Ashes in the mud

Under Siege

The fortress walls loomed before Elara, dark and weathered like the battered remnants of a forgotten empire. She stood still, staring into the vast, unyielding fog that clung to the horizon. Somewhere out there, the Necrons stirred. The thought made her pulse quicken. Their approach was inevitable, and yet standing here, waiting for their soulless ranks to rise from the mist, felt like waiting for death itself.

But there was no room for fear, no room for uncertainty. At least, that's what she told herself.

From behind her, she heard the familiar crunch of boots on gravel. The cadence was sharp and purposeful, unmistakably Commissar Hedek. Elara kept her gaze fixed forward, instinctively tensing as his shadow fell across her.

"You've been standing here too long," Hedek said, his voice cold, cutting through the stillness like a blade. "Observation without action serves no one. The enemy will come whether you see them or not."

"I know, Commissar," Elara answered, her voice more clipped than she intended. "But the men—" She hesitated, unsure whether to continue, but Hedek's silence pushed her to finish. "They need to see someone, sir. Someone standing watch. Someone who doesn't flinch."

"Men flinch. Leaders do not." Hedek's voice carried no warmth, only that familiar, impassive judgment. "You are neither yet."

The words stung, though she knew better than to show it. She wasn't a leader, not in Hedek's eyes. Not in the eyes of the troops, perhaps. Still a cadet, still learning—still waiting for the right moment to prove herself, if that moment even existed in this war.

"Are you going to tell me to stand down, sir?" she asked quietly, turning to face him now, forcing herself to meet his icy gaze.

"I will if you waste your time with such thoughts." Hedek stepped closer, the harsh lines of his face etched deeper in the twilight. His presence was as unmovable as the fortress itself. "You are here to do your duty. Nothing more. Nothing less."

She nodded, feeling the weight of his words pressing on her shoulders like a burden she'd carried all her life. Duty. Always duty. And yet there were cracks forming in the armor of that word. Cracks she didn't dare speak of out loud.

"There's movement," Vorell's voice interrupted, the cool-headed strategist appearing just behind them. He was always there, like a shadow, detached and calculating, his presence a quiet reminder that war was about numbers and logistics as much as it was about courage.

"They've been spotted," Vorell continued, eyes locked on the auspex in his hand. "A scout reported Necron patrols flanking from the western ridge. Slowly. Deliberately. They're testing us."

Hedek turned to him with an expression that betrayed nothing. "Testing us, or waiting for something?"

"Both, I imagine," Vorell answered, his calm voice grating on Elara's nerves. It was as if he were discussing the weather, not an army of unfeeling death machines closing in on their position. "We've reinforced the walls. Artillery is in place. For now, it's a waiting game."

Elara's pulse quickened, her hand instinctively moving to the hilt of her laspistol. This wasn't the part of the battle she feared—the calm before the storm, the long hours of anticipation. It was what would follow, the crushing inevitability of it, the blood and the screams.

"Cadet Vorenn," Hedek said, his voice dragging her from her thoughts. "What do you suggest?"

The question caught her off guard. Hedek rarely asked for suggestions, especially from her. She glanced at Vorell, who stood patiently waiting, his eyes betraying mild curiosity.

"They'll strike where we're weakest," Elara said, trying to keep her voice steady. "We should pull back some of our forces, create a layered defense. That way, if—when—they breach the walls, we can hit them hard as they push through."

Hedek studied her for a moment, and in that brief silence, Elara feared she had overstepped. But he nodded, his approval as cold and sharp as his words. "Practical. If the Necrons are indeed probing our defenses, they will exploit the first break. Vorell, adjust the defenses accordingly."

Vorell gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable. "I'll see to it."

Elara allowed herself a breath of relief, though she knew better than to let it show. She hadn't made a mistake this time. But there would be more chances for mistakes soon enough.

Vorell turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the fortress as quickly as he had appeared. Hedek lingered, his eyes scanning the walls, the distant fog, the stars slowly dimming behind the twilight sky.

"Do not confuse confidence with certainty, Cadet," he said, his voice soft but no less commanding. "There is no certainty in war. Only duty. When they come, you will remember this."

"I will," she replied, her words barely above a whisper.

Without another word, Hedek turned and walked back toward the command post, leaving Elara alone once again with her thoughts. The emptiness of the night pressed in around her, and for a moment, she allowed herself to feel the fear that she had been holding at bay. The uncertainty. The doubt.

This war was as much a test of endurance as it was of strategy. Could she endure it? Could she continue to make these decisions, knowing that each one would send men to their deaths?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the clatter of footsteps. Harlok, his armor as mismatched as his grin, approached her, his knife already unsheathed, idly flicking it between his fingers. He was wild, unpredictable—the opposite of Vorell's measured calm.

"Cadet," he said, a half-smile curling at the edge of his mouth. "I hear we're in for a good fight tonight."

Elara glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "The Necrons are coming. That's not something to look forward to."

Harlok's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "Maybe not for most people. But it's better than sitting here, waiting."

"You won't be waiting much longer," Elara replied, her tone clipped. "Get your men ready. They'll hit us hard."

Harlok laughed, a sound that echoed off the stone walls. "Good. My men are always ready for a good fight."

He walked off, the sound of his laughter lingering in the air long after he disappeared into the darkness.

Elara closed her eyes, letting the cool night air wash over her. The calm before the storm. The quiet before the inevitable. She could hear the distant sound of artillery being repositioned, the hum of machines readying for war.

And then, a voice crackled over the vox. "Movement—west wall. They're coming."

Elara's eyes snapped open, her pulse quickening as the first flashes of green gauss fire cut through the night. It had begun.

"Hold the line!" she shouted, her voice steady, commanding. "Everyone to your positions! Reinforce the western wall!"

The fortress erupted into action as soldiers scrambled to their posts, lasguns and bolters at the ready, their eyes wide with fear but resolute in their duty. The first barrage hit the walls, sending tremors through the stone. Necron figures emerged from the fog—metallic, skeletal, marching with cold precision toward the fortress.

Elara felt the weight of her laspistol in her hand, the cool metal a small comfort in the chaos. She wouldn't flinch. She couldn't. Hedek's words echoed in her mind: Hold the line. Leaders do not flinch.

But as the Necron Immortals began their approach, flanked by hulking constructs she had never seen before, her heart quickened. They had underestimated their enemy.

The line would hold, she told herself. The line had to hold.

Through the fog, one of the Necron constructs—a towering figure with limbs that moved like liquid metal—raised its gauss blaster toward the fortress. The air crackled with energy, and Elara knew that whatever this thing was, it was different. 

It was worse.