Guard fic 4.8
Of course, that was overlooking the major advantage that the devilfish gave them, in that the things were too big to actually get in and get them out. The front door was blown off but Bellis was able to run back and pull down the hatch for the troop compartment, effectively shutting off the larger of the entrances and limiting the creature’s options for attack. There were still more than King would like, and that crowd would no doubt draw down others once they realised there was still someone worth attacking in the vicinity, but for now having a bit of a luck with the immediate situation was extremely welcome.
That hope of luck was dashed when it became clear that the creatures had realised the same thing King had: that the faster and better trained guardsmen would have a significant advantage in hand to hand combat, and so while they had initially bounced up like orkish squig bombs, they suddenly stopped and held their ground, shooting at the devilfish and its occupants almost indiscriminately. King still wasn’t sure what kind of guns the suits had - they seemed to have a wide variety that could fit those machines, though he muttered a prayer of thanks that none of them had flamers this time - but the way the hull was reacting to the shots suggested that they would get through the shielding reasonably soon at this rate. The Guards worked defensively, throwing out fire when they could make the shot, but not risking getting shot themselves.
Bellis gave a shout and ran to the back of the cockpit, throwing himself into the pintle gun controls and heaving it round before opening fire on the Tau using their own gun. That was satisfying, and even more so when two more of the suits were ripped open by the bursts of fire, leaving the small Xenos inside as easy targets. Eight. The odds were finally starting to even.
“Sir, perhaps we should surrender?” Hunter asked tentatively, clearly nervous of the question. King just stared at her, unsure how to phrase a reply.
“I’m sorry sir, but we’re fighting like hell to get back to our lines so we can go fight somewhere else, then somewhere else, and just fight and fight and fight until we die. What’s wrong with getting peace? Those colonists never had to fight in their lives, even the ones who chose to today didn’t have to, and...”
“Hunter!” King snapped out a desperate warning against this genuine heresy, but she continued.
“...No one in the Imperium is given a choice, we just get...”
Comments and actions started flicking through his mind. She’d been the one to stand when he’d come back from negotiations. She ate with the traitor colonists last night. She loved their technology, she’d paid attention to the names, she was the best at their language, how had he not seen the signs? How had he let it get this far? The other troopers were staring at her in horror and King barked a firm shut up order, but nothing would hold her now.
“…Everything we do is just following orders, we’ll never retire, never win, and I’m done! The Tau are Xenos but they’re offering us...”
There was a click, and a single pulse of energy, and Hunter stopped talking forever as a bullet opened a neat hole on the middle of her skull and took her brains with it. She fell backwards, her trajectory following the impact until gravity and the wall of the vehicle stopped her fall. King didn’t look round. He didn’t want to see Rossaria lowering her rifle from the shot, or the expression on Bill’s face as he lost one of his longest-serving comrades. He didn’t want them to see the expression on his own. It was of course the correct and only possible response but that didn’t make it any easier to watch. Sometimes it seemed like Rossaria was no more human than the Tau they were fighting.
Composing himself, he steeled his expression and turned back to the fight.
“They’re not going to close the distance, we’re going to have to charge. Are there any grenades or anything useful in this damned wannabe tank? No? Then it’ll have to be the old fashioned way then. Ready? Go!”
He and Rossaria led the attack, keeping the troopers moving so they didn’t get to stop and think. Thinking at a time like this was the death of morale. With a guttural yell he charged forward, screaming his hatred and frustration as he ignored the gunfire scattering around him and sliced upwards into the chest unit of the nearest opponent. Rossaria hit home simultaneously and likewise laid around her with her knives - the second knife was new, and had presumably been acquired from Hunter’s corpse, but this was not the time to think about it - and despite the flimsiness of the blades compared to decent Imperial steel, the crisis suits that looked so graceful and intimidating from a distance showed themselves to be slow and amazingly unarmed up close. It took him a moment to fully realise but they didn’t have power claws, or chainswords, or even a stick: their only options were to try to bring their guns to bear without being seen in time to dodge, or to flail ineffectively like drunken guardsmen brawling in the mess hall.
When they did connect however, they hit hard, and King found himself on the receiving end of this information all too soon. Concentrating too hard on the creature in front he only just saw the incoming fist from his side, too late to react, and he was thrown bodily through the aid by the force impacting on the side of his ribs, suddenly grateful for the recent snow meaning that only half his chest felt that it had been on the wrong end of a rockrete sledgehammer. He coughed, trying to regain his breath, and found himself choking up blood. Spitting it on to the snow he tried to take a deep breath and stand, and failed on both counts. Breathing shallowly, he readied himself to make a second attempt to get back in the fight but a sound drew his attention and made him look to the Imperial lines, and he suddenly realised that would be a spectacularly bad idea.
“Disengage! Now! Disengage!” he felt something go in his chest as he shouted, a stabbing pain like a knife through the guts, and his words were choked off as he vomited another gout of blood to the ground. The message was heeded though as the small unit broke off and ran to him - not the best place to be, but better than where they were. He tried to shout them to keep going but his voice wasn’t responding. Fortunately Bill noticed and though he moved to try to rescue his commander, Rossaria herded them onwards.
They were still running when the Leman Russ discharged its battle cannon and fired a blast directly into the centre of the crisis suit herd. King threw his arms up, trying to shield himself as much from the flying remains of his enemy as from the blast itself, but the notoriously inaccurate sighting mechanism of the Russ had miraculously delivered a direct hit and the friendly fire King had feared did not come to pass. Even better, the shot had not just been a result of coincidental targeting and he saw the Russ rumbling forward towards them, covering the approach of a nippier Chimera come to take them home.
That hope of luck was dashed when it became clear that the creatures had realised the same thing King had: that the faster and better trained guardsmen would have a significant advantage in hand to hand combat, and so while they had initially bounced up like orkish squig bombs, they suddenly stopped and held their ground, shooting at the devilfish and its occupants almost indiscriminately. King still wasn’t sure what kind of guns the suits had - they seemed to have a wide variety that could fit those machines, though he muttered a prayer of thanks that none of them had flamers this time - but the way the hull was reacting to the shots suggested that they would get through the shielding reasonably soon at this rate. The Guards worked defensively, throwing out fire when they could make the shot, but not risking getting shot themselves.
Bellis gave a shout and ran to the back of the cockpit, throwing himself into the pintle gun controls and heaving it round before opening fire on the Tau using their own gun. That was satisfying, and even more so when two more of the suits were ripped open by the bursts of fire, leaving the small Xenos inside as easy targets. Eight. The odds were finally starting to even.
“Sir, perhaps we should surrender?” Hunter asked tentatively, clearly nervous of the question. King just stared at her, unsure how to phrase a reply.
“I’m sorry sir, but we’re fighting like hell to get back to our lines so we can go fight somewhere else, then somewhere else, and just fight and fight and fight until we die. What’s wrong with getting peace? Those colonists never had to fight in their lives, even the ones who chose to today didn’t have to, and...”
“Hunter!” King snapped out a desperate warning against this genuine heresy, but she continued.
“...No one in the Imperium is given a choice, we just get...”
Comments and actions started flicking through his mind. She’d been the one to stand when he’d come back from negotiations. She ate with the traitor colonists last night. She loved their technology, she’d paid attention to the names, she was the best at their language, how had he not seen the signs? How had he let it get this far? The other troopers were staring at her in horror and King barked a firm shut up order, but nothing would hold her now.
“…Everything we do is just following orders, we’ll never retire, never win, and I’m done! The Tau are Xenos but they’re offering us...”
There was a click, and a single pulse of energy, and Hunter stopped talking forever as a bullet opened a neat hole on the middle of her skull and took her brains with it. She fell backwards, her trajectory following the impact until gravity and the wall of the vehicle stopped her fall. King didn’t look round. He didn’t want to see Rossaria lowering her rifle from the shot, or the expression on Bill’s face as he lost one of his longest-serving comrades. He didn’t want them to see the expression on his own. It was of course the correct and only possible response but that didn’t make it any easier to watch. Sometimes it seemed like Rossaria was no more human than the Tau they were fighting.
Composing himself, he steeled his expression and turned back to the fight.
“They’re not going to close the distance, we’re going to have to charge. Are there any grenades or anything useful in this damned wannabe tank? No? Then it’ll have to be the old fashioned way then. Ready? Go!”
He and Rossaria led the attack, keeping the troopers moving so they didn’t get to stop and think. Thinking at a time like this was the death of morale. With a guttural yell he charged forward, screaming his hatred and frustration as he ignored the gunfire scattering around him and sliced upwards into the chest unit of the nearest opponent. Rossaria hit home simultaneously and likewise laid around her with her knives - the second knife was new, and had presumably been acquired from Hunter’s corpse, but this was not the time to think about it - and despite the flimsiness of the blades compared to decent Imperial steel, the crisis suits that looked so graceful and intimidating from a distance showed themselves to be slow and amazingly unarmed up close. It took him a moment to fully realise but they didn’t have power claws, or chainswords, or even a stick: their only options were to try to bring their guns to bear without being seen in time to dodge, or to flail ineffectively like drunken guardsmen brawling in the mess hall.
When they did connect however, they hit hard, and King found himself on the receiving end of this information all too soon. Concentrating too hard on the creature in front he only just saw the incoming fist from his side, too late to react, and he was thrown bodily through the aid by the force impacting on the side of his ribs, suddenly grateful for the recent snow meaning that only half his chest felt that it had been on the wrong end of a rockrete sledgehammer. He coughed, trying to regain his breath, and found himself choking up blood. Spitting it on to the snow he tried to take a deep breath and stand, and failed on both counts. Breathing shallowly, he readied himself to make a second attempt to get back in the fight but a sound drew his attention and made him look to the Imperial lines, and he suddenly realised that would be a spectacularly bad idea.
“Disengage! Now! Disengage!” he felt something go in his chest as he shouted, a stabbing pain like a knife through the guts, and his words were choked off as he vomited another gout of blood to the ground. The message was heeded though as the small unit broke off and ran to him - not the best place to be, but better than where they were. He tried to shout them to keep going but his voice wasn’t responding. Fortunately Bill noticed and though he moved to try to rescue his commander, Rossaria herded them onwards.
They were still running when the Leman Russ discharged its battle cannon and fired a blast directly into the centre of the crisis suit herd. King threw his arms up, trying to shield himself as much from the flying remains of his enemy as from the blast itself, but the notoriously inaccurate sighting mechanism of the Russ had miraculously delivered a direct hit and the friendly fire King had feared did not come to pass. Even better, the shot had not just been a result of coincidental targeting and he saw the Russ rumbling forward towards them, covering the approach of a nippier Chimera come to take them home.