A bit more...
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Brennan twisted as he fell, forcing the bulky Ork below him. Still grappling with the knife that threatened to cut him in two, he barely heard the Sergeant’s battle cry as their two bodies crashed into the melee below. Broken Orks and Guardsmen lay beneath them, bones shattered and armour cracked. Brennan rolled off the Kommando, clutching his side as a thin film of blood seeped through his camo-cloak. The huge Ork was dead, his neck bent at an unnatural angle, and his body impaled on discarded weaponry. Brennan tried to stand, blurry figures charging towards him as his eyes swam. He tried to raise his rifle, but a jolt of pain caused him to gasp and flinch as he did so. He looked up, trying to focus, but all he could see was a crush of figures thundering around him.
The Sergeant swore as Brennan and the Ork crashed into the fight to his left, crushing allies and foe alike. Darting under the onrushing swing of one Ork, he let his chainsword carve through the creature’s stomach, before swinging it up to block the axe of another. Kicking out, he forced the beast back, into the path of another Guardsman’s knife. Nodding in acknowledgement, he began to turn away, only to watch as blood blossomed on the man’s shirt, before a knife burst through. A cry of rage on his lips, he leapt towards his new foe as he casually discarded the corpse.
His hands trembling, Brennan reached into his belt, searching for painkillers, drugs, anything to focus himself again. His fingers brushed a thin syringe, which he brought out, slamming it into his leg. Almost immediately he gasped as the stimulant rushed through his veins. The pain in his side forgotten, masked under the pounding drug in his system, Brennan quickly rolled up his shirt. Deep in his right flank was a wound scored by the Kommando’s bandoleer of knives. Gritting his teeth, as the pain threatened to overwhelm even the stimulants in his body, he took another item from his belt, a thin patch of wound dressing. Holding it to his side, he tore the covering off, crying out as the patch heated rapidly, instantly cauterising the laceration. His cry had not gone unnoticed; an Ork began to descend upon the apparently stricken sniper, a menacing leer on his face. Blinking back tears of pain, Brennan scrambled backwards, bringing his rifle up as the brutish Ork sprinted forwards. Squeezing the trigger, he let three rounds fire off, each hot-shot blast tearing a hole in the creature. Heaving himself up as the Ork’s corpse slid to a halt at his feet, he slung his rifle onto his back, pulling an Ork blade from the Kommando’s scabbard, before darting into the fight towards the Sergeant.
Allen dodged another blow, retaliating by slashing the attacker’s hand, almost severing several gnarled fingers. Behind him lay Stephan’s ruined body; alongside him were the shredded corpses of three Orks, each cut into pieces, their blood mingling with Stephan’s. Bringing his knee up, Allen made heavy contact with the howling Ork, causing him to double over in pain. Slamming both his blades into the back of the creature’s head, he wrenched them sideways, feeling bone and sinew snapping under the force of his assault. Crowing with victory, Allen’s bloodshot gaze turned to next Orks, blood and spittle frothing at the corners of his mouth.
Brennan plunged his acquired knife through the eye socket of an Ork, stepping neatly to the side as it keeled over, dead. His hand gripped his side as the tender wound caused a lance of pain to shoot throughout his chest. Ducking another swing, he pushed a Guardsman out of the way of a vicious Ork axe, barely avoiding it himself. Stumbling as pain lanced through his body again, he raised his arm to protect himself from the second axe blow. It did not come, the Ork’s body jerking as it was peppered with lasfire from the Guardsman. A grin on their faces, both men turned back to the melee. Brennan’s hand rested on the back of the Sergeant.
“So, this is our last ditch plan then sir?”
The Sergeant’s sword dragged across the chest of an Ork, tearing flesh and leather, sending sparks flying off the crude armour on the alien’s chest.
“It appears so,” He replied, a wry smile on his face.
Brennan grinned, as he pressed himself against the Sergeant’s back.
“Well we’d better go down fighting.”
A half laugh escaped the Sergeant as he fired his pistol at an onrushing Ork.
“Indeed.”
Brennan winced as he spun away from an Ork attack, bringing his blade around to slash it across the back. Kicking out with one leg, he tripped the beast, calling to his Sergeant.
“Grounded six o’clock.”
Stepping under his Sergeant’s swing, they seamlessly changed places, Brennan blocking the swinging arm of the Ork that had been facing the Sergeant, while he brought his chainsword down in a gory arc, almost splitting Brennan’s fallen Ork in two.
Riposting and blocking, the two stood firm, occasionally lunging to help another Guardsman, or block a stray attack. Out of the corner of his eye, Brennan could see their allies still stood, several Guardsmen having gone back to back, or found themselves fighting in a corner, holding their hulking foes at bay. Private Allen stood, almost isolated, several ruined Ork bodies around him, his legs placed astride the fallen body of his friend. A glimmer of hope began to grow in Brennan’s mind; maybe they could survive this after all.
All such thoughts were suddenly banished when, across the cacophony of battle, came a chilling cry. Louder, brasher, and more thunderous than before, the Ork’s warcry began again. Despair washed over Brennan as the source of the cry barrelled over the barricade. A huge figure, a full head taller than even the Kommando, clad in plates of heavy metal, his skull covered with studs, stood astride the defender’s bastion. Waving two curved swords above his head, the monster roared into the melee, his heavily toothed mouth spraying spittle into the gory arena. The Ork Warboss had found them.
As he stood roaring in triumph, the walls of the barricade finally shattered, broken apart under the repeated blows of the largest Orks, the hugely muscled Nobs. Their skin was darker than their smaller brethren, their armour better kept and more extensive, covering their rippling muscles with plates of battered steel. Their weapons were more menacing, curved blades and hooks glinting evilly in their gnarled hands, loose fitting scabbards hiding even more deadly weaponry. As one, their veined throats ululating with the cry, they let loose a terrifying scream, echoing their giant leader. As the sound began to die in their throats, they charged.
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