like he was about to make a rather passionate argument for No it's not, but he never quite managed to say the words. As much as it sucked to admit, Ninke did outrank him and if she was saying that she was the one who was going to be acting as bait, there was very little he could say against it.

Sighing in defeat on that front, he instead decided to just shut up and do the job in front of him to the best of his ability; After all, the sooner the shooting orks died, the sooner Ninke was no longer getting shot at. "Yes Ma'am. Try not to get hit Ma'am." He answered with a slight grumble in his voice. She had better come back from this...

Looking around the room they were in, he noticed that there was a pile of rubble that could provide a good, semi-solid platform for a guardsman to boost his mates up through the hole in the ceiling that the rubble had originally come from, giving easy access to the floor above and hopefully line of sight on the bastards shooting at them.

Pointing at a random Tush boy, Belgond simply said "Right, you get on that pile of rubble and give everyone else a boost up. Corporal Ninke is going to try and bait the bastards out of hiding and when they raise their heads up our job is to remove them with all the holy wrath the Emperor wants to share with us. Now move it people!"

It wasn't the best display of acrobatic skill, but one by one the guardsmen got up there, even pulling their booster up to join them as they could all get a good line of sight. Once everyone was in position, Ninke would hear Belgond simply say "Good to go Ninke. Don't get yourself killed." To signal that she was good to go.

Ninke had started praying the second Belgond had conceded to her order. She held her small silver pendant in a vice grip, praying for all she was worth for this to work and for her to not meet the fate of her squad. She waited, until Belgond gave the go ahead, kissing the small idol around her neck and letting it hang there, she took off.

From the start she was sprinting full tilt, carrying her small frame as quickly as it could. She glanced around for a place to run, settling on a thick wall that was all that was left of a building to her left. She heard it, their weapon warm back up, and then open fire.

Bullets tore at the air around her, she felt the heavy caliber rounds slamming into the ground around her. The wall was still at least 20 feet away, she was nearly there, and then she was tugged into a forward and downward spin. She slammed into the ground, skidding forward, clambering to get back to her feet, she managed to throw herself behind the cover. Lying their, she wondered what had made her fall, she had felt a tug on her left side. She looked at her abdomen, freaking out and inspecting it with her hand... singular... her eyes grew wide as she saw it, from about the middle of her forearm down her left arm and hand were gone... a ripped bleeding stump. She gasped a bit, grabbing at the stump with her remaining hand trying staunch the blood flow. It wasn't stopping, she must have been in shock and adrenaline as there was no pain yet. She started messing with her belt, remembering a need to tie off the veins, when she realized she had left it behind. she ripped the strap off her lasgun, She wrapped it as tightly as possible, as dark spots filled her vision. She fell back against the wall, trying to stay conscious... and then the pain rushed in... and she screamed, louder than she had ever screamed in her life.

As much as he wanted to watch Ninke to ensure that she would be okay, Belgond's eyes were instead focused elsewhere, scanning the general direction that the bullets were flying from whenever the bastards opened fire.

The sound of something heavy hitting the ground next to him caused Belgond to look to the side... and blink somewhat in surprise at the fact that there was a heavy bolter currently being set up next to him. Looking at the strange team up of a Tush and a red coat that were setting up the gun, Belgond considered questioning where the hell they found the thing before deciding better of it and just getting back to finding the best place to aim the beast.

Even with Ninke acting as bait to draw their fire, it took a distressingly long time to finally pinpoint the exact series of windows that the bastards had been using; They had used some sort of old purple cloth to create a 'curtain' like effect to hide where they had set up their gun nests, the fabric so old and worn that it was nearly as gray as the building around it. If you weren't looking for it and they weren't actively firing, you wouldn't have seen it.

Once they knew where to aim the heavy bolter through, it was only a matter of seconds before Belgond was forced to cover his ears or risk his ear drums exploding from the sheer noise that was assaulting him, but after a good ten seconds of fire the bolter stopped and there was no more signs of life from behind the purple cloth. Belgond watched as some men grouped up in order to check out the target room to make sure that they were dead instead of just trying to redeploy... But his attention quickly turned to the medic that was running over to where he had last seen Ninke...

Managing to locate Ninke out of the crowd of guardsmen, Belgond could see that something was wrong, through he couldn't see -exactly- where she had been hit. Moving towards the hole in the floor they had climbed up in the front place in order to climb back down, he prayed to the Emperor that she would be fine.

She had stopped screaming just before the gunfire of the heavy bolter had stopped, starting to fade out by then. The medic got to to her before that, and so she was still conscious, moaning in pain, tears on her face as she shook in the medics grasp. She had stopped the bleeding with her strap, at least enough that death by bleedout wasn't going to happen. The wound itself was rather vicious, a part of her bone able to be seen and the red tear with several large pieces of shrapnel embedded in it. The heavy caliber round had... it had hit some sort of degree on its way down and splintered, most of it turning her lower forearm and hand into red mist or ripping it off. A fair bit though was still in her arm, sticking out from her wound, the medic was working on getting those shrapnel bits out now. As Belgond approached, a particularly large piece was ripped out of her, and Ninke's mouth opened in a silent scream, sharply exhaling instead and writhing, causing only more pain. She didn't see Belgond, to transfixed on her lack of lower arm and hand.

Belgond thought he had seen the worst of Orkish brutality when they had come across the bodies of the Cadians. As the blood drained from his face at the sight of Ninke's left arm, he discovered a whole new level of nausea that he had never known before and prayed that he would never see again.

Letting the medic do his thing, Belgond knelt down next to Ninke, taking her right hand in his and squeezing it in order to encourage her to focus on him instead of the pain, if only a little. "You did absolutely brilliantly Ninke." Belgond offered softly, trying to help in some small way. A part of him wanted to just pick her up and make a break back for the breach and Imperial lines beyond it in order to get her proper medical attention, but he knew in his gut that such a thing wouldn't work... They would most likely just get shot for desertion.

If the Major was digging into the Cathedral, no doubt he would have made room somewhere to treat those who were going to be wounded. It wasn't the best medical help that was out there but in a city full of orks it was most likely the best they were going to get, even if he had to carry her there himself. He would have to rope one of the boys into taking her vox unit for her, but that wouldn't be hard. Couldn't just leave their lifeline to HQ laying in the street after all.

"Hang in there. You're going to be fine damn it."

Ninke felt Belgond take her hand, and she gripped it as hard as her strength would allow, trying to focus on anything but the pain. she could hardly even glance at him as the medic finished pulling out the shrapnel, she shuddered with each piece until they were all out. He wrapped, took out a needle and stuck her arm with it, causing another shudder. Her eyes grew heavier, and the pain faded to a dull throbbing, the medic pulled her up with Belgond, speaking words she hardly heard, "You know her? Eh, don't matter. She'll live but... well I need to get back to my squad. She can walk, not much else. I'd get her gear from wherever she left it and get your squad to take her Vox. She ain't gonna be able to carry it doped up like this. Good luck to you, but if we get hit again she is a damn easy target,", the medic gave a nod to Belgond, and took off back to his own squad of red coats. Nike leaned heavily against Belgond, it was hard to walk.

Nodding his head to the medic, Belgond carefully positioned his arm so that Ninke could use him as a support to aid her in walking while he provided over watch for the both of them; Letting his lasgun hang by the strap because the damn thing was near impossible to hold and aim with one hand, he instead grabbed the pistol that had been issued to him instead. From what he had seen of the orks he doubted that it would do much, but it was better then nothing.

Getting her vox picked up wasn't hard; The rag tag group of solders that had ducked into the hole in the wall had come to see just how the Corporal was doing and it didn't take much to convince them to help carry the vox unit, as well as the rest of her equipment. All Belgond had to worry about was making sure that Ninke herself managed to get one foot in front of the other as they continued to head towards their destination.

The trek to the cathedral that had been designated as their new target went more quickly when the warrant officer in charge realized that while they wouldn't be getting resupplied any time soon, there also weren't any enemies to speak of. He ordered that the pace be picked up at that point, and reiterated that ammunition needed to be conserved as much as possible. They'd be down to their bayonets before they reached the cathedral if they carried on shooting up the city around them. As they advanced along the boulevards leading to the centre of the hive, the most senior NCO the Grenadiers could find carried on adjusting their formation. The remaining soldiers from the 3003rd numbered just under a third of their original number, and the warrant had them stack up five deep, pulling the Brontians and Xenonians in behind the wall of Raiders. The Cadians seemed to have retained some semblance of a command structure, so he left the two chimeras and their supporting troops to their own devices, and focused on keeping his own troops in some sort of order.

It wasn't that they were rowdy or undisciplined, as grenadiers, every soldier from the 3003rd was selected from only the best the regiment had to offer. The problems lay in the fact that they were advancing through hostile territory without support, and without even enough ammunition to suppress their way to the objective. It made every one of them nervous, and nervous gunners meant a lot of very dead shadows. So of course the whole trip to the cathedral was eerily uneventful. The Orks had apparently disappeared as quickly as they'd swarmed the guardsmen, and the only evidence that they'd been here at all was the carnage strewn anywhere one looked. The whole hive had been turned into a charnel house it seemed.

By the time the 3003rd reached their objective, the regiments that had been assaulting the other breach in the wall had already started digging in. The few Grenadiers ranging ahead of the pack rushed back, having spotted the fortifications, and the warrant in charge called a halt. He wasn't going to march a gunline toward a fortification, even a friendly one, until they knew he was coming. The last thing they needed was a black-on-black incident right before the greenskins came swarming back to finish them off. After directing his subordinates to set up a hasty defensive, the senior NCO called over his vox-operator and ordered someone else to find the corporal who'd been directing the right side of the offensive at the breach. The vox-operator showed up a moment later, and the warrant set up the vox-caster to broadcast locally about as loud as it could. Anyone manning a radio at the cathedral should have no problem picking up the signal, assuming they were on the right channel.

"All callsigns, this is Lima-Delta-Zero. Be advised, we are approaching the objective from the west. We are five mikes out. Over." he spoke smoothly, the authority in his voice was obvious, but calm for the moment. The 3003rd and their Brontian and Xenonian support weren't going anywhere without a reply. And while he was waiting, Corporal Hazard was located, and went running over to the man in charge.

"You wanted to see me, warrant?" he inquired, his heels coming together reflexively as he spoke, though the rest of him remained at rest.

"Take... Take a platoon... Take Three Platoon Charlie, and when I give the order, rush up the street and provide cover for the rest of us. We need a route into the defensive, and we need firebases. We'll be right behind you, then you'll fold into the defensive behind us." he started off slowly, but once he'd decided on a unit, the senior NCO knew exactly what he wanted.

"Roger that, warrant." The Iceman didn't need any more instructions than that. He ran off immediately and began picking up members of the platoon he'd been ordered to find, getting them organized inside their hasty defensive much like the Brontians and Xenonians, though they looked more like they wanted an excuse to charge something, and the lucky bunch that had been selected to act as the vanguard was decidedly less excited. Waving his plasma gun around like it meant something, the junior NCO gave his group orders and then told them to relax. Most of them promptly went to sleep, knowing that this might be their last nap ever...

High Command had made a mess of things - it wasn't the first time, and it surely wouldn't be the last! The saddest part was that some of them may even have believed the propaganda in the pages of the Uplifting Primer, that the Greenskins were simply mindless beasts without thought, or that they were incapable of anything but the most rudimentary tactics and strategies.

Well, it seemed that the last couple of hours had shown this to be nothing but nonsense, nonsense that Sergeant Bourne unfortunately already knew before he had even been flung into this corpse-scattered, limb-strewn cesspit of a conflict; he had fought the 'Skins before, in fact the Praetorians were well known for it, and he therefore knew that they had two deities, 'Gork' the bloody and brutal one and 'Mork' the cunning and semi-intelligent one. These two gods formed the basis for most things in Orkoid culture, including the way they fought, and Warboss Thrakta was undoubtedly a student of both forms of war.

All through the ruined husk of the planets capital city the Orks had left little presents for their Imperial attackers and pursuers - exploding artillery pieces, tripwire mines and, as he had just seen, piles of corpses stuffed with explosives. Nevertheless, shattered, whittled down to below half their original strength, and torn to shreds by these hulking aliens, the Guard would not back down and in true fashion rolled steadily forward instead.

Bourne had watched as Ninke lost her most of her limb, yet he had also seen a dozen of his own men lose much more than that, for they had been the deepest into the pile of Cadian bodies at the time. War had hardened him to the death of others, so much so that he sometimes pondered upon whether any emotion remained to him at all, but seeing young men and women laying torn open and spilling their innards out onto the shattered ground still churned his stomach and caused him to shake his head at the futility of it all.

Slowly but surely the combined column of 'left breachers' made their way toward the central point of the city, some walking, some limping, but most moving on in a cautious half-crouch and starting at the slightest hint of an enemy; how they even got the cathedral at all was a question that the Sergeant imagined only the Emperor could answer...but they got there in the end.

"Looks like we're not the first ones here," he grunted to a nearby Private, casting an eye at the structure before them with a short whistle.

It was about this time that something came over the vox...

"All callsigns, this is Lima-Delta-Zero. Be advised, we are approaching the objective from the west. We are five mikes out. Over."

"Who do you think that lot are then?" Asked the Private, his hand moving nervously around the trigger of his weapon, at least they're Guard, s'uppose."

"Aye."

"Colour-Sergeant!" Came a shout, the figure of Lieutenant Greyson advancing swiftly toward him with a purpose, "Lieutenant," responded the NCO as he snapped off a perfect salute, "what can I do for you?"

"I've no doubt that you heard that vox-cast?" The young officer waited for an affirmative and went on, "it seems that our other half have gotten into the city and are close, very close; I want you to take two squads of hand-picked soldiers and move to the cathedral, I will bring the rest of us up behind you, very closely behind you."

"Right you are, Lieutenant."

Within ten minutes of sprinting through the various formations and sections of the survivors he had his vanguard - some twenty four men and women from the Tushiena, Albakin and Hirisit that would go forward with him, Belgond 'the Hero' (@Bright_Ops) being one of those chosen. It would mean leaving the woman that he seemed to care so dearly about, but on the other hand it would mean helping to secure the location before anyone else.

"Welcome, Private Belgond," beamed the Sergeant as he gathered the soldiers about him and began to speak more generally about the task ahead, "we are going to secure that cathedral, although word has it that some of the Tushiena are already there," there was a small tut of annoyance from someone which made Bourne smile even more, "keep low, keep to cover, and we will all live to see another day. So, let's move out."

Very soon they were off down the road, the road to death or glory.

---

@Ozymandias

"To all commanders, this is Lord Militant Van Deer, you are to advance into the city with all speed. Operation Overlap is a a-go. Emperor be with you all."

Those listening to the broadcast would have been only those within the Second Wave hierarchy, each given much more detailed plans - plans for Operation Overlap - to enter the city and essentially encircle the Greenskins that were supposed to react to the occupation of the cities central axis. Of course, few things ever went perfectly to plan.

There would be at least five full regiments of Kriegers, the sombre ranks accompanied by forces from Cadia, Mordia, Terrax and Karelia, as well as several armoured columns and close-range artillery pieces all sent to pound the opposition into dust.

Meanwhile a report had reached the HQ about the total annihilation of the Endoran 3rd, the entire command wiped out to a man after being cut off from their Elysian report, the Elysians becoming bogged down in turn; it appeared that their only hope would be a regiment closer at hand or, at the very last, elements of the Second Wave coming to their rescue.

Yes, thought Van Deer, the battle was progressing along nicely.

Once again, High Command seemed to have no clue what the hell they were doing, thought Caius as he marched with the Cadian 88th alongside their Chimeras. Turning to face another soldier, he asked "So, do you think any of the other regiments will have made it to the Cathedral by the time we get there?" The man looked back at him and said "I doubt there are any other regiments left in the first wave. If there's even a single guardsman from another group at the damn thing, I'll give you my last lho-stick." Continuing the march, Caius managed to mooch half a bottle of Amasec in exchange for maxing out the power on someone's lasgun, much to the chagrin of the Machine Spirit. "Now, it's not my fault if the thing blows up in your face." He explained as he worked. "Yeah, yeah. I'm just trying to actually injure the damn greenskins." Caius handed him back the lasgun with a sigh. "Just...try to keep yourself alive." He said as he turned away, sipping at the alcoholic drink carefully. As he walked among the regiment, he also managed to scrounge up some food, though it was mainly made up of a corpse-starch ration. He devoured it quickly, having not eaten anything since before the initial charge hours ago. Downing a large gulp of Amasec to force down the sickening ration, he sighed and wiped his chin, resealing the bottle and stowing it away for later. As he continued, he noticed a shiny gleam through the rubble of what appeared to be an old house. He approached it, and saw a golden aquila neck charm, hanging off a metal rod. He snatched it up and looked it over. It appeared undamaged, and he chose to clasp it around his neck, running his thumb over it as he whispered a quick prayer to the God-Emperor, asking Him to watch over his regiment and the others that still live. He did so as he marched, just in time to catch up to where the majority of the 3003rd waited, and for the Cadian 88th's Vox-casters to pick up the 3003rd's message to any forces stationed in the Cathedral up ahead.

Orks. The Karelian 11th would be fighting orks on their first military deployment, and first engagement. Four out of five of the newly trained soldiers had very little idea what they were to be confronted with. Double the height and several times their own weight in raw, brutish muscle, the simplest ork would tear through any one of them. That was assuming they were left to their own devices. Lieutenant Lyudmila Lyrachenko, known colloquially as 'Lyra', certainly intended to keep ork axes, knives and other instruments separate from the comparatively delicate physical forms of her subordinates. In comparison to her troops who, while having been given briefings and taught rudimentary tactics with which to employ against the greenskins, knew very little about their upcoming foe, Lyra had been extensively studying them. The Emperor's Benediction, an Imperial Navy troopship which had conveyed the Karelian 11th, among other regiments, to the surface of Vernum Primas, had taken several weeks of warp travel to arrive at its destination. It was during this time that Lyra not only became more familiar with the men and women under her command, deciding upon who would be filling crucial roles in the battle to come, but also spent a great deal of time using the Imperial Guard's archive system available to officers which contained innumerable extensive, if at times more than slightly biased, sources regarding the physiology, culture, psychology, religion and, arguably most importantly, the tactics associated with the greenskin horde. Numerous texts and reports had been written regarding this specific war band, having been frequently fought for the last decade, and Lyra made sure to familiarise herself with as many of them as possible so as to identify any unique aspects, or exploitable weaknesses.

After those weeks of uneventful warp travel had passed, Lyra found herself on the battered landscape of Vernum Primas. From her position in an observation post dozens of metres above those on the ground, and several kilometres behind the front trenches, she could see it all. Through the amplified lenses of her binoculars she could see dozens of vast trenches, now empty save for corpses, boxes and pools of muddy watter. Beyond that she could see variously coloured bodies laying motionless on the muddy, pockmarked field between the trenches and Vernum City. The uniforms, some brightly coloured in red, others in dull olive, were all half-coated in wet mud and soaked through with blood and water. The city itself was too far away to make out discernible features of individuals, though she could see the unmistakable luminous glow of lasgun fire and the sparks of autoguns, which she assumed belonged to the orkish occupants, projected onto the walls of buildings. Tanks belonging to Cadian regiments, and armoured transports from various others trudged their way through the no man's land towards the city. Some of the tanks were bogged down, with mechanics working desperately to free them. The barrels of other vehicles glowed red and smoked, having continuously battered Vernum City in an attempt to cover the advancing infantry and to smash clustered pockets of orks into oblivion. Lyra swallowed hard as her eyes were inevitably drawn back to the lifeless bodies beyond the trenches. There were dozens, if not hundreds from what she could see, and it wracked her to think that many of them likely could have been saved, but by now would likely have had infected wounds if they still drew breath. Few regiments were accompanied by samaritans, the Guard's mobile armoured ambulances, but the Karelian infantry regiments were among the exceptions. Karelia viewed its citizens as too important to be thrown away (though not too important to avoid conscription). Lyra, combined with being platoon commander of the first battalion of her regiment, was also a trauma surgeon and fulfilled both roles within the Guard. She had given orders that the samaritan accompanying her platoon into the city was to remain at the rear of her convoy when the order was given to advance, and to wait outside the walls with a small guard until an all clear was given to set up a triage.

“Vox message, ma'am!” cried a high, young voice from below. Lyra swallowed in anticipation of what it could be, though she suspected it was likely an order to begin offensive movements, and lowered her binoculars. Peering over the edge of the observation tower, she gestured to her vox operator to continue. She had switched off her commbead from the general channel, having already listened to hours of frantic screaming for aid from the first wave regiments, most of which went unanswered, and gave orders for her operator to inform her the moment message was received from command.

“The Lord Militant has ordered us to advance,” said the operator, straining to look up to the tower with the weight of her radio pulling down on her small frame. Lyra shouted an acknowledgement and gazed at the arranged military mass of the second wave. Almost half a dozen regiments of emotionless, coal-coloured Krieg infantrymen stood erect and motionless as if on parade. The Karelian 11th would be advancing ahead of them, acting as a reconnaissance force. Though she did not voice her feelings, the Krieg regiments terrified her. The men and women under her command were boisterous and cheerful, while the ashen ranks of Kriegers did not even have names, identifiable only by numbers, even their officers, a fact which astounded Lyra. On Karelia those who volunteered for service as an officer had their names enshrined on the base of marble states, honouring them. She had read a small portion of their history, of their civil war against the Imperium hundreds of years ago, and why they so often fought to the bitter end against impossible odds as repentance.

Lyra descended the ladder on the observation tower and called her sergeant to her. “Lustig,” she called out clearly and firmly, though her tone was vastly different from the harsh barks of her senior non-commissioned officer.

“Ma'am,” said Lustig, snapping his heels together and saluting crisply with parade ground precision. His crimson tunic was pristine and his bronze shoulder pieces and chest plate were burnished to a dazzling shine. Lyra had to look up to meet the eyes of the towering sergeant, her tiny height almost comical in comparison. His physical size met the stereotypical persona of a Karelian sergeant: tall, moustached and densely muscled. Lyra gave swift orders for her sergeant to muster the first platoon and to have them embark onto the tauroses parked in a single rank nearby. The first platoon had been resting, though all had their boots on and their packs next to them, ready to move at a moments notice. The sergeant ran between clustered groups, kicking them to their feet and barking orders. Within one minute the whole platoon was mustered and seated in their vehicles. The orderlies proceeded into the samaritan with equal efficiency, if less haste, and an infantryman climbed into the gunner's pit atop the vehicle where he triple checked the heavy bolter which acted as the vehicles only offensive weapon.

Lyra took her position in the passenger seat of the second vehicle, with Lustig in the front tauros. Her vox operator was sat behind her with her vox caster unslung and a pale look on her face. Lyra reassured her with a warm smile and a nod, and the young operator fastened her tall bearskin, swallowing hard. The roar of the vehicles was deafening as a dozen tauros transports leapt to life simultaneously. The dull chugging of the samaritan followed, accompanied by the shrieking of its tracks as it struggled to find traction in the muddy ground. Lyra gave the order to advance to Lustig, and within moments the swift vehicles were rapidly leaving behind the relatively safe confines of the siege encampment. The Karelian 11th would advance ahead of the Kriegers, who would be providing the bulk of the second wave. Lyra silently hoped that should her platoon run into any trouble along the way that the emotionless guardsmen would not be far behind. The rest of the 11th would be advancing with the Kriegers, aside from other light infantry elements in other platoons which would be entering the city from different locations. Sniper teams had been inserted into the city by Valkyrie transports when the Elysians had dropped into the centre, and had been feeding back information since the beginning of the battle. Lyra's side objective was to link with the sniper team and extract them from a towering apartment complex.

Once she passed the threshold of the city, Lyra was lost for words. No lectures in the military college, or wargames during training could prepare her for the sheer devastation that met the Karelians the moment they entered Vernum City. Bodies beyond counting filled the street, human and ork alike, to the extent that the tauros transports rocked sickeningly as they were forced to drive over the bloody and misshapen corpses, with no time to clear them away. The subsequent samaritan vehicle ground guardsman and ork corpses into paste following Lyra's order to advance. The immediate area was relatively secure, with no sign of greenskin or guard units. The chugging of the vehicles' engines resonated against the cold stone buildings as they passed cautiously through the warren of streets. She could hear the rumbling of gunfire in the distance, but was unable to discern the direction. Lyra gestured from the handset of the vox caster and had it set to a secure frequency which only other vox casters would receive.

“To all receiving units, this is Lieutenant Lyrachenko of the Karelian 11th regiment. We are now entering the threshold of the city en route to the Cathedral of Holy Light with substantial medical equipment. We require a secure cordon to set up triage and … begin treatment of any…” she paused as the words stuck in her throat. Her eyes were kept skyward to avoid the grisly sight of the bodies on the road, but the stench of blood and exposed entrails made the reality unavoidable. “... any wounded personnel. Receiving units please respond with details of the situation,” she added and passed the handset back to her vox operator.

“Over,” added the operator before replacing the handset onto the vox caster. She gave Lyra a sheepish look, who nodded in return. Lyra was sickened to the point where it was becoming visibly unprofessional. She had seen corpses during her medical training and education, but they were always clean and checked before study, unlike the sight before her. Every path the tauroses took, followed by the rumbling samaritan, painted vibrant red and gold with entwined crimson serpents on the flanks, was strewn with detritus and death. Entire platoons, if not companies had been massacred in the first wave. The explosions and crackles of gunfire were becoming significantly louder as they advanced towards their objective. Despite the devastating nausea she was feeling, Lyra did her best to keep herself respectable and eyed the rooftops and alleyways keenly as they passed by.

It would not be long, she thought, until the same enemy which had slaughtered the guardsmen on the road would soon beset them also.

As the mixed regiment of Red Coat, Tusheina and Hirisit continued their march through th streets to the Cathedral of the emperor, largely unmolested after their last engagement, Ninke was not always there exactly. The powerful painkiller running through her vains, mixed with the stubborn throbbing pain in her arm meant it was hard for her to focus on much. As she put one foot in front of the other, leaning heavily on Belgond, her thoughts were elswhere. Sometimes they were at home, on Hirisit, praying in the cathedrals and being surrounded by the faithful. It moved, now in basic, training to be a guardsman with shouting and marching and NCO training, but it was quickly past.

And then it was today, it had come full circle... shouting and screaming and blood... she saw Boers dead and bloodied face amongst hundreds of others, and then she saw her bleeding wound. Now she was in reality again... staring at the stump covered in gauze and wrapped tightly, and even still quite a bit of the bandage was red with her blood. She didn't cry anymore as there was no real reason to... her arm was half gone and crying woudn't change that... even so she pulled closer to Belgond, using him to support her legs and her shaky grip on the world around her... she didn't speak, doubting she could find the strength to.

Keeping on high alert now that the impossible had happened (Seriously, who had ever heard of Orks able to sneak around and use TACTICS?!), Belgond continued to support Ninke as they continued on with this bloody march. While the lack of orks attacking them was welcomed, it was also... unnerving. If one group of Orks were smart enough to set up traps and ambushes, then surely there would have to be more such groups out there...

Keeping a firm hold on Ninke, he softly kept whispering things to her in order to try and keep her awake and moving. Despite the painkillers that were currently running through her system, Belgond had to keep her in the here and now and keep her putting one foot in front of the other.

As Ninke's mind swam in the mire of pain and the drugs, Belgond managed to be heard, his soft whispering managed to keep her teathered to the world and walking, keeping her from falling. For most of the march she could not respond, but as the smog clouded skies darkened and dusk approached, she managed to try and speak to him. Her voice was strained and hoarse from her earlier screaming, hardly able to be heard at all, "B-b-belgond... how... how m-much... l--lo-longer...", as she spoke she gave a small stumble, grasping Belgond with her remaing hand.

Managing to catch the stumble before it went much further and caused serious harm, Belgond looked ahead of them at the large, cathedral looking building that they were heading towards. "Not much longer now..." He guessed; Even if it hadn't been nearby, he would have said it wasn't much longer, keeping her focused on getting one foot in front of the other and giving her the chance to give into despair.

Then the march came to a stop.

Looking around and trying to make sense of the various conversations that were springing up to understand why they had come to a stop, Belgond felt slightly worried that things were about to go horribly wrong very quickly. "Don't worry, we'll be moving again soon. Just catch your breath, alright?"

Ninke nodded weakly, noting that the march had stopped the way a dreamer noticed the wind outside. She slowly slid down Belgond until she was sitting on the ground, no longer able to stand through the haze. She never let go of him as she slid, keeping her right hand gribbing whatever part of him she could, before trying to speak again, "W.. why a-are... stopped... B-belgond... a-aa-aren't we nearly... there?", she looked like a pet who's master had beaten it to many times, frail, all her strength from the rest of the day spent to keep herself moving.

Belgond took a seat next to Ninke in order to let her have an easier time of clinging to him for strength while he listened in on what was being said by the different guardsmen nearby. There was nothing like a group of guardsmen on edge for gossip and a rather quickly a common theme of the conversations became clear; they were trying to select a vanguard to lead the way for the rest of the troops to ensure that they weren't ambushed by orks on their dash to the relative safety of the Catherdal and the entrenched positions there.

"We're almost there. We've just stopped long enough to select a vanguard to lead the charge. As soon as a group gets picked, we'll be going again alright?"

It was then that Belgond noticed what appeared to be one of the people chosen to select who was going to be put into the vanguard... and as the man looked his way he just knew what was about to happen in his gut. As the man started to walk towards him and Ninke, Belgond... felt strangely at ease as he rose to his feet. He didn't want to die by any means, but he just felt rather calm about what was about to happen.

Before the man had even opened his mouth, Belgond cut him off with a tone that would have been more suited for one of the officers of the regiment "Congradulations, you've just taken responciblity for Vox Operator Ninke here. Your job is to make damn sure that she gets to the Cathedral and to whatever medical area that they set up there. If I find out that you made it to the Catherdral and she didn't, the Inquistion will take notes about what I'll do to you for insperation. Do I make myself clear?"

Maybe it was the tone of voice, maybe it was the knowledge that Belgond himself was soon going to be apart of an assignment that was most likely going to result in his death, but the man wordlessly nodded at Belgond's request, moving to Ninke's side in order to help Belgond get her to her feet. "Okay Ninke, you're going to be going the rest of the way with this gentleman here. He'll get you to the Catherdal and to safety. I'll be coming to check up on you as soon as I can, alright?"

Ninke watched everything like it was slow motion, and she couldn't stop it. Belgond explained that they were picking a vanguard, which was dangerous to say thhe least, if there were Orks intent on stopping the Guardsmen the vanguard would have to get throgh them... she didn't care though not at first, until one of the officers electing the poor bastards made his way towards them... and she knew he wasn't picking her. As Belgond stood, seemingly accepting this, Ninke's mouth worked wordlessly, like a broken door hinge that wouldn't stay closed. As she was lifted from her feet she was muttering, almost whispering in her strained hoarse voice, "N--no no-no-nn-no.. n-o... n-n-not Belgond t-tt-to.. no non no...", as she was shakily pulled to her feet and leaned against the officer she moved her remaing hand to her necklace, a pure silver necklace with the figurine of the shining saint on it. She undid the clasp at the back and stumbled into Belgond, pushing it into his hand, "D-dd-do-don't l-l-l-lose it... the... its m-my most... it will protect you... the Emperor will... b-bb-ring you back...", she didn't want to leave hs side, she knew just about everyone she had ever known was dead, and now her last real connection was leaving... she couldn't pull away on her own.

It was absolutely heartbreaking to hear the broken tone of Ninke's voice; Compared to what it had sounded like mere hours ago, it was clear that she had gone through absolute hell and that him leaving her side was merely just the next step in that horrible journey. Reaching out and taking the necklace that she had offered him, Belgond looked at the figurine of what he had guessed was a saint for a moment before slipping it over his neck. Taking a deep breath before taking a step towards her, he kissed her softly on the forehead for a moment before promising "I'll bring it back to you. I'll see you soon alright?"

Taking a deep breath, he took a step back and away from her, turning in order to find Sergeant Bourne and meet his destiny, regardless of what it was going to be.

Ninke watched Belgond walk away, and somehow tears she thought had been dried up rolled down her face. She quickly wiped them away, stumbling back to the officer and leaning on him for support. As she followed his lead, she couldn't stop praying... it was all she knew how to do when one was powerless, it was all she had ever done in such situations. She prayed to the Emperor and his Saints, prayed that he would come back with her necklace, prayed that he would be unharmed, and prayed that the Emperor would not leave her alone on this fucking world.

It wasn't long before a vox-operator was running over to the warrant officer currently running the 3003rd, to inform him of the latest transmission. Unfortunately, it wasn't what he was waiting for. "Warrant! We just got a message from the second wave!" the man shouted as he finished running over to the ranking NCO.

"Report." the man knew he was about to get the report, but the runner needed a moment to catch his breath. Everyone was on edge, and running around with a vox on your back didn't help.

"Some officer... Lieutenant Lima-Twelve or something like that... Her radio procedure was all kinds of fucked, but she says she's got medical supplies and personnel. She needs a secure area at the objective to set up an aid station." the vox-operator waited for instructions once he finished relaying the transmission.

"Don't bother replying..." the warrant officer trailed off before muttering under his breath. "Fucking officers... Of course it is. Fuck my life." he didn't actually try to be quiet. They all shared the same opinion about junior officers around here. "Keep an ear out for confirmation-" he stopped talking when the vox barked to life again. The operator wouldn't have paid attention anyway, as he was listening to whatever was coming through his headset.

"The Tusheinans at the Cathedral have confirmed our report. They're watching for us now." he didn't mention the state of their radio procedures, and just waited for orders.

"Prepare to move." was all the senior NCO had to say on that matter. The word spread like fire over a pool of gasoline, and very soon everyone was moving.

"Corporal Hazard!" the man bellowed. Felix was already moving to his commander's position.

"Moving, Warrant!" he sounded off, making his way to the grizzled veteran as quickly as possible.

"Get your platoon up and moving. You've got five minutes to clear us a route from the time you leave the perimeter. And pass on that we need a defensible position for an aid station when we get in there. Go." the Iceman didn't even pause long enough to say "Yes, Warrant." he just turned and sprinted back to the men he'd been put in command of, and roused them to action. Even the sleeping grenadiers were up in arms in seconds, it was one of the 3003rd's best features. By the time he'd passed on their orders, they were all prepared to move, and Felix led the way at a jog.

The objective was a five-minute march away, so at a jog they would make slightly better time, but it was still going to be close. To that end, the junior NCO left his second-in-command at the rear to deal with any problems on that end, before taking the lead to set up a perimeter all the way up to the in-progress defensive line at the cathedral. As they moved, the group left a fireteam behind every twenty-five metres to provide covering fire, should anything unpleasant suddenly appear. Of course the really problem was the massive intersection at the end of the street that led to the cathedral. No cover and wide-open lanes of fire meant that a greenskin rush would be a very bad thing if they weren't dug in when it happened. Even with the Brontians and Xenonians, the Iceman doubted they would get out of such a predicament in a way that could be described as any kind of positive. He supposed they would just have to hope, since they were at just as much risk of friendly fire with a manoeuvre like this.

Lucky for the vanguard, the 3003rd's interim leader had the sense to call ahead once more, assuring anyone who cared to listen that they were moving to the objective now, and anyone shooting in a westerly direction should double-check their shots. Then, because he couldn't stand the idea of someone else rushing in and mucking something up, the senior Grenadier ordered everyone to move out just as soon as the time had expired on Felix's advance movement. The platoon hadn't quite finished setting up, but they were close, and by the time the rest of the Raiders made it that far, everything should be secure.

It went without saying that even such a rushed, unplanned manoeuvre, when performed by the 3003rd, was tight and efficient. Every one of them was a veteran of one kind or another, and even though half of them weren't old enough to drink, they performed as flawlessly as could be expected of angry soldiers eager to turn the tide of slaughter. That meant they mostly had to herd the Xenonians and Brontians, while also demanding that the Cadian's hurry up. The barely-mechanised 88th were incredibly hesitant to leave the cover of their chimeras, it seemed, and their drivers were understandably unwilling to push the vehicles very hard in the claustrophobic urban environment. The discipline of the Xenonians and Brontians was appreciated, but their desire to occupy the outer ranks to facilitate charges didn't sit well with their trigger-happy companions, so the migration to the cathedral that had started out so smartly had devolved into a subdued rush for the objective just past the halfway mark.

The 3003rd were lucky enough to be the first through the opening in the defensive line, and they stormed the fortifications smartly. It only took a few glances around to confirm that these were all friendly forces. From there orders were passed around haphazardly and the soldiers were split up into two working parties. One was instructed to set up defenses for an aid station, while the others repaired the gap they'd put in the original fortifications, and then verified that everything already set up was still viable. Felix was part of the latter team, as he was the last one through. Unfortunately for him and the rest of the Grenadiers, concertina wire was in short supply, and it appeared they would have to try and defend themselves with little more than rubble and sharpened sticks. The shovels appeared soon after that, and it wasn't long before even the Raiders' most senior NCO was digging out clear patches of ground to carve trenches into...

@Sarpedon@Ozymandias@agentmanatee@Bright_Ops@Lord Coake

Battlefield communications had always been a hit-and-miss element since the very beginning of warfare, and even during the Forty-Second millenium this problem continued. Some might even argue that it was harder at the present time, for mankind had lost their way with technology, and even a simple communique between the 'boots on the ground' and the HQ staff required minutes of repeated and rehearsed ritual phrases, invocations to the Machine Spirit and so forth. All-in-all it could get rather annoying.

"Someone tell me something!" Barked Van Deer for the eleventh time in as many minutes, irritated and unable to vent his frustration on anyone but those gathered about him, "we have been without a single report for hours now, give me some news - good or bad, I care not."

Fortunately, or not, there was news to be given...

"Lord Militant," spoke up a vox operator from across the room, his stoic features half-hidden in the hellish light of the mobile city's interior, "the Endorans and Elysians are no more, neither is the armour previously supporting them, it appears that they have given their lives to a man."

There was a short silence, as well as some grunts of approval from some of the more senior soldiers, before the Lord General Militant pressed the operator for information on the remainder of the First Wave regiments.

"It would appear that they have made it to the cathedral, Lord Militant," his voice rose an octave and the soldier - who had not really been paying much attention to his station anyway - suddenly sat bolt upright in his rotating seat, "the 'Skins are also doing exactly as expected, they seem to be converging with all forces on those unfortunates."

"Hah!" Barked the scarecrow of a warlord, "so, Thrakta is not as clever as we suspected him to be; he has taken the bait, gentlemen, and now we shall close the iron ring about him and his. With flame and steel we shall purge these filthy Xenos from this planet in the name of the Emperor."

Pointing a triumphant finger at the nameless operator, his face a split mask of victory, he ordered that the Second Wave fulfil their encircle and anihilate objective; those that had by now reached the cathedral, probably fortifying it if they had any sense, casually messaged to inform them that the entire Greenskin force was coming their way. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, either they fought until it was over...or they die.

Caius was busy once the Cadian 88th had reached the Cathedral, rushing from position to position, helping the various groups fortify their entrenchments. One group he helped dig a small trench to fill with jagged wood and metal spikes taken from the rubble. Another he fixed up a heavy stubber for, deploying it against a collapsed pillar supported with rubble. The defenses grew steadily in preparation for the oncoming assault. His thoughts were as much a blur as his movements, jumping from thinking about how best to set up a rubble blockade at the east wall, to a series of quick prayers to the God-Emperor. He frequently found himself rubbing a hand across the golden aquila pendant he had scavenged from earlier, whether for luck or last wishes, he knew not.

When the time came for the inevitable Greenskin assault, he found himself in the main entrance to the massive building, tasked primarily with keeping one of the last heavy bolters around running properly. As the horde of xenos washed over the horizon, he and many others began to unleash wave after wave of lasgun, stubber, and bolter fire, doing their best to drown the alien menace in projectile death. Yet the greenskins persisted, growing angrier and stronger, speeding closer to the encampment. But still Caius fought on, his lascarbine screaming at him in the language of machines, heat venting from every possible exit, the charge pack steadily draining of its energy as it fueled the weapon. Caius' well disciplined shots of Caidan marksmanship brought down many a greenskin, though they still charged closer. Eventually, some of the smaller, faster greenskins would reach the line, scrambling up the rubble defenses to engage the guardsmen in hand-to-hand. Caius drew his knife and charged right back at them, screaming a blood-curdling cry of "For the Emperor!" as he tore his way through the smaller aliens, just in time to regain his position for firing at the larger beasts. Realizing his combat knife and lascarbine would be ineffective for engaging the larger Orks, he 'requisitioned' a bayoneted M36 from a fallen ally, whispering the Emperor's Peace to his fallen comrade as he did so. When the full-size Orks reached their wall, he was quick to use his lighter speed and smaller size against each foe, ducking around and behind them, jabbing at their exposed flesh with fast thrusts, preferring to maximize strikes over damage. One greenskin presented a particularly big opening, bellowing out a massive, enlongated cry in its guttural tongue. Caius took this chance, unhooking a frag grenade from his web belt. He pulled the pin and lept at the beast, attempting to lodge the grenade within its massive mouth. Unfortunately the Ork caught on, reaching to smack him out of the way. The massive hamfist grazed Caius' side, shattering a few ribs, and knocking him away, the grenade flying off into the melee around them, detonating and killing Xeno and Guardsman alike. But still Caius stood to his feet, spitting and wiping the blood from his mouth, raising his bayoneted weapon, and charging back into the fray, more furious than ever before. As he did so, his thoughts turned to one statement...

I may be just a man, armed with a simple weapon and not much more. But I am strong. I am Human. I am the Imperial Guard, and I will hold the Throne-damned line.

A @agentmanatee and @Bright_Ops collab

The push towards the Cathedral had been quiet. Quiet enough to put those currently in the vanguard very much on edge.

The Orks had failed to launch the assault that they had been so certain was coming, suggesting that the green skinned beasts were taking the time to gather together for a massive counter offensive. There were several piles of human corpses along the route through with lootable gear clearly visible there were carefully avoided, as well as the odd trip wire trap that had thankfully only claimed the two people that had found the first one.

In the end, they reached the Cathedral more or less in one piece. As the officers went to talk with their peers to discuss tactics and plans to further fortify, Belgond asked around to find out where the medical area had been set up in order to go and check it out. After asking a couple of people, he finally got his answer; A couple of the front rooms of the Cathedral had been selected for the grim task of trying to nurse the injured and dying.

Thanking the woman who had told him, Belgond quickly made his way through the hustle and bustle in order to step into the former holy building of the Emperor... and witnessed pure, horrific carnage. Bedrolls had been placed on the floor to provide the injured a place to rest, but there had clearly not been enough as some people had to make do with simple blankets or just the stone floor itself. There was no minor injuries here; Only those who had been unable to continue to fight were taken off the line for medical aid...

Where was Ninke going to be placed in this horrible mess?

The medical area was a madhouse. Medics were running from Guardsman to Guardsman, ranking the severity of their injuries and deciding who required aid first, second last and who was already to far gone and deserved the Emperor's mercy. Ninke's own injury was certainly enough to pull her off the line, missing an arm and being unable to hold your lasgun was a serious injury, but as it had been wrapped and largely treated the medical staff had switched her bandages, cleaned the wound again and moved on... she sat alone in one of the corners her helmet off, she was curled around her missing arm and shaking, as the powerful painkiller had worn off from earlier and there was so little in the medicaid itself that it was only being used for the most seriously injured.

She wasn't crying. she was curled up in the corner shaking in pain and praying to the Emperor it would subside, but tears were a waste of her energy and water. All she truly wanted was for the pain to be gone, so that she could fight again... and see Belgond, she had heard that the vanguard had made it mostly unscathed but had yet to see him. It made sense she thought, the room was filled to the brim... though she dreaded in the back of her mind that he had been one of those who made it 'mostly' unscathed... that the last person she knew to any extent was dead, her necklace in his hand grasped against his chest, his cold dead eyes staring up into the sky... she shook all the more for that thought.

It took some time; There were a lot of guardsmen and women in the room that could have been Ninke. When one of the medics asked him what he was there for, Belgond had been about to be found out when out of the corner of his eye he saw the dead body of what could have only been described as a ball of flesh with teeth. Claiming that he was there to do a sweep to make sure there weren't any more of the 'teeth balls' lurking about trying to eat patients, he had to admit he was amazed at how readily the medic had accepted his answer, clearly relieved that someone was keeping an eye out for the orkish little beasts.

Given some leeway now that he had a legitament excuse for being there (And confident that if anyone actually tried to check if he had been ordered to do so by an officer, the confusion of the battle and the two divided Tushienia forces reuniting would be on his side), Belgond was free to go where he pleased... and found Ninke curled up in a corner.

Quickly making his way over to her, he knelt down and carefully placed a hand on her side to try and alert her to his presence. "Hey." He muttered softly, trying not to freak her out.

Ninke jumped slightly when Belgond touched her, she had been so focused on her prayers she had not expected anyone to disturb her, but was certainly happy that someone had. Belgond was alive, "B-b-bb-belgond... thank theee... Emperorair... you're...", she leaned into him, still shaking from the pain in her arm but now fully awake. She remained in her curled up position, leaning against Belgond as she spoke in her shaky voice, "Th-they repla-placed my bandage... a-aa-an-d couldn't g-g-gggive me more... mor-mor-morphiiine... hard to... talk... hurts... b-bbut you're... h-here now..", she tried to smile, a crooked and pain wracked smile but one nonetheless.

Belgond smiled weakly as he wrapped his arms around her carefully, giving her a proper hug for what it was worth. He doubted that it would do anything to help with the pain but she clearly needed the support right now. "Yeah, I wanted to see how you were doing and make sure you got here alright..." Taking a moment to look around to see if anyone might overhear, he lowered his voice a little as he softly added "If anyone askes, an officer ordered me to do a sweep of the Cathedral to make sure none of the toothy fleshbags that were here before we took the place survived to eat any of the wounded."

Letting the hug end far sooner then he would have liked, he brought his hand up to softly stroke her cheek as he looked into her eyes. "I'll be coming by to check up on you whenever I get the chance alright? If I don't at least make it look like I'm doing the job I was 'ordered' to do I'll end up getting shot for cowardess or something."

Ninke smiled as Belgond talked, happy that he was alive and well. She couldn't do much else though, not able to bring herself to laugh about is minor infraction of being at the medicaid and had no intention of informing anyone of why he was really there. "I... Belgond... you... you have m-... my necklace... c-c-can I see... it...", she held out her one hand, wanting to feel her most prized possesion again. The shining saint... she needed to see it.

She looked up into Belgond's eyes and nodded slowly as he said he was going to leave, "I... k-k-keep my ne-... you will need h-her... more... I... I... Belgond... d-d-d-don-... please... don't... leave me... like... like the o-ooo-othairs... please...", she leaned her face towards his, tears she didn't think she still had slowly rolling down her cheeks as she brought her lips closer to his.

Belgond was more then happy to remove the saint from around his neck and give it back to its rightful owner. It honestly looked like Ninke needed her saint now more than he ever did. Offering her a small smile as he carefully placed Ninke's saint back in her hand, Belgond's hand cupped her chin as he leant in to press his lips against hers in order to complete the kiss.

The kiss had to be shorter then Belgond would have liked, but as he parted he softly whispered to her "Of course I'll come back. I would be a fool to skip out on a date with a beautiful woman like you afterall." He said with a wink, trying to lift her spirits despite the situation before he stood up. Placing his hands back on the lazgun that he had been allowing to hang freely on its strap, Belgond looked slightly pained having to leave Ninke's side but his duty called to him...

She didn't want to part from Belgond, she didn't want to be afraid of being alone again. As he pulled away from her, whispering his promise to not leave her, she gripped his sleeve tightly biting her lower lip to the point a small bead if blood dropped from it, "Belgond... I... my vox... I need...", suddenly there was a commotion in the back of the room... someone was being hysterical. Ninke peered around Belgond and saw the problem, a Vox operator was shouting at the medics... and they looked like ghosts. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but people were moving now, able bodied Guardsmen were staring to leave.

Ninke again looked Belgond in the eyes and looked to the Vox operator across the room, "B-belgond... go see wh-what all the... commotion is about... please?", Ninke felt disconnected without her vox and she needed to know what was going on.

Turning to look in the direaction that the Vox operator was shouting from, Belgond glanced at Ninke before nodding his head. "Be right back." was all he said before he started to make his way over to see what the matter was.

The Vox operator was clearly freaking out about something. Before Belgond even got close enough to ask what was wrong, the Vox operator pointed him out. "YOU! Get your ass outside this instant! They are coming!"

Belgond blinked a little in surprise, his brain lagging behind slightly as he asked "We're about to be attacked by orks?" in order to clear things up and get on the same page as everyone else.

The Vox operator laughed like a doomed man as he answered "No dumbass, we're not just about to be attacked by orks. WE'RE ABOUT TO BE ATTACKED BY ALL THE ORKS! MOVE! We need everyone who can wield a lazgun outside this instant!"

Belgond wasn't sure if the Vox operator had been loud enough for everyone in the Cathedral to hear him, but it was clear that it wasn't from lack of trying. Turning towards the front door and going at a steady jogging pace, Belgond knew that he was leaving Ninke out of the loop but with so much attention focused on him and the dire situation, he simply wouldn't be able to swing by to tell her what was happening without getting in a great deal of crap for it.

Hopefully she would understand...

Ninke watched as Belgond was confronted by the vox officer, and after the shouting that followed Belgond... left. He moved at a hustle to the door, until he disappeared beyond the frame. She tried to call to him as he ran, perhaps he heard her perhaps not all she knew was that he didn't stop. What was happening? Ninke's mind ran with possibilities overpowering her pain and only one thing came to mind... orks. They must be attacking... but if it was just orks why was the Vox operator so hysterical? Just how many orks were coming? Ninke shuddered out of thoughts, looking down at the stump that made up just under half of her left arm, she just felt so... useless because of it. Why? For what reason was she here unable to do the Emperor's work or help Belgond? She shrank back into the corner, starting to shake again...

She gripped the Saint in her hand so hard that if she wasn't wearing a glove she whould be bleeding from the Saint's wings. She slipped the necklace back over her head, still shaking slightly, and pushed herself up the the wall until she was standing. It was much easier to stay on her feet without the drug and started towards the door. She wasn't going to sit in the medicaid and wait for the orks to be purged, she was a soldier of the Imperium and she was going to do her part. The medics were so busy trying to decide who could and could not be sent to fight that no one stopped or even noticed the one armed Guardswoman making her way out of the door. She started to hustle as she got out of the door, not sure where to go now. Other Guardsmen were running to their positions, from most regiments and she even saw a few Hirisit here and there.

As she ran it was just her luck that she turned a corner and slammed into someone... much larger than her. Large enough that she was thrown from her feet by the force of him impacting her. She looked up at who she had hit... and her blood ran cold. The steely face of Commisar Jarack stared down at her... possibly now the only survivor of the command structure of the Hirisit regiment, and he was glaring at her. "Vox Operator Ninke, what are you doing? Where is your current designated location?", his right hand was resting on the plasma pistol at his hip where it always was, and it made Ninke gulp slightly before responding, "I-I-I vhas in er... th-the medicaid but... I-I heard the Orks were attacking aund I vhanted to... to serve the Emperoair...", cold sweat had begun to cover her neck. Commisar Jarack looked down at Ninke's half of a left arm and then back to the troopers face, his frown never changing, "One armed and obviously low on energy and possibly blood and you want to fight the orks? Your so unstable on your feet I was able to knock you down at a brisk walk... and you left your designated location?", Ninke saw something she never thought she would, a ghost of a smile passed through the commisars lips and he helped her to her feet, "Follow me Vox Officer Ninke, we have an ork to sto-", before he could finish the wall to their right exploded in a shower of fire and rock.

Ninke was hurled against the wall, falling to her knees as her ears rang from the blast, she glanced around trying to find the Commisar... he was on his back, and a great piece of shrapnel pierced his gut. Ninke crawled over to him, there was a pool of blood steadily growing around him as he coughed, looking at the vox operator, "Vox-*gurgle*-*cough*, offisher Ninke... ash of thish moment I, Commisar Jarack-*cough*... give you the authority... to lead any troopsh of the Hirishit 482nd... *gurgle* or any lower ranked troopersh*gurgle*, you speak with the authority of a Commisar*cough*, and-and*cough**cough*, as such, take my sidearm ash your*cough* symbol of authority-*gurgle*", he motioned to attempt to remove his belt and holster... the metal shard blocked his hand, and Ninke did it for him, pulling the ornate sidearm to her before he continued, "Go... sherve... the Empero-hrrgllkk...", the Commisar went limp, his hand falling to the ground.

For longer than she probably should have Ninke sat there... the plasma pistol and holster in her hands... she carefully looped the belt arounf her waist and tightened it, withdrawing the pistol and staring aat it. The pistol was currently inactive, its ordinarily glowing top currently cold and lightless, the dark black metal ending in the once clean silvered barrel, much of it now scorched from use The ornate symbol of the Commisariat was picked out in gold along its length on both sides, and the Imperial aquilla was emblazoned on the fine wooden handle. She looked to the clip, withdrawing the plasma cartridge to check it contents, seemingly full. The belt had several bandoleer loops, three of which contained further plasma cartridges. Ninke carefully replaced the cartridge into the gun... now wondering how she would be able to do that with any speed... then it cam to her. She took the three cartridges on the belt, and put them in in her mouth, the end of each one facing out so that she could simply bring the pistol to her mouth to replace the cartridge in the plasma pistol.

She heard the fire, the crack of a thousand lasguns... and then the ork charge, "WWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!", the sound was deafening, and Ninke ran down the hall in the direction of the nearest fighting... she hoped she could find Belgond, but perhaps that was to much to hope for.

Muttering curses under his breath, whatever doubts and worries that Belgond had in his mind about his relationship with Ninke were banished from his mind as a new wave of more immediate anxieties presented themselves to him in the fact that the grays and browns of the area around the Cathedral was suddenly a lot more green then he remembered it being when he went inside... and getting greener by the second.

Even has he charged forwards in order to get into the cover provided by the defenses that had been built or dug into the ruined ground, lazfire rounds and orkish bullets were being exchanged between the two sides with equal limitation; What orks were getting hit by the lazgun fire seemed to be shrugging off the singler blasts that they were taking while the orks themselves were inaccurate enough that they didn't seem to be hitting anyone expect by pure chance.

As the lines closed that was quickly going to change through...

Proping himself up against the protective cover of a ruined angel statue that had fallen off the cathedral some time ago, Belgond glanced around at those around him to see who he was currently with. There were some Tushienia's and the odd Hirisit mixed in with the red coats and several uniforms he didn't recognize, but at this moment in time where they were from didn't matter; They were human, they were armed and they were currently under attack by giant green monsters.

It was at this point that the orkish artillery started to pound against the Imperial lines and all hell broke loose. Without the armored support (or at least nowhere near enough of it) to properly answer the bombardments, Belgond did what all members of the Tushienia Lizards had been trained to do; Bunker the hell down and try and kill some Emperor damned xenos.

Being a little further back then the frontline itself, Belgond was able to get a bit more of an idea of what was happening where... and saw the gunner of a nearby heavy bolter prove unlucky enough to get an orkish bullet through the head, silencing his gun.

Without thought for his own safety, he charged out of cover and into the open in order to try and replace that lost gunner and get that bolter up and firing once more. Orkish bullets flew by his head, a constant reminder that death was just a roll of the dice away. Just as he made it to the heavy bolter nest, things went wrong; Something powerful smashed into his right forearm, knocking his arm to the side with enough force that it caused him to spin around and fall to the ground, landing on the stone back first.

Then the pain consumed his mind.

After several seconds of screaming loudly, he managed to fight his way through the pain enough to look down at his right arm... and saw what appeared to be a crude, metal spike of a bullet impaled through his forearm! His arm felt like a large metal spike had been hammered through bone because it had been!

Breathing heavily and trying really hard not to panic, Belgond bit his lip so hard that it bled in an attempt to distract himself from the pain. He was an imperial guardsman and there were Orks to kill DAMN IT!

Holding his ruins arm carefully as he forced himself to sit upright again, Belgond looked at the heavy bolter that was nearby and made a decision. Removing his belt clumsy with his left hand before tying it as tightly around his right arm as possible to stop the blood loss and hopefully numbing the pain in time, Belgond shuffled his way over to the bolter.

It still had at least two thirds of a belt of ammo left in it; Reloading wasn't going to be possible by himself and if it jammed then he was going to be completely screwed but he managed to brace the heavy gun on his right solder while taking the trigger with his left hand... Taking a moment to pray to the Emperor that this wasn't going to hurt as much as he knew it was, he pulled the trigger.

Between using his off hand, being down to one usable arm and the absolute hellish pain that was coursing through him due to what the recoil of the bolter was doing to his right arm, accurately aiming the bolter would have taken an blessing from the Emperor himself, but Belgond did manage to keep the muzzle of the gun at about Ork level; He wasn't going to be shooting humans in the back or wasting bullets against the sky.

The one sliver lining of the orkish charge that was coming at them was that as long as you kept the gun firing in their general direction then you were bound to hit something.

Ninke ran hard, wanting to get to the front line as quickly as possible. She passed other Guardsmen, some running with her, others wounded or dead or just running in other directions. What she thought was interesting was more than a few started actually following her... even a couple of Hirisit, one pulled up next to her, "Ma'am, where are we going?", honestly Ninke wasn't sure and even if she was it was hard to talk with three plasma cartridges in her mouth, so she gestured forward. That seemed to be enough for them, and it wasn't long until they made it to the front.

The particular area they arrived at was in bad shape, the barricade that had been erected had been hit hard by the artillery and there was a large gap in the ferrocrete and steel barrier, and the orks were charging the breach. Ninke and the group of Guardsmen who were following her quickly moved to support the men fighting to stop the charge. Ninke took cover next to the hole in the barricade and switched on the plasma pistol. The ornate gun hummed to life, the containment glowing blue with heat. She popped around to the whole and fired her first shots of plasma, the blue glowing projectiles collided with several orks in the charge, liquefying the areas of impact. They were still coming! Even as more and more lasfire poured into the oncoming horde they didn't slow. Some guardsmen started to break, a few running back into the cathedral... no.

Ninke turned as one of the Tusheina next to her dropped his gun and started to run, and put a shot of plasma in the back of his head. The lizard hit the ground, his head melted into slag. The Guardsmen around looked to the body and then to Ninke, as she stepped out into the breach, and opened fire.

Her finger hardly left the trrigger, super heated plasma flew from the barrel, the projectiles slamming into several green monstrosities and liquefying their insides... and then the beast appeared. From the middle of the horde a massive ork burst through, as tall as Ninke plus another of herself, carrying a massive whirring chain-axe. She poured all her fire into it, along with several other Guardsmen, his heavier armor absorbed the las-shots with no problem but Ninke's plasma pistol was melting through it. As she fired she felt the heat building, and it started to burn through her glove but she couldn't stop shooting... until the cartridge rand dry. She dropped it out of the pistol, and jammed the pistol against her mouth to reload, it burned and scorched her face but she didn't care. She tried to whip the pistol back around but she was to late... it was upon her.

The huge ork screamed something in its barbaric language and brought the axe down at Ninke, who barely managed to avoid being bisected... her left leg was less lucky. The axe tore at her skin and muscle, tearing out ligaments and flesh, she would have screamed if not for the cartridges in her mouth. Instead she brought the scorched barrel against the beasts skull and pulled the trigger. His brain and head were turned into slag and super-heated bubbling sludge as he fell. Ninke stumbled but caught herself, and turned the gun back on the approaching horde, and the pistol was no silent for a second longer, no matter how hot it got.

It didn't take long for the next cartridge to run dry, by now the pistol had melted the palm of her glove into her hand and the radiation started to burn up her right arm and fatigues. As she switched cartridges again, the burning on her face was incredible! The radiation burned around her mouth, how bad she did not know, for now all she could think about was surviving... she prayed to the Emperor that she was not going to die here.

When word started going around that there was an Orkish horde moving toward them, the aid station was abandoned, and the defences that were easily torn up were repurposed for other parts of the defensive line. Most of the Grenadiers didn't even need to be told, they just grabbed anything that wasn't nailed down too firmly and pulled back to the easiest points to defend. They piled up traps and concertina wire and anything else that might slow down the greenskin advance, and when that was done, they started digging shell scraps and machine gun nests. The 3003rd was a flurry of activity right up until the Orks actually appeared. By the time they'd gotten close enough to see, all of the heavy weapons had solid positions, and everyone else had some sort of cover, even if it wasn't ideal.

The very instant the enemies of man appeared down the boulevards all around them, the sergeant major, who'd shown up at some point much to the bewilderment of his troops, began bellowing orders with the sort of commanding presence that only a sergeant major could muster. "Grenadiers!" he hollered, nearly reopening the only recently staunched wounds on his temples that he'd sustained the last time he'd commanded anyone. The pause this time was incredibly brief, as Strathcona's Raiders had been expecting such an order. "Attack!" the bellow still came later than most liked, but the reaction was awe-inspiring. The volley of grenades was swift, and the follow-up actually stopped the green tide in place for about as long as it took to empty a lasgun charge pack when it was set to maximum.

The grenades went off right about the time that all of the mortars and recoilless rifles the Grenadiers had left fired their first volley. By that time the heavy stubbers were in full swing, and the rest of the soldiers were blazing away as fast as they could. There were so many orks they didn't even have to aim, and ammunition seemed to disappear faster than the candy in a store invaded by obese children. Hope wasn't far behind, but the determination of the Grenadiers was unmatched. Their senior NCOs even had the sense to run off and plunder ammunition from anyone that wasn't using it properly, rushing it back to their gunners who could employ it properly in the name of the Emperor.

The whole time, Felix was blazing away with his plasma gun. He'd set it to its lowest setting and was using it more like a jumped-up hellgun than a proper plasma gun, rapid-firing away with the rest of his section. But the Orks just kept coming. Every time one of them got shredded by lasgun fire, at least two more appeared in its place, and pushed their way close to imperial lines. Then, to compound the problem, rokkits started going off haphazardly, up and down the defensive. Corporal Hazard did his best to keep his section together and firing, but all of that went to shit when a rokkit went off right next to him. The only reason he didn't evaporate in the explosion was the fact that the man next to him was in the way. So instead of getting vaporized, he just got covered in pink mist, and was left to keep fighting. Roaring in anger, he kept blazing away until his plasma gun overheated, and then he pulled out his sidearm and emptied that into the on-coming horde.

That wasn't enough, of course, but by the time he had it reloaded, his plasma gun was cool enough to keep going, so he brought that back to bear just in time to realize that the orks had closed to flamer range. The Brontians and Xenonians had rushed forward then, all of their flamethrower-toting troops opening up until they melted down the nozzles on their flamers and their tanks ran dry. More rokkits went off, and the remaining Brontians and Xenonians rushed into the fray, almost gleefully engaging the Orks currently hacking their way through the defences set up to delay them. And the whole time, greenskin artillery went off indiscriminately, their gunners obviously uncaring of anything but putting rounds vaguely downrange.

When another rokkit went off and left Felix flat on his back, deaf, with his ears ringing and his vision swimming, and his chest cavity aching from the force of the explosion, he decided they needed to do something more than just start rushing into close combat. Of course, with no more ammunition, they didn't have much choice. Even the heavy weapons were dry, and anyone who wasn't was down to their sidearms, or anything they'd pilfered during their down time. The Iceman found he had a few more shots left in his plasma gun, but he was out of cartridges. Lucky for him, though a few more shots was all it took to slow down the breach emerging in the defensive. His comrades rushed in to try and stem the tide once he'd piled a trio of Orks in front of their position.

Then, because his primary weapon was empty, and he didn't know what else to do, the soldier grabbed his revolver in one hand, and his laspistol in the other, and he pointed both in the direction of the enemy, and mashed the triggers until they were empty. Reloading his revolver was out of the question for the moment, so he tucked it away again, and mashed his last charge pack into his laspistol. He didn't get a chance to burn it off yet, though, as he spotted a fellow warrior in dire trouble. She was missing an arm and a leg, and laying just behind the defensive blazing away with a plasma pistol that obviously hadn't been issued to her. Admiring her spirit, the corporal rushed over and began rummaging through what passed for her tactical vest.

"Where the fuck is your IFAK?!" he demanded rhetorically, not sure where an entirely different regiment kept theirs. He gave up when he was pretty sure he'd ransacked every pouch she had, and resorted to tearing the tourniquet off his left arm to wrap it around her severed leg. "Keep shooting!" he growled, shifting out of her way, and putting his fully charged laspistol on her chest so that when her plasma pistol ran dry, she could keep shooting. Then he torqued on the tourniquet until the bleeding slowed down to a reasonable pace. From there, he had to tear into his own first-aid kit for a bottle of coagulant. The tourniquet was nice, but if it put it on any tighter he was worried something might explode, and he definitely needed to stop the bleeding if he wanted this woman to survive. He dumped the bottle all over the wound and almost instantly the white powder turned red as it hardened and sealed up the wound.

Then he turned back to the melee going on terrifyingly close, and he knew there was only one thing left to do. Hopping to his feet, the grenadier hauled the woman he'd just saved up onto her one good foot, and supported her with his shoulder under her severed arm while he quickly mashed fresh rounds into his revolver. "Raiders lead the way." he spat defiantly as he plugged away at the Orks still putting everything they had into getting through the defensive line. Whatever was driving them, it had to be horrifying, as even in the most dire of circumstances the greenskins had always broken on the violent bulwark that was the 3003rd's Grenadiers before. That being said, they'd always had more ammunition back then...

Ninke hadn't stopped firing. Even as rokkit's poured onto the barricade's and orks rushed forward guns blazing, a hail of bullets heralding their charge she did not let go of the trigger on Commisar Jarack's plasma pistol. By now most of the Guardsmen who had followed her were dead, the ones that weren't had run out of ammo by now and were down to their sidearms or scavenging from nearby corpses. The majority of the Guardsmen at the breach were of a regiment Ninke hadn't seen before, their dull grey fatigues underneath the drab olive heavy flak armor were certainly more suited for camouflage than her cream colored armor and fatigues and ochre poncho. Though, by now her colors were quite different have covered in the crimson blood of her or other guardsmen and half covered in the filthy black xenos blood the orks had. It made for a strange combination but did serve to camouflage her better than before, if in the most macabre way imaginable.

She had no idea when it had actually happened. Time felt so fluid, and everything was so overwhelmingly terrifying her memory was really worthless for anything but pulling the trigger of the scaldingly hot plasma pistol. Regardless of when it had happened at some point after the ork Nob had almost bisected her her leg had felt... off. Then, without warning, she fell on to her back, not because of a bullet or explosion... as she looked down her foot had broken. Well, no that wasn't strictly speaking true, the ork had taken a massive chunk of her lower leg and some of her upper leg and she was pretty sure that you could see he ankle bone. It appeared that with all the weight on it and no muscle or flesh it had simply snapped off and was now a few inches away from the leg it had been attached to. A quick shooting pain hit her and she grunted loudly as white filled her eyes for a few fleeting moments before she was back and firing at the wall of Greenskins.

Her brain had simply shut off the pain, there was so much it just wasn't relevant anymore. Radiation burns up her right arm, on her face, a broken off foot and the fact a great bleeding gash WAS her left leg it was all just too much. Now all she could do was fire, and it wasn't long before she ran out again. The plasma cartridge ran dry she popped it out, and just as she was slamming her last one home into the pistol and scalding her face again a Guardsmen appeared in front of her. He was in the dull grey fatigues most of the Guardsmen at this breach seemed to be wearing, and he was yelling at her about the IFAK the medics had taken from her back in the medicaid. She tried to say that but was then ordered to keep shooting, so she obliged as the world started to go fuzzy from her bloodloss. He slammed his pistol into her chest eliciting a pitiful grunt from her as she looked down at the fully loaded laspistol getting the message. The sting of the coagulant on her wound and the numbness from the constricting tourniquet around her leg made a strange combination as he treated her ruined leg, before he quickly stood and reloaded some sort of slug weapon. It was around this time that Ninke burned through the last bit of her plasma cartridge. She holstered the artful pistol, not wanting to let important hardware rot on the ground, and took up her saviours laspistol.

He heaved her up with him, putting his shoulder underneath her half-an-arm and alowing her to stand up on her remaining foot. He shouted something about the Raiders or something... hard to hear over the cacophony of war. Before the two was the bloddy melee the breach had turned into as the orks all tried to rush in at the same time tripping on comrades, or being impaled or cut down by Guardsmen, just about all of whom were down to their sidearms, looted weapons or bayonets and knives. Ninke made certain the Laspistol was powered to half-way to the maximum before firing as anything less would do virtually nothing. As she fired, las-round after las-round into the beasts she attempted a rallying cry of her own, "For the Emperor... we will hold the line...", she groaned as loud as she could... this was not the end she was sure... the Emperor had their back, they just had to keep fighting a little bit longer.

If the pre-Imperial 'Hell', or a version of it thought up by any one of the multitudes of civilisations, actually existed, well, the Guardsmen and women trying their utmost to hold the cathedral may believe that they were experiencing it, or even that they were actually there; it was a scene that had taken place, and continued to take place, on a billion worlds with a billion combatants, and as always the entire thing stank of desperation. Ammo was running dry, the green horde seemed numberless, and once the Xenos finally breached the trenches, barricades and wire, it would be over all too soon for the valiant defenders of Man.

Colour-Sergeant Bourne stood over the ruined body of Lieutenant Greyson, the entire front of his face missing and his body twisted like a fallen rag doll, the Albakin - unlike many of the more mingled and confused regiments - generally having kept themselves together as a coherent formation. Currently, they had positioned themselves at one of the larger breaches caused by a looted basilisk in three lines, a common enough deployment in the Praetorian Guard but something which the men and women of Alba continued to find unnatural, and poured volley after volley into the mass of rampaging alien fiends. More than once in the last few minutes, after clambering to within bayonet distance of the red-coated line, the Orks had nearly managed to close with their adversaries but each time had been thrown back! It could not last though, ammo was beginning to run low and every casualty was another blow to the regiment and their very survival...but help was coming.

Thrakta was somewhere out there in the sea of lumbering beasts and cunning Grots, a beast nearly as large as an Astartes Terminator - and that was without armour! - who sent wave after wave forward to meet their demise or victory; some may wonder why the Orks followed such suicidal commands, or why they went to meet death so willingly, but these were Human thoughts and to an Ork such things were meaningless in the extreme. They lived for war, they thirsted for it, and if it meant dying in combat then all the better.

What the Warboss didn't realise, as skilled as he was in warfare when compared to other Greenskins, was that he and his remaining forces had not long ago been encircled by multiple vengeful regiments of the grim-faced Krieg as well as others, slowly but surely marching their way into battle for the Emperor and for Mankind as a whole.

At first it seemed that all hope was lost, but when the horde began to slacken somewhat, something even Bourne could see but did not entirely understand, black outlines started appearing on each road leading toward the centre of the city. With them came rumbling vehicles, flame and las-fire spitting death at the larger Greenskins, the bayonet and las-gun of the humble infantryman seeing to others, and Warboss Thrakta even helping by decapitating those unlucky enough to be within reach as he watched his chances of victory slipping from his grasp.

"Albakin!" Yelled the Sergeant over the sounds of battle, hardly able to hear himself but doing his darnedest anyway, "give them another volley, then ready bayonets and prepare to charge. We'll see these abominations from the field."

This was how the children of Alba liked to fight, up close to their enemy and with twelve-inches or more of razor-sharp metal, the blood of the kilt-clad soldiers hot and bought nearly to boiling point by their static position.

So they fired off another volley, then waited...and waited...and waited...

"Albakin, for the clan, for the regiment, for the Emperor! Charge!"

Bourne gave a practice swing of his sword as he ran, the dimly glowing energy field crackling around the blade and humming with power, the more-or-less empty las-pistol thrown at the head of a bellowing Orkoid as he ran, all around him the shrill warcry of his adopted regiment and the renewed sound of an Alban reel upon the pipes causing him to forget everything but this fight and this moment in time.

Ninke held the trigger of the laspistol in her right hand down, unable to miss the mass of greenskins as they surged forward. All over the breach guardsmen tangled with orks, spilling eachothers blood in vicious melee, baynets flashed alongside choppas and chainswords, blood sprayed through the air, the deep crimson of man blood mixed with the dark black blood from dying orks. It was madness, as soon as one ork fell two more took its place and though the guard fought with a zeal befitting legend they began to falter. The massive green beasts slowly pushed their way further into the breach killing and shoving guardsmen and eachother to get at the fight. Ninke shot for all she was worth, trying to desperately to land her las rounds in the heads of orks to drop them quicker. Largely she was succesful, the ork heads were large and very close and the shots were powerful enough at this range to drop the massive beasts.

It wasn't long before the pistol ran empty, and she had no clip to replace it, dropping her companions pistol and reaching for her own. Drawing her own laspistol from its holster, she pointed it at the closing horde, shouting at the top of their xeno lungs and screaming for blood and carnage. This may be the end... she would never again see Belgond or leave this world... she would be trampled by the Greenskins as they grew closer it wa- NO! The Empereor would not let them die here! She was one of his faithful, and the foul xenos would not kill her here! One particular greenskin charged the pair of Guardsmen, Ninke placed a shot in his eyes, screaming from her ragged lungs as loud as she could, but it kept running, it raised its choppa to the woman- and its head exploded. She was confused, and then she saw them! On the outskirts of the Greenskins! Figures... humans... Guardsmen! Thick lasrounds hurtled through the ork ranks, slicing the foul greenskins to pieces! She could see the gas masked kreigers, calmly and effeciently making their way forward, flanked by chimeras and proud Leman Russ tanks, the orks were panicking! They tried to surge backwards, charging into the marching Kreigers, but had no chance in hell. They were cut down in droves as the Guardsmen of the breach surged forward, the ork lines breaking.

Ninke wished she could join them, and that she did not prevent her companion from joining in the charge. but... they had did it! As she fired into the shrinking horde she cried, sobbing, tears obscuring her vision somewhat until again she was out of ammo, with no more clips. It didn't matter, she continued to pul the trigger, crying and sobbing as she did. They would live! They would live! She tried to speak, to let her companion know she did not cry for fear, "I-i-eets-*sob*- Eets done! Ve are... ve are-*sob*- g-g-go-going to life! ve-ve-*sob-", it was all she could manage, overcome with her joy as she let her arm and pistol drop, bringing her hand to her face to cover her mouth and stifle her soobs.

Hazard supported the woman next to him as best he could, firing the last of his ammunition into the tide of greenskins as quickly as he could, as if that could stem the endless flow of roaring destruction. It didn't help. It didn't even slow them down. His best placed shots only made room for more Orks to rush through the gap. And that was it. The guardswoman next to him fired off her last round, and they were going to die. So he shifted the arm he had braced around her lower, so he could pick her up. His other hand dropped his revolver and whipped out his massive combat knife. "RAIDERS LEAD THE WAY!!!" he roared, trying his best to rush headlong into death. Except that the Ork in front of them got its head turned into pink mist by a well-placed shot from a heavy stubber, and then the pair of them fell onto its corpse, the grenadier having tripped over the suddenly downed greenskin. He saw, from his position sprawled across the Ork, what appeared to be an entire battalion of Deathkorps soldiers walking calmly into the fray. They were also grenadiers, by the look of them, their lasguns blazing fiercely, and their support weapons roaring death at the horde in front of them.

He sighed, not sure how he felt about this untimely victory. If the reinforcements could have waited just another instant, he likely would have secured a place in Valhalla. As it was, he supposed victory would have to do in its stead. Then he realized that his new friend was crying tears of joy, and chuckled, giving her a reassuring squeeze as he helped her to her feet. "Who wants to live forever, anyway?" he grumbled, gently prying the laspistol from her hand, and holstering it. Then he made sure he had any kit he cared about, and turned toward the barely-there aid station. "Let's see if there's anyone around who can patch you up." he suggested, wondering if they were going to leave the woman behind. She had the grit required to keep fighting, but without cybernetics, she was going to end up going home, or dying. He didn't think she deserved to die in a losing battle, either, but the Iceman supposed he had no control over that.

It was only once he sought to move the woman, that he realized she had little hope of getting anywhere, even supported by him. The battle continued to rage behind them as he scooped the badly injured woman up. A string of poorly-aimed tracer rounds ripped just overhead as a heavy stubber tried to find its mark after being reloaded. It got back on target without killing anyone, but Felix didn't seem to notice. The greenskins had turned from their assault on the fortifications, and were now breaking themselves on the wall of firepower generated by the more important regiments.

"Let's get you patched up, eh? You'll be up and killin' again in no ti-" he was cut off by a bellow from what had to be a senior NCO.

"Corporal Hazard!" he spun to look who it was, just in time for the Warrant Officer calling his name to realize what he was up to. "Go! Do your thing!" the man insisted a little more quietly. The junior NCO made a note to go speak with the man once his new friend was in better hands. Lucky for them, the only people at the aid station were wandering around, obviously shell-shocked and not sure what to do. He set Ninke down on an empty cot, and then slapped the nearest medical officer as hard as his tired shoulders could manage.

"Wake the fuck up! You've got casualties everywhere! Triage! And fuckin' help this woman!" he knew she was likely all the way at the bottom of the list for triage, but she'd earned it, he figured. He didn't have time to stick around and help though. Instead he tossed the woman a wave and rushed off to see what his supervisor wanted. "Warrant?" he sounded off, rushing over to the man.

"Captain!" the senior NCO growled, catching the attention of a Brontian captain who'd been doing Emperor-knew-what to a nearby corpse. Both enlisted men tossed the officer a salute before they continued. "Corporal Hazard. For your supreme leadership skills and work under pressure. And because probably half of us are dead, I hearby promote you to Sergeant." the much larger senior NCO declared curtly. Then Hazard saluted the captain once more, and the officer was handed a badge with three chevrons and three skulls on it. He then handed it to the Iceman, who pocketed it. He wasn't putting a rank on, not now, on a battlefield. "Congratulations, Hazard. Don't fuck it up." the Warrant Officer said with a grin. Then Felix shook the hands of both men, the enlisted men saluted the Captain once more, and they all went back to their duties. It was over in under a minute, and now Hazard, having jumped multiple ranks, had to try and organize what was left of the 3003rd's grenadiers. He did what any good senior NCO would do, and started screaming for his junior NCOs to find out what the hell was going on...