tunnel. And get someone in charge over here now. I’ll need to speak to him at once.”
Good men fell screaming behind Kabanov and the sound filled him with rage, adding speed and
power to the strokes of his sword. His hellpistol was empty and there was no time to reload. For
every ork that went down, another stepped forward swinging wildly with club or blade. Instead,
Kabanov focused on his sword craft, letting his power sabre become an extension of his body and
his will. The ground at his feet was slick with freezing blood, slippery with greenskin viscera. The
footing was bad, but Kabanov had spent his whole life training for fights such as this. As old as he
was, he still retained some of the balance and agility that had made him a regimental combat
champion so many years ago. The orks weren’t quite as graceful. One slipped on the entrails of its
fellows and dropped to one knee. Kabanov lunged forward in a flash and plunged the point of his
power sabre into the creature’s brain.
“Lieutenant Kuritsin,” he shouted. “Where in the warp is my damned armour support?”
Kuritsin was close enough to hear. “Sorry, sir. The vox-channels are absolutely choked. I can’t
get through.”
Colonel Kabanov knew they were choked. He could hear the panicked transmissions of the
Thirty-Fifth Regiment’s armour platoons in his own ear. His vox-bead insisted on telling him just
how grim things were for Vostroyan soldiers all across this doomed half of the city. As he listened,
he recognized the voice of Sergeant Svemir.
“This is Svemir to Fifth Company command,” voxed the medic. “Can you hear me?”
“I hear you, Svemir,” replied Kabanov. “What’s your status? Where is the Pathcutter now?”
“We’ve been crippled, sir. We’re stuck out on the highway. The orks are cutting their way in. I
just wanted to say good luck, sir. I’m giving our wounded something to send them on. I’m sure you
understand, sir. I couldn’t let the orks kill helpless men. For my part, I intend to go down fighting.”
There was little Kabanov could say to that except, “You’re a brave man, sergeant. The Grey
Lady waits to take you to the Emperor’s side. Have no doubt about that.”
“Thank you, sir,” voxed the medic. “They’ve broken through now.”
At the sergeant’s end, the vox went dead. Kabanov felt his stomach twist with anger at the foul
xenos. He wouldn’t allow this to be the end. “We have to press north,” he shouted. “We have to cut
through them. Maro, I want you to move into the centre of our circle and start throwing grenades
ahead of us. We must thin the ork ranks there if we want to push through.”
Lieutenant Maro did so without question. From the centre of the circle, he began lobbing hand
grenades into the packed orks. The resulting explosions showered Fifth Company with hot blood
and sent broken green bodies tumbling through the air. The momentary gaps these explosions
created lessened the pressure on the circle’s north side and allowed Fifth Company to push towards
their goal a little at a time. But it was far from enough.
There were fresh screams from the southern and eastern sides of the circle. Fifth Company was
losing more men all the time. Pain flared in Kabanov’s leg as a cleaver whistled past, tearing a red
slash above his knee.
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“Fight on, Firstborn!” he roared. “The sons of Vostroya will never fall!”
But he knew, even as he said it, that he was tiring fast. The fire in his lungs was returning. He
started wheezing again. Adrenaline and natural endorphins couldn’t hold the pain of his illness at
bay any longer.
Just a little more, he thought. Emperor help me. Just give me a little more time.
More screaming sounded behind him and the Vostroyan circle grew smaller and smaller.
“You’re in charge?” asked Karif, eyeing the tall, slim officer that stood before him, resplendent in
Vostroyan finery that remained unsullied by battle.
“Of this particular platoon, commissar, yes I am. Lieutenant Vemko Orodrov, commanding
officer of the Vostroyan Firstborn 41st Armoured Regiment’s Second Tank Platoon, at your
service.”
“Excellent, lieutenant,” replied Karif, “It’s your services that I require. You arrived here
yesterday from Seddisvarr with very specific orders from General Vlastan, is that not so?”
“It is. We’re to hold the bridge open for as long as possible so that your Fifth Company might
cross with an important prisoner. I see you and your men, commissar, but I don’t see any prisoner.
I’m afraid there is little time left before the ork horde forces us to fall back. We’ll have to withdraw
in the next few minutes if we’re to be clear before the bridge is blown. The orks mustn’t set one foot
on Theqis under any circumstances. The general was very clear about that. You may cross with us,
commissar, but you won’t find a warm welcome in Seddisvarr with your mission unfulfilled. The
general will be displeased.”
“Displeased with you, lieutenant, if you don’t do everything in your power to aid me now,
particularly with the prisoner in question so close at hand.”
“He’s close by?”
“Very,” said the commissar. “Colonel Kabanov and the rest of the company are attempting to
force their way through the ork lines as we speak, but I’m sure you’ve seen how many orks they’re
up against.”
“They’re trying to cut a path through on foot?” asked the lieutenant incredulously. “It’s
impossible, commissar. They’re dead men for sure.”
“They will be, unless you assign me three tanks and their crews to help open a corridor for
them.”
The lieutenant shook his head emphatically. “I- I can’t, commissar. The ork armour is rolling
right towards us. We need every machine we’ve got just to withdraw safely. No, you… you’re
asking the impossible.”
Before the lieutenant could blink, Karif whipped his chainsword from its scabbard and up to the
officer’s neck, thumbing the power nine in mid-motion. The weapon purred threateningly into the
young officer’s left ear.
Karif smiled. “Impossible is not a word they teach at the Schola Excubitos, lieutenant.”
Sebastev couldn’t risk a glance behind him, but he heard Lieutenant Maro cry out and knew that
something was wrong. A trooper yelled, “The White Boar is wounded!”
As those words filled the air, there was a roar of anger from the surviving men. The fighting
intensified as if every single ork they faced was personally responsible. More orks fell, and yet more
pressed forward. The Vostroyans were few, and each moment was met by the screams of another
man as he was cleaved apart by laughing alien brutes.
A monstrous black ork pushed its way through the front ranks and roared at Sebastev, spraying
thick mucus into the air. It tossed its head and gnashed its massive yellow tusks together, lifting its
axe to launch a horizontal stroke that missed by a hair. The blade of the axe lodged deep in the body
of another ork on the right. Before the monster had time to pull his weapon free, Sebastev leapt
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forward, placed his boot on the bent knee of the ork’s lead leg, and stepped up to plunge his blade
down through the top of the ork’s head.
As the giant body collapsed, Sebastev jumped backwards, returning to his position in the circle.
“Lieutenant Tarkarov is down!” shouted someone.
Hestor’s balls, thought Sebastev, not Tarkarov!
“Captain Chelnikov is dead!” shouted another.
“Captain Sebastev,” yelled Lieutenant Maro, “you have to take command. The White Boar is
wounded. The prisoner must get through.”
Khek the prisoner, thought Sebastev, but he knew Maro was right.
“Aronov?” yelled Sebastev. “Aronov, are you alive?”
A laspistol appeared at Sebastev’s shoulder and burned the face from the ork right in front of
him. “I am, sir,” growled the big scout in his ear. “I won’t be for much longer if this keeps up. We
can’t thin the bastards out, sir. Let me drop the traitor and fight unhindered alongside the rest of
you.”
It was a fair request. Aronov wanted to die giving his very best. He clearly believed they
couldn’t prevail. Sebastev could only agree. Perhaps it had been hopeless from the start. There were
just too many orks and every single man who’d fallen so far had sold his life dear. He was proud of
them, proud to be their captain.
This is how a Guardsman is meant to die, he thought. There’s no dishonour in this, not in
fighting with all you’ve got until your very last breath.
“Fair enough, trooper,” said Sebastev. “Drop the pris—”
The air was ripped by a mighty explosion. Just a hundred metres or so to Sebastev’s left a great
cloud of dirt and green bodies erupted into the air. It was deafening. Moments later another cloud
burst upwards, throwing hunks of ork meat down onto the Vostroyans. It was much closer this time.
The ground shook.
“Armour!” shouted Lieutenant Kuritsin. “Leman Russ tanks on the north side.”
A cheer went up from the remaining Vostroyans as the sound of heavy bolter fire filled the air.
The vicious buzz of lascannons followed before the ground shook again at the impact of another
shell from the tank’s demolisher cannon.
The orks started to turn their heads.
Sebastev was too short to see over them, but from the frequency of the cannon-fire he counted
three separate tanks firing on the ork horde.
“I don’t have all day,” voxed a familiar voice.
“Commissar,” voxed Sebastev, “we thought…”
“I don’t care what you thought, captain. We’ve got the orks blindsided and we’re thinning their
ranks for you, but if you and your men don’t get a bloody move on, it’ll be for nothing. The orks
have got armour moving in from the east at speed. You’ve got minutes until the north bridge is sent
to the riverbed.”
More explosions rocked the street. “Maro,” shouted Sebastev, “get the colonel up and get ready
to move. Aronov, don’t you dare drop that prisoner. We’re getting out of here, now.”
Sebastev stopped shouting long enough to sever the hands of an ork wielding two iron clubs.
Then he drove the point of his blade through the beast’s throat. A flick of his wrist sent the ork’s
head rolling to the surface of the street.
“Fifth Company,” he yelled. “Move, now. For the White Boar and the Sixty-Eighth, go!”
The circle broke and the men surged forward behind Sebastev. He heard Kuritsin urging them
on. Father Olov charged ahead, cleaving a broad path through the orks now that there was more
room to swing his huge eviscerator.
“Get behind me,” bellowed the old priest. “I will cut a way through.”
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The eviscerator chainsword growled as it chewed through thick ork bodies. Dozens fell in front
of the redoubtable priest. Troopers rushed in behind him to protect his back.
Sebastev hacked and slashed as he moved, aware of Aronov beside him, the prisoner still slung
over his shoulder. Maro, too, was close by. He carried the White Boar while troopers surrounded
him, stabbing out at the greenskins with their bayonets.
Sebastev realised that Maro was struggling to carry both the colonel and the traitor’s case. With
his free hand, he wrestled the case from the adjutant. “I’ll take care of this thing. You just focus on
getting the colonel to safety, Maro.”
The lieutenant nodded.
The ground exploded so close to Sebastev that he was almost knocked from his feet. “Watch
your fire, commissar,” he voxed angrily. “You’ll kill us before the orks do.”
As he uttered these words, more troopers fell howling at the rear of the charge, their bodies
smashed apart by savage blows from the greenskins that harried them.
Sebastev kept his sword moving as he pushed through. Everything was a high-speed blur of ugly
alien faces and gleaming weapons. More explosions sounded close by and shook the rockcrete
underfoot. He could feel the heat from lascannon beams where they strafed the ork line. Heavy
bolters chugged as they cut down scores of unprotected greenskins with enfilading fire.
Then, with an explosion that was too close for comfort and a yell of triumph from Father Olov,
Fifth Company broke into the open. They’d made it through to the other side of the ork line.
Sebastev could see the Leman Russ tanks just ahead. Commissar Karif could be seen at the hatch of
the leading tank, manning a pintle-mounted heavy bolter and yelling orders to the crews inside.
“Run to the tanks,” yelled Sebastev. “Give it all you’ve got!”
His men raced forward as the Leman Russ continued to pour fire on the orks, dissuading them
from pursuit. Orks weren’t easily dissuaded, however. They charged forward, unmindful of the
horrendous casualties they were taking.
Despite the weight of the prisoner, Sebastev saw Aronov racing ahead. The moment he reached
the first Leman Russ, he threw the man up onto the back of the tank, turned, and began firing at the
orks with his laspistol. “Someone, give me a proper bloody weapon,” he shouted.
Other men reached the tanks: Sergeants Basch and Rahkman, Lieutenant Vassilo, Troopers
Kovo, Kashr, Akmir: more, but still too few. The moment Sebastev reached the commissar’s tank,
he threw the traitor’s case up beside the man, reloaded his bolt pistol, and turned to stand with
Aronov, firing shot after shot back towards the orks, concentrating on those that threatened
Lieutenant Maro as he carried Colonel Kabanov forward.
“Don’t be fools,” shouted Commissar Karif. “Get up onto the tanks and hold on. We’ve got to
make the bridge before they blow the damned thing.”
Sebastev stopped firing long enough to help Maro and Kuritsin lift Colonel Kabanov up onto the
vehicle. When the colonel was safely onboard, everyone else scrambled up onto the back.
“Go, commissar,” called Sebastev over the drumming of the heavy bolters. “We’re all on
board.”
Each of the huge tanks was covered in Fifth Company survivors, clinging on for their lives as
the tank drivers kicked their machines into high gear. Colonel Kabanov lay between Maro and
Sebastev on the back of Commissar Karif’s machine. As the tank moved off, he gripped Sebastev’s
sleeve and said, “Grenades, captain.”
Blood was leaking from his mouth and nose. His skin had turned a ghostly white.
“Good idea, sir,” said Sebastev. He pulled two grenades from his bandolier.
The colonel struggled to sit up. “No, Sebastev. Give them to me, both of them.”
Sebastev was confused, but he did as he was ordered.
Colonel Kabanov faced Lieutenant Maro. “You’ll explain it to him?” he asked.
Maro nodded sincerely, and Sebastev saw tears in the man’s eyes.
