"Fall back!" Vortrech yelled, his sword aloft like a beacon. In line around him his battle brothers took formation, retreating with slow steps as their bolters punished the enemy. Through smoke and swirling ash they moved - a wall of blue and gold.
Before them was only blackness. The Chaos tide was closing, a horizon of spiked tanks and lumbering Dreadnoughts. The trenches around the Ultramarines were being carved and resculpted by their heavy fire. The Cathedral of St Cleinman had fallen, swarmed now by Traitor Guardsmen. They had held as long as they could, buying time for the preachers to bear the relics to safety.
Now they were withdrawing, towards the plateau where the Thunderhawks descended. An order from the Chapter Master. Full extraction. But they would make their enemies pay in blood for every step.
"This is Menelaus! We're overrun!" the vox-chatter crackled and was erased by gunfire.
Sergeant Vortrech whirled, gaze narrowing to a foxhole on the next rise. "Castigor! With me!" He broke into a sprint with Squad Castigor tight behind him. Autocannon shells were tearing gouges in the earth, the ruins of soil and metal peppered by bolter strikes. He could not afford to slow, to pay caution, to even glance at the rolling wave of Chaos. He bounded up a slope of cascading mud and rolled over into the crater beyond, where Squad Menelaus were making their last stand.
Traitor Guardsman, wielding lasgun and dual chainswords. They were dancing like madmen around the remains of the command squad. The Honour Guard were giving their lives to shield the Captain, who fired his bolter one handed now that his left arm had been torn from the elbow.
"For the Emperor!" Vortrech rammed the nearest Traitor, flinging him away, before loosing his sword in a vicious arc that sliced the cavities of another two. His bolt pistol fired left and right, shattering limbs and faces. Squad Castigor swept in behind him, a barrage of bolt shells blasting open the space between the two squads. Vortrech put his foot through the chest of the next heretic before crashing down on one knee, ducking as heavy bolter opened up behind him. The Guardsmen coming over the other side of the crater where erased in a mist of blood and smoke.
He moved again, into the final spiral. His sword skewered two more Guardsmen and he lost his grip on it, leaving it embedded as he rushed towards the Honour Guard. The standard bearer had fallen to the chainaxe of a Chaos Marine, no doubt the leader of the traitor unit. The Renegade's next swing knocked the bolter from the hand of Captain Scyros. The Ultramine Captain fell back, his chest exposed to the Chaos Marine's strike. The chainaxe lifted.
Then froze in the air. Vortrech looped his arm around the Renegade's and held the weapon at bay. His other hand pressed his bolt pistol to the back of the Chaos Marine's armour. The shell exploded inside him and sent bone and shrapnel ripping from his chest. The Renegade froze, his scarred face tipping back to stare at Vortrech. Their eyes met, even as the Chaos Marine's legs gave out. A stare of millenial hatred... as old as the burning stars.
Vortrech took his hand away and let the Renegade drop.
"Sir!" he put his arm under the Captain's and lifted him, moving with him over the edge of the crater. Behind them the rest of Squad Castigor were picking up the bodies of the Honour Guard, slinging them over their shoulders as they followed.
"I'll see you rewarded, Vortrech!" said Captain Scyros, his voice deep and powerful despite the agony he was in.
"I claim it now, Sir," Vortrech yelled back. Above them Thunderhawks were screeching on their final descents, landing gear deploying as they thudded onto the plateau. "I must go back for Deiter. He was cornered in the cathedral."
"Impossible. Orders are for full extraction. We leave now!" A gunship lowered in front of them, its assault hold gaping open. Other Marines were already charging aboard.
"I cannot leave him, Captain. He is of my first tribe." Vortrech deposited the captain on the floor of the assault hold, propping him against the bulkhead. Scyros's one remaining hand gripped the sergeant's, and beneath his visor his eyes were piercing blue.
"The order has been given," his voice hissed. "The
Malsumis comes to cleanse this world in fire. In 24 hours, there will be nothing left."
Vortrech hesitated, the trenches behind him burning with Chaos fire. The tanks were rolling towards the plateau, Dreadnoughts crushing the barricades and Traitor Guardsmen howling the names of their Dark Gods. The sergeant's face was like stone as he made his choice. "Then give me 24 hours."
The vox lines were screaming, the pilots demanding to make ascent before it was too late. In grim silence Captain Sycros drew his power sword and pressed it into the hand of Sergeant Vortrech. "There is a teleport chamber in the city of Gunniswade. I will ensure a homer is placed on the
Malsumis. They shall watch for you."
Vortrech gripped the sword, stepping back as the doors of the hold rolled closed. "May the Emperor watch over you." These were the last words he heard from the captain before the Thunderhawk lifted. The roar of its engines was deafening and the plateau shook as it took to the sky with the rest of the Company.
Alone in the smoke, the sergeant turned, locking his gaze on the Chaos line and the distant silhouette of Gunniswade.
His quest had begun.
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