Marsh Silas II: Bloody Platoon

Chapter 38

"For dawn! Keep fighting, men! Stay with it!"

Marsh Silas, Bloody Platoon, and the Imperial host forced its way through the gap in Piscator Ridge. Rain pummeled their helmets. Mortal warriors rolled, tumbled, and crashed over each other in the mud. Warriors of the Astartes Praeses clashed with the Black Legion and Iron Warriors. Power weapons glowed in the gray mirth, meltaguns reduced armor to slag, missiles soared. Blue, red, golden, and white lasbolts streaked in rapid fashions, creating paths of light in the early morning darkness.

Marsh Silas drew his power sword and ran a heretic through, slashed a second across the chest, and decapitated a third. "Stay with it, stay with it!" he hollered over his laud-hailer. He put his finger to his helmet's micro-bead. "Hold, we're almost there."

Doggedly, methodically, and with zeal, the forward element of Battlegroup Sonnen pushed the Archenemy back. All night, they had surged back and forth through the gap. Just as the vile enemies appeared to break through, Imperial tanks arrived, a timely artillery barrage fell, or the Aeronautica Imperialis launched a devastating air raid. But when the upper hand fell to the Imperials, the Iron Warriors detonated mines, the Black Legion sent in their own armor, or the Band of Dust launched a suicidal but effective countercharge.

But now, it was in sight: the trenches at the base of Piscator Ridge. Marsh Silas knew if they seized those, the enemy would lose their foothold. With Imperial troops still swarming over the ridges, the lines would be complete and they would lock Consus and Summanus's forces out of Kasr Sonnen's roads.

One hundred meters to the trench, eighty, fifty—Marsh Silas activated the comm-link. "Now, Hyram!" A fusillade of lasbolts from waiting Guardsmen on the unmolested right side of the ridge ripped into the enemy's ranks. Dozens of grenades flew through the air. Band of Dusk warriors were sliced down like grass underneath a scythe. Heretic Astartes were decimated by grenades, rockets, and mortars. Volleys of bolter and laser fire emanate from the left flank. Chaplain Anato Lieutenant Afdin had led a combined Militarum-Astartes force on a feint, seemingly disengaging, only to traverse the shattered remnants of the left part of the ridge. There, they gained an advantage in height and raked the enemy with effective enfilading fire.

The enemy force stalled. Marsh led the way with his power sword. He threw himself at the trench and cut down an entire squad, smothering himself in blood and mud. Hyram led his division down in a tremendous wave while the Space Marines speared the heretics' opposite flank. In that flurry of thrusting bayonets, swinging swords, and flying fists, a man could have lost himself. Marsh was pressed in from all sides by friend and foe alike—until he jumped into the trench. "Hold them here!" he yelled, waving his sword above his head. "Form a line! Fill the trenches! Take the trenches!"

Guardsmen and Astartes dove into the space. Heretics were crushed by their weight. Some barely scrambled out in time. Forced onto open ground and without the confines of the gap to reduce the Loyalists' numbers, they were hit by torrents of heavy, point-blank fire. It proved to be irresistible; the traitors turned and retreated. Although the Heretic Astartes fell back in good order, the Band of Dusk broke, running for their lives.

"They're retiring! They're fleeing!" Men screamed as they fired into their backs.

"Hold your ground!" Hyram yelled over his laud hailer. "Await reinforcements!"

Marsh Silas reorganized Bloody Platoon with Commissar Carstensen. They reformed, the squads realigned, and they spaced themselves accordingly in the trenches. Taking a breath, Marsh turned around. Piscator Ridge, or what was left of it, loomed behind their backs. Regiments dug in along its slopes, including the remainder of the 1333rd, 95th, 45th Altridge, and the Home Regiments Hyram was able to bring up to the front despite the ramshackle command situation in the rear.