"Never, ever stay above ground longer than necessary. Taking cover and hugging the ground can save your life. The longer you survive, the better are the chances of you killing your enemy are."

That ran in Kovacs' head. As the apparent enemy continued to march, Kovacs took to the ground, and jumped to the nearest foxhole there was. The sergeant hadn't ordered them yet to advance. It big enough for two, at least. The Leman Russ tanks - the workhorses of the Guard, he knew - were roaring nearby, shooting with their guns, releasing impressive firepower. It reminded him of the fireworks, though the noise was almost deafening. Kovacs removed the safety, loaded and aimed towards the enemy. Although it was too long a distance for accurate shooting, he'd be ready to shoot. Or to spring into action, if they were ordered to advance. He made sure his demolitions were still strapped and safe - although it would take proper ignition to set them off, he didn't want to take any risks.

The enemies were clearly of humanoid shape, though they looked metallic. Kovacs had never heard of something like them - he had heard of the savage orks, and the devious Eldar. But these were something different. Perhaps the Mechanicus had created them, but he couldn't be sure. All he knew was that they were out for their blood, advancing with relentless marching.

When they made it onto the planet it was nothing that Nick ever expected, hell he hadn't even seen combat before just what was on the net and what was heard. It was like a dream, or maybe a drama. Alot of people dying, hellish un-human like sounds echoing the battlefield and around him and of course the yelling and dogmatic growls of his NCOs and other ranked officers of the Emperor's Army. A hard lump was in Nicks throat as he swallowed, soon soothing the issue with some water from his Canteen. He looked over to his battle buddy Richard and gave him a nod as he picked up the auto-cannon.

It didn't take him long to drag the weapon out and set it up in the rear where they were designated to hold anyway, checking over the ammo with Richard he felt the glow of something distant land on his person. Of course, this could be chalked up to fear or any number of emotions that ran through the man's body but the glow was from the battlefield before him. A few moments of afterthought washed over him as he deployed the weapon on the battlefield, no doubt it would be caked in dirt and liquids before the night came to an end.

His ears rang, closing the cover of the auto-cannon Nick racked back the bolt chambering the first round into the chamber with ease. Aimed down the range so to speak were pictures of his comrades moving forward, it woulden't take long for the fighting to start hell he was unsure if the crew would survive an assault. Despite his fear his motivators were also behind him, the only place the two could travel would be forward - for the emperor.

It seemed calm at first when they stepped onto the planet. It seemed like the frontline was either a bit in front of them or that their brother in arms was wiped out on contact.

"Line up! Line up!" yelled Sergeant Bashil, he was a lanky guy definitely not a person who would have survived on his homeworld, he had a slight discomfort in his voice almost like he had a sore throat or something, the guy was smart though so it was someone to follow especially since most of the people in the conscripts were maybe not the smartest of individuals.

It took maybe an hour for everyone to disembark and lineup, Richard looked at his gunner Nick as the orders for the last squad to line up was called it seemed like everything and everyone was ready to move but suddenly the ground started shaking, and we could see humanoid creatures on the edge of the city coming out of the ground.

Richard fist bumped Nick "Let us do this then" they started setting up their equipment when the commanders and HQ elements scattered and started barking orders.

@DeadDrop@Euphonium@FrostedCaramel@Oak7ree@Drunken Conquistador@CaptainBritton@tech@Katthaj

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The Sergeant allowed a coolness to wash over him, or as cool as one could be when faced with ones possible demise, a standard battle-practice of his people and one that had saved more than a few of them in times gone by. At the same time he quietly surveyed the battlefield, filtering out the percussive booms and recoils of the nearby Imperial armour, bringing to the fore all that he could remember about the 'Crons from both his own experience and from what he had been told by others.

"Killburn! Smith!" He bellowed through the continuing downpour, opening a micro-comm bead to their helmets just to be sure, "get that auto-cannon to the front and right of the squad. Open up as soon as you're done." His almond eyes did not need to look at them to know that his order would be followed to the letter - this squad was green, but even basic training would have instilled in them a sense of on-the-minute timing.

One hand went up to his helmet and was followed shortly by a quick nod to himself, his comm-bead opening to the entire squad as the whole Imperial formation shifted around them.

"Two lines, kneel and stand. Present your arms and get a good line on those bucket-heads."

All this time the Necrons had not stopped moving - and there would be little time for more than one or two volleys - so the line moved swiftly, causing the Sergeants chest to swell with pride, before all was ready and the call to begin firing went up.

"First rank...fire!"

"Rear rank...fire!"

"First rank...fire!"

"Rear rank...fire!"

It was a battle order as old as time itself, heard on a billion billion fields of war across the Milky Way, beams of focused energy leaping forth to sheer through skeletal limbs and puncture glowing green eye-sockets with equal impunity; the barrage lasted for several minutes, bringing down far fewer of the enemy than Bashil would have liked truth be told.

"Enough."

The fire sizzled down to nothing and now a new order was given, one that would decide the fate of this battle.

Already tendrils of green Gauss were wrapping themselves about screaming Guardsmen, flaying their very atoms apart and leaving nearly aught behind, Bashil drawing his curved knife from its sheath with a cry.

"Affix, bayonets!"

This would be a do-or-die charge, spearheaded by battle tanks and the Guards armoured might, out here on the plains the Fourth Squad (and the Vosmarth Regulars would either prove themselves or perish.