Story Part 3

“Krark.” He cursed, freezing in position, hoping he hadn’t been seen. But a triumphant roar from the Orks told him otherwise, and bullets began to trace through the air around him. Cursing under his breath, he turned on his heel and vaulted through the window behind him, hurling himself across the street into the next building. He knew they were following, he could hear the Orks baying for his blood, their bullets hammering the masonry around him as he dived through a doorway. He had planned this however, he knew the city like the back of his hand, and his routes through it were clear. Leaping over a pile of rubble, he darted to his left, turning to catch his pursuers in his sights. Sure enough, they burst through the door frame, spittle flying from their mouths. He fired. The first Ork collapsed, tripping those behind him. With a wry smile he turned to flee again, nimbly sidestepping the treacherous holes in the broken building as he did so. The Orks’ cries had grown louder and more furious, their shots blowing through the walls as he sprinted, weaving to avoid the slugs that were showering him in concrete. He was nearly there, his breath still steady, the only sign of exertion being the beads of sweat trickling across his forehead. He pressed his left hand into the communication device in his ear, shouting over the cracking of bullets and crumbling stonework.

“Brennan to Hotel. We have inbound, twelve bogies, repeat twelve. Coming through building route 26-A. Repeat, 26-A. Brennan out.”

A cracking voice replied in his ear, Brennan’s face frowning in concentration as he ran the final yards. The Orks were nearly on him, he could imagine their breath upon his skin. They had given up shooting, their blood was up, and he knew they would tear him apart if they caught him. His eyes glanced ahead into the looming building opposite, noticing the glints in the windows and shadows. Spurred on, he rounded up a flight of stairs, leaping through a gaping hole in the ruined wall, his body flailing as it flew through open air.

“Gotcha!” A gruff voice grunted, as Brennan’s wrists were grabbed by two scarred hands. Scrabbling his feet against the wall for purchase, he scrambled through the window of the building. Looking up, he found himself staring into a gnarled face, tattoos covering one cheek, and scars the other.

“Just in time Sergeant,” Brennan grinned. “They’ll be arriving any moment now.”

Replying with a grunt, his Sergeant turned to the men crouched by windows and in doorways.

“Weapons free boys.”

Leaning his rifle against the windowsill, Brennan readied himself. A mighty cry came from across the street as the Orks burst out of the building, charging headlong towards the entrenched position.

“Bring them down!” Bellowed the Sergeant, his voice sending thin contrails of dust eddying around the ruins. As one, the Imperial Guardsmen stood and fired, the bark of their rifles cutting into the rampaging Xenos, burning flesh and shattering bone. Brennan’s rifle joined the cacophony, its reverberating crack punctuating the well drilled lasgun fire. To his left thundered the soldier’s Heavy Stubber, hurling solid slugs into the beasts with enough force to bring them to their knees. Ducking and diving into cover, all the while trying to get close enough to tear the Guardsmen apart, the Orks’ brutal weapons coughed fire in return, most of their rounds slamming into the masonry, but a few found their mark, two guardsmen falling backwards with gaping wounds in their bodies. A sudden movement caught Brennan’s eye, and he swung his rifle to the right.

His eyes grew wide in horror.

“Krarking Emperor!” He cried over the battle, trying to get the attention of his squadmates. “On the right, contacts! Multiple hostiles inbound!”

His voice echoed as the final shots rang out, signalling the death of the final Ork below. The Guardsmen’s face hardened as the silence after the battle was filled with a low rumbling sound coming through the streets.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

************

Guardsman Allen heaved himself upright, wincing as the pain in his ankle lanced up his leg.

“Move it soldier!” Cried the Sergeant, pulling the limping man to his feet. “We haven’t got all day!”

Allen spat as he ran, shifting the weight of the heavy stubber, trying to balance himself. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his loader, Stephan, struggling to run under the weight of his equipment.

“Keep it up Stephan!” He roared, “They aren’t slowing down.”

Brennan’s voice crackled through the soldier’s headsets, cutting through the hubbub as the squad ducked through the maze of backstreets.

“Keep moving, keep moving. We have less than three minutes to contact. Frag traps in Sector 29 – C detonated, that kept the krarking slugs down for a bit, but they’ve redoubled their pace. Move it!”

The last words came out as a shout, before Brennan cut his communicator. Risking a glance through his scope, he watched the horde tearing through the rubble. Dozens of Orks were converging on their position, smashing through walls and windows, vaulting wrecked tanks and corpses. They were unstoppable. Brennan swung his view around, looking for the Sergeant. He stood at the head of the column, exhorting his troops onwards. Brennan gritted his teeth; it was going to be close. If he hadn’t seen the Orks, they’d already be dead. As it stood, they had little chance, but if they could reach their last strongpoint then at least there’d be a fight. He stood, leaping down from the ruined cornice that had been his vantage point, and began to jump and sprint over the wrecked rooftops in an effort to catch his squad.

******

“Shut it up tight, I want nothing coming through!” The Sergeant roared orders to his men as they hurriedly drew barricades into windows and doors, prepared fire points and grenade traps, and threw razorwire in front of their positions.

“ETA two minutes!” Came Brennan’s cry from the rafters.

This building had once been a manufactorum, churning out ammunition and plate metal for the Imperial war machine. Now it was but a shell, all useful materials stripped long ago. The survivors had scavenged what they could, creating a bastion of sorts. Doors had been welded closed, windows lined with explosive traps, rooms lined with firing steps to create kill points. If there was anywhere to make a last stand, it was here.

“One minute!” Brennan’s frantic cry echoed around the structure.

“Listen up boys!” Cried the Sergeant. “We’re all that’s left now. Everyone else, dead. Killed by those krarking sons of bitches. Now, if we’re gonna die, make them pay. To your places!”

The soldiers fanned out, not a hint of despair amongst them, their eyes hard, and faces etched with a grim certainty. They would fight, or they would die.

Brennan’s rifle cracked as he took the first shot, bringing down a slavering Ork as it leapt free of the razorwire traps.

“CONTACT!”

He worked the bolt of his rifle rapidly, ejecting the spent hot-shot charge, drawing another into the chamber, before taking aim and firing again. Peering through the scope, he quickly surveyed their position, looking for any breaches to direct his fire into.

Guardsman Allen’s heavy stubber thudded rounds through its firing arc. He wasn’t aiming, but he didn’t need to, the wall of Orks clambering through the rubble was almost impossible to miss. Lying to his left, his loader Stephan kept the feed steady and rapid, counting down the rounds left in the weapon.

Along the walls, guardsmen stood on perches, firing into the teeming mass of Orks. The fevered crowd had grown as it charged through the city, picking up roaming bands of greenskins, all baying for a fight. They had one now.

The Sergeant stood in a half open doorway, hacking any Orks that tried to scramble through with his chainsword, hunks of flesh spattering the concrete at his feet. The defences seemed to be holding, a wall of firepower against the rage fuelled mass of Orks that pressed the walls, searching for an entrance. Brennan watched as an Ork almost made it through a window, before a guardsman stepped under his flailing arms and calmly gutted him with his combat knife. Brennan’s rifle barked again as another tried to break through a barricaded window. His hand moved to the bolt, across the smooth finish of his rifle, brushing the names engraved there, and began to pull it back, when the entire building rocked under an explosion. Almost dislodged, Brennan gripped his precarious position, steadying himself, before looking below. The defenders were disorientated and shaken by the blast, covered in dust and masonry. At least three troopers were dead, their bodies pulverised by the force of the detonation. His ears ringing, Brennan screamed to the men below.

“Breach in the South East corner! Orks inbound! Fall back to point two!”

Pulling back the bolt of his rifle, he fired into ranks of Orks that were clambering through the hole, knocking them back. He could hear the Sergeant below, and the rhythmic fire he could see through his scope told him that they were falling back rapidly. He loosed another shot, dropping another Ork, before pulling back himself, scuttling along the rafters.

Allen’s heavy stubber was destroyed, the blast had sheared the barrel almost in two, and cost him three fingers, but he was still alive. Dropping to his knee, he fired his lasgun into the Orks that emerged in the hole created by the explosion. Silhouetted against the dusty city, they were easy targets, but they just kept coming. Feeling a tap on his shoulder, he spun to his feet and dropped back behind Stephan, before resuming his firing, allowing his friend to retreat further. He heard Stephan’s voice in his ear as his friend fell in again.

“Almost there, how you doin’?”

Allen grunted, “I’ll be fine, just keep it moving.”

Dropping back again, he felt the clasp of his Sergeant’s hand on his back,

“Get in soldier! Move it!”

Vaulting the low counter in front of him, Allen scurried through what had once been a mess hall. The centre had been heavily converted, machinery from the manufactorum floor dragged together and welded shut, forming a ring of jutting metal and sharpened rails. Heaving himself up the ladder affixed to the outside, he turned to help the Sergeant pull the ladder back in.

The Orks were truly inside now, pounding across the floor of the building, sporadic fire forcing the Guardsmen’s heads down. Gritting his teeth, the Sergeant primed a grenade, indicating for the others to do so. Holding the device in his hand, his scarred gaze looked at all of the men in front of him.

“This is it. This is where we die. Give ‘em hell.”

Turning without a second glance, he hurled the grenade into the oncoming Orks, standing up before it had even detonated, his laspistol unloading into them. As one the Guardsmen loosed their grenades, the blasts tearing Orks apart, hurling shrapnel through their rugged bodies as the troopers took to their feet to make their last stand.

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