This story is an unofficial story based, without permission, on the Warhammer/Warhammer 40,000 intellectual property owned by Games Workshop Ltd.
"And I can't help but wonder, no, Willy McBride,
Do all those who lie here, know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you the cause?
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing, and dying, it was all done in vain,
Oh Willy McBride, it all happened again
And again, and again, and again, and again."
The shells were hitting again. Callus hit the trench flood hard. Emperor be damned, did his head hurt. Struggling to his feet he cried out to his men.
"Move! We gotta get to the trains, Go! Go!"
The Orks had hit the trenches a good six hours ago by now. The Guard had held the line for a while, but not forever. The greenskins had starting hitting the line with siege artillery, and before long the sky was so filled with shells, from both sides, that Imperial air support had no means to get into the fight. The Guard were on their own, caught in a storm of death. The lines had broken, and the Orks were pushing through now. They had taken eight, maybe nine, trenches. The Guard was in a state of fighting retreat. The penal troopers were getting it the worst. They had fled almost as soon as the greenskins had come too close. The Kazarkanians were still putting up a fight of some kind as they pulled back.
Callus poured a few rounds over the edge of a trench, knocking out a couple Orks fighting in no man's land. His squad was working it's way through one of the many back-trenches, trying to get it's way back to the main line and take part in the pull-back to the train station that would get them to safety, behind the city wall.
Callus turned a corner. Big mistake. Beyond the line were twenty of the meanest looking Orks Callus had ever been the displeasure to be in the face of.
"We got trouble boys!" Callus screamed, pouring three rounds into the face of the first one, sending it down with a gurgle.
The one beyond it smashed Callus in the nose, sending him literally flying into the trench wall.
Callus' could hear Ox's stubber pouring out rounds as he struggled to his feet. Suddenly, he was being grabbed by the chest plate and pulled to his feet. Haydn was looking him in the eyes.
"How many fingers am I holding up, Mikey?"
"Uh, three?"
"Close enough, let's go."
And then they were back in it. Callus was dodging, kicking, biting, screaming, shooting, and doing all the normal things an Imperial Guardsman does when he finds himself in the middle of a horde of angry Orks. Somehow he got his bayonet on to his barrel and started stabbing, as well. By the time he realized where he was they were all dead and Haydn was pulling him along the trenches again.
That's battle for you, Callus thought to himself as he stumbled along.
"Stop, stop for a moment!" It was Brenner.
They stopped, and Haydn told Callus to sit down. He did. A flashlight was being shone in his eye.
"Minor concussion, nothing to worry about right now, but we need to get him attention when we get back in the city."
The stubber was firing, Ox spoke over the loud report.
"We better move if we hope to ever get back in the city!"
Brenner nodded quickly. Callus was being pulled to his feet again.
"Alright Mikie, this is gonna be real easy. Follow us, and when you see something green, point and click until it's dead. Real easy, right? Right. Let's go."
They were running again. Shooting. Crying out. Screams surrounded him. The blood was running so thick that it seemed as if a thin red fog had taken over the land. Dirt, body parts, and shell, were as a constant rain. The sky was dark. Callus was only vaguely conscious of the battle cries that emanated from his own lips as he charged, shot, stabbed, and killed the enemies of the Emperor.
A shell hit somewhere nearby. A combination of dirt and blood covered the side of Callus' face. He felt the taste of copper on his tongue. The blood was not his own. He spat it out.
A gigantic, roaring, green mass was suddenly in front of him. A huge steel claw was rushing towards him. He pulled the trigger. The roaring face disappeared in a few flashes of red light. Pink and gray bits flew into the air, and the mass of muscle and steel hit the floor.
Then, as if a great veil was lifted, Callus returned to full consciousness. The roar of the shells and the screams of the dying was infinitely louder. To his left, a man in the orange jumpsuit of a penal legionnaire lay sobbing, his legs blown off, bleeding profusely. The field was littered with the bodies of Orks and men in equal number. The din of battle was deafening.
The trenches shook with the fury of war, artillery surrounded them as they charged through, into the battle, and out of it. Firing in quick bursts, killing Orks and then running back into, and back out of, Imperial held trenches. They had to get to the trains.
The Orks took the trench in front of them, and charged up, into no man's land, charging directly at them. Callus hit the wall with the rest of the squad, grimacing and pouring rounds into the greenskins. There were far too many of them to strike them down before they reached their trench.
So this is how it ends, then. Caught between a trench wall and a mob of Orks, Callus thought to himself.
Out of nowhere, as if by magic, the Orks evaporated. Turning in wonder, Callus saw a huge, steel, blue vehicle above them. A Leman Russ, unmistakable. The blue paint marked it as the property of the New Gurgenstein Armored Corps.
Cheers were going up throughout the Imperial lines. Reinforcements! Reinforcements had come! The Armored Corps was here.
"ATTENTION ALL IMPERIAL UNITS! REINFORCEMENTS HAVE REACHED YOUR LINES! HOWEVER, THE GENERAL CALL FOR RETREAT REMAINS IN EFFECT! I REPEAT, THE GENERAL CALL FOR RETREAT REMAINS IN EFFECT! THE TRENCHES ARE TO BE ABANDONED IMMEDIEATELY! ABANDON THE TRENCHES IMMEDIATELY!"
The voice that was emanating from large vox-towers the tanks were carrying on their backs was unmistakable. They came from the Lord-General himself. Montego was broadcasting.
"Alright boys, you heard the general!" Callus cried, firing a quick burst in the general direction of the Orks. "LET'S ROLL!"
***
"LORD-GENERAL, AM I TO UNDERSTAND THAT YOU ARE ORDERING A GENERAL RETREAT FROM THE TRENCHES!?!" Governor Gonsalves burst into the command room, Colonel Flaviun at his back.
Lord-General Julian Montego turned from the command-vox from which he had been broadcasting his orders to the men.
"Yes, Governor, that is correct."
"AND WHERE EXACTLY, DO YOU THINK YOU DERIVE THAT AUTHORITY FROM?" The Governor was clearly enraged. A vein in his forehead appeared as if it was about to pop.
Montego coughed, and spoke.
"I seem to remember something, Governor, that you said about placing me in command of your defenses."
"AND YOU PLAN TO DEFEND THE CITY BY RETREATING?"
"Yes, I do. These trenches cannot be held without a massive expenditure of lives. I plan to retake Heimlin fortress after we drive off this attack. Now, Admiral Chadwick has expressed to me confidence that, should we retreat from the trenches, her air power will be able to dispatch the greenskin forces there. Maybe we wouldn't have come to this situation if the good Colonel Flaviun had allowed his storm troopers to be utilized in the defense."
Flaviun narrowed his eyes at Montego. If looks were lasers, the Lord-General would have been a smoking crater.
"My men are the Governor's personal bodyguard. They are the most elite forces on this planet. They will not man the trenches like petty grunts," the Colonel spat.
"So far, my good colonel, it would appear that the Orks are the most elite forces on this planet," Montego replied, coolly.
Flaviun's lips curled, and a low growl emanated.
"ENOUGH! I will see you court-martialed for this action, General! Court-martialed!" the governor said, before turning to storm out.
Flaviun gave Montego one last once over, and then turned to follow his commander.
"Now that that is over, let us get back to handling this war, shall we?" Montego said to the adjutants surrounding him. He gazed at the command door one last time before turning back to the command-vox operator. No, he did not trust Colonel Marcus Flaviun. He did not trust him at all.
***
Another blast shook the station as Callus led his men down into the train station. Subways were shooting off and coming back in what seemed like record speed as Imperial and local troopers hurried to get aboard a transport. The Orks' lines had advanced near the station now, and it wouldn't be long before the trains fell. As for the men trapped there...only the Emperor knew. The station was teeming with remote charges. The plan was to detonate them once the last available train left to ensure that the Orks could not use the tunnels to get under the wall and into the hive. Any man in the station when those charges went off would have no chance of survival.
"There!" Jackson cried out, pointing towards the nearest train. It was nearly full, but there was still some room left.
Callus nodded, and the squad moved forward, they were about to reach the train when the heavy bolters stationed at the entrance began to fire, and a great battle cry went up through the station.
"WAAAAGH!"
As if out of nowhere, a green tide burst through the door and into the station. The Orks had arrived.
Callus turned just in time to have a gigantic mailed fist hit him hard in the chest cavity and send him hard to the ground. His back hit cement, and he was starting into the lights on the ceiling. Didn't look much different than the white light he was supposed to see before going to meet the Emperor. Then a gigantic knife entered his field of vision, held in a chubby green fist, rushing down toward his eyes.
Callus sighed, more exasperated than anything. Here we go again, he thought to himself, more exasperated than anything.
Rolling out of the way, he heard the knife bust through cement. Leaping to his feet, he wheeled himself around just in time to see the Ork trying to pull his knife out of the ground. Callus smirked, before kicking the Ork in the elbow as hard as he could. He was rewarded by the sound of a breaking bone and a scream of pain. Quickly drawing his auto-pistol from its holster he aimed it coolly at the Ork's temple and pulled the trigger. The recoil was quick and hard, and the top of the Ork's skull exploded in a mist of crimson blood and gray brain.
Callus shoved the pistol back in its holster and bent down to grab his lasgun. Just then a very familiar mailed fist grabbed him by the throat and pulled him into the air. Callus found himself staring into the mean, crimson eyes of the Ork he had just killed. And sure enough, the top of his skull was indeed missing, along with a good chunk of his brain.
"Holy Emperor, the beast doesn't know he's dead yet!"
Suddenly he heard a shrill, high pitched battle cry, and the rest of the Ork's head was annihilated in a flurry of lasers.
Callus fell to the ground, landing on his feet, and prying the dead green fingers from around his throat. Quickly looking around, he saw McClellan standing there, shaking, staring at the corpse, the barrel of his las-pistol smoking.
"Private, you saved my life!"
McClellan stared at him. No response.
"First kill huh? Yea, I thought so. Anyways, come on, we gotta go!"
Callus turned to board the train with the rest of his squad, who were now aboard, he turned to get McClellan to follow, and suddenly, Callus' eyes widened in shock and fear.
McClellan was running towards the closing doors, screaming out Callus' name. He was being chased by a gigantic Ork clad in powered armor, a chain-axe whirring in each hand.
"McCLELLAN!" Callus cried out, raising his las fire and hammering down the trigger.
Ox and Jackson had taken notice now, and they both joined in the fire. Ox's heavy stubber trained itself on the Ork and began to rip it apart, piece by piece.
Not quick enough. The chain-axes came down hard on McClellan's shoulder-blades, going right through his torso and tearing his body into four pieces, in a large, X-shaped slice. As the doors closed and the train shot down the tunnel, the last thing Callus saw was the shocked, horrified, and betrayed gaze of Private Milton McClellan of the 207th Kazarkanian assault infantry division, first regiment, second battalion, third company. Soldier in the care of Corporal Michael Callus. And then there was only the darkness of the tunnel.
Hive World Terra