“Hardly； new fish。” Repzik said； his cell already changed and firing with the rest。 “If this battle
gets to bayonet range we’ve as good as lost it。 Now； shut up and start shooting！”
Out in no…man’s land the charging orks came ever closer。 By now most of the gretchin were
dead； winnowed away by blast and shrapnel。 Though the ranks of the orks had also been thinned；
from where Larn stood there looked to be thousands of them left。 All bearing down across the
battered landscape of no…man’s land in a relentless and barbaric tide hell bent on slaughter。
There’s no stopping them； Larn thought。 We’re going to be overrun！
He saw orks armed with short bulbous…headed sticks running at the head of the mob； the sticks
covered in a lethal profusion of spikes； blades and flanges。 At first he took the weapons in their
hands to be some form of primitive mace or club。 Until he saw the front rank of orks suddenly throw
the same “clubs” to land in the frozen mud before the trenches； each one exploding in a shower of
shrapnel。 Instinctively； seeing one of the stick…grenades land a few metres from his trench； Larn
ducked his head to avoid the deadly fragments whistling through the air above it。 An action that
drew a terse reprimand for Repzik。
“Damnation； new fish。 Keep your fool head up and keep on shooting！” Repzik yelled。 “They’re
trying to make us keep our heads down so they can get in close。”
Doing as he was told； Larn resumed firing。 Only to look on in horror with the rest of the men as；
flying through the air so slowly it might almost have been moving in slow motion； another of the
stick grenades hit the parapet and bounced inside their trench。
“Stikk bomb！” Vidmir screamed。 “Bail out！”
Rushing to evacuate the trench with the others； Larn scrambled over the trench wall behind him；
stumbling over his own two feet as he made it to ground level and turned to run for cover。 He
tripped； his body already falling towards the ground as the blast of the stikk bomb ripped through
the air behind him。 He felt a pain in his shoulder and a sudden pressure in his ears。 Then； he hit the
ground and everything went black。
He became aware of a ringing in his ears； his face cold against the hard frozen mud beneath him。
Through the haze of returning consciousness； he heard men screaming and shouting； the sound of
lasguns being fired； the bestial roars and bellows of what could have only been orks。 The noises of a
battle going on all around him。
Starting abruptly awake； with a surge of fear Larn lifted his head from the mud and looked about
him to try and gain his bearings。 He was lying face down on the ground； the pain in his shoulder
having diminished to nothing more than a distant ache； while on every side around him Guardsmen
and orks fought in brutal combat。 He saw an ork shot point…blank in the face； its feral inhuman
features burned away in the blink of an eye by a lasgun on full burst。 He saw a Guardsman in the
uniform of the Jumael 14th die screaming as another ork disembowelled him with the blade of a
great gore…stained axe。 He saw men and orks fighting； their feet slipping and stumbling over the
bodies of their fallen comrades beneath them； the details of which side was winning or losing
unclear in the fog and haze of combat。 He saw blood and he saw slaughter。 He saw savagery from
human and alien alike。 His eyes opened； he saw the reality of war once all the noble pretensions
were stripped away。
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Then； as the appalling spectacle continued to unfold around him； Larn’s heart began to beat
wildly in his chest as a dreadful thought suddenly occurred to him。
Where is my lasgun； he thought； looking about him in panic。 Sweet Emperor； I must have lost it
when I fell。
Feeling suddenly naked； Larn began scrabbling frantically among the fallen bodies lying nearby
in search of a weapon。 No sooner had he started than he all but fell over a gretchin searching among
the bodies for reasons of its own。 For a second they stood face…to…face； the creature was as
astonished to see Larn as he was to see it。 Then； noticing a sly smile come over the gretchin’s face
as it made to lift its gun and point it at him； Larn leapt screaming towards it。
Knocking the gun from the gretchin’s hands before it could shoot； Larn made to grab for it
himself； only for the gun to skip away from both of them as the force of their impact sent them
falling to the ground。 Pushing himself on top of the creature； desperately trying to hold it off with
one hand as it clawed and bit at him； Larn felt the fingers of his free hand brush a hard object lying
on the ground beside him and he grabbed it。 As he raised the object and brought it crashing down
into the gretchin’s face； Larn became dimly aware he was holding his own helmet but he was past
caring。 In a frenzy born of self…preservation； he raised the helmet and smashed it down into the
gretchin’s face again and again。 Repeatedly smashing the creature in the face until the helmet in his
hand was slick with black ichor。 Then； finally realising the gretchin had stopped moving long ago；
Larn paused to catch his breath。 By then； there was no trace left of the smile he had seen from the
gretchin when it had tried to kill him。 Below him； the gretchin’s face had been reduced to a battered
shapeless pulp。 The creature was dead。 It could no longer hurt him。
Hearing the chilling sound of an alien battlecry； Larn looked up from the dead body beneath him
to see a group of a dozen orks charging towards him。 For a moment he almost turned； whether to run
away or scramble after the gretchin’s fallen gun to defend himself he did not know。 Only to realise
that no matter what he did now it would make no difference。 The orks were too close。 He was as
good as dead already。
This is it； he thought； his panic abruptly displaced by an unnerving sense of calm。 I am going to
die here。 I am a dead man and there is nothing anyone can do to save me。
“Forward！” he heard a voice yell as a shotgun boomed behind him and the face of the foremost
ork disappeared in an explosion of gore。 “Vardans； by my mark！ Advance and rapid fire！”
Amazed； Larn saw a battle…scarred sergeant in a grey…black greatcoat stride past him leading a
ragtag band of Vardans in a counter…charge against the orks。 Moving at a slow walk； firing from the
hip with shotguns； lasguns and flamers blazing； they advanced towards the oncoming orks； taking a
gruesome toll of the enemy with every step towards them。 While before them orks screamed and
died； the sergeant led his men forward with bullets and lasbeams flying all around him； his pace
never faltering； his voice a clear beacon of authority among the confusion of battle。 Watching the
sergeant lead his men from the front； his every gesture calm and unafraid； Larn found himself
wondering if one of the long…dead saints of the Imperium had somehow regained human form and
now walked among them。 The sergeant seemed immortal。 Unkillable。 Like a hero from the tales
they told in the scholarium。
A legend； leading his men to victory。
“Forward！” the sergeant yelled； the counterattack gaining momentum as every man still alive in
the trenches gathered to advance beside him。 “Keep on firing。 Forward and advance！”
Following the sergeant’s lead the advance continued； the constant fire of the Vardan guns and
the slow measured pace of their progress seemed every bit as relentless and unstoppable as had the
orks’ charge earlier。 Until； wilting before the remorseless ferocity of the Vardans’ attack； the orks
did something which Larn had never thought he would live to see。
They turned and ran。
Watching the surviving orks run back towards their lines； Larn slowly became aware of a brief
hush falling across the battlefield as the Vardans’ advance halted and they stopped firing。 Soon； as it
39
became plain the orks’ attack was ended； new sounds broke the silence： the cries of wounded men；
the shouts of their comrades calling for a medic； the noise of nervous laughter and disbelieving
oaths as other men found they were still very much alive。 Hearing those sounds； Larn felt the
tension abruptly leave him as the realisation hit him that he had survived。 Still kneeling over the
body of the dead gretchin； he looked down at the thing’s rained face in with sudden queasiness；
afraid he was going to vomit。 Then； he saw a shadow fall across him as a nearby Guardsman came
to stand beside him。
“You must be a new fish？” a cynical voice asked him。 “One of the new groxlings to the
slaughter they sent us in the lander？ I think this belongs to you。”
Looking up； Larn found himself staring at an ugly dwarfish Vardan with a shaven head and a
mouthful of stained and crooked teeth。 The Vardan was holding a lasgun in each hand； one of which
Larn recognised sheepishly as his own gun — the same weapon he had lost earlier。
“Here； new fish；” the rant said； giving him a sardonic broken…toothed smile as he tossed the
lasgun towards him。 “Next time you need to kill a gretch； you might try using this。”
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CHAPTER SEVEN
13：39 hours Central Broucheroc Time
The Field Station — Lessons in Futility； Parts One & Two — Friends & Heroes Awaiting Disposal
— Welcome to the 902ND