“Ready this end commander; say the word and these men will charge.”

“Hold on a second, I’ve got some trouble back here, some sisters from some order have just turned up to reclaim a chapel… give it five then send your men in. Cold strike commissar.”

“Cold strike commander.”

The commander twisted his scarred feature into a grin, and stared into the fog that separated him from the ork encampment. This would be simple; his men would run from no creature, man or ork. He saw a flicker of black charging through the fog…

“Commissar, forget the timings, charge!”

The commander brought up his chain gun, mounted on the back of his fist, and charged into the ork mob. His power fist tore the nob apart as he bisected the dozen greenskins, allowing his men to regroup and retaliate. He sent a jagged line of bullets through the orks as they set about with their choppas. A grenade pin flew past his ear and he threw himself to the ground.

His senses shut down as the explosion tore apart anyone still standing, but he was back up as the mist faded. The mob lay dead around him, but the fight was not over yet. A bullet tore his power fist from its place as another pair of ork mobs descended upon the entrenchment.

“Hold the line!”

The commander grabbed the power fist form the floor, but he knew the power field was in shatters. He heard another war cry from some way off and gritted his teeth; he would have to whether this storm, for the sake of the others.

*

“Colonel, the order to attack has been given. Get your squads in position and we’ll take the slow sweep into the encampment.”

“Yes sir.”

The colonel addressed his men as the commissar scanned around for a root of approach; he caught sight of a dense clump of bushes that swung in a tight curve towards the enemy, ideal. The squads formed up behind him, thirty men capable of bringing down a normal man with a shot.

But these weren’t normal men.

“The men are ready. The bushes appear to be the obvious approach.”

“Agreed colonel, lets get this over with.”

The men steadily bore down on the cover, lasguns cocked and ready.
A hail of bullets tore the front runners apart.

“Ambush!”

The men scattered as another big shoota added its deadly rounds, four men were down before the commissar composed himself. He brought up his laspistol and fired through the spray. The fire stopped from one gun, allowing the men to regroup. The colonel appeared beside him; breathless.

“What do you propose? We were meant to keep casualties few and this location looks better fortified than we thought.”

The commissar patted him on the back, drew his power sword and charged into the fire. He ignored the bullets, knowing that a death in battle meant a place at the Emperor’s side. He leapt the guns wooden mount, shearing the barrel with a slice. He tore the two crew apart, and stared around for the next target.

Four more guns opened up; this time from every side. The men around him were unable to escape the combined assault. There was no hope here. The commissar leapt the barricade and found himself face to face with the colonel.

A bullet flew past and the colonel’s head vanished. The commissar felt himself shouting the words he hated the most.

“Retreat, hope here is lost!”

*

The commander had pulled back from the trenches. Bodies littered the scene; he could see the orks piling them from were he was. The commander counted the men around him; it didn’t take long. Six, seven including the one without an arm.

“Brilliant…”

The fog was growing thicker, and with it was the kill count; growing horrendously until it consumed his mind. He heard a yell, and a roar.

Then he saw a big mek.