Chapter one - The fallen
As trooper Greel looked down the sights of his lasgun, he was certain he was going to die here. But if he was scared, he gave no sign. It would not do to show fear this close to a Commissar, he thought.
"they might be the damn emperors men but their a bit bloody fanatical about their work, huh?"
Sergeant Blade shouted above the din of incoming fire, seemingly sensing Greel's thoughts. Sergeant Blade was a good leader, and talked to his men on the same level, if it weren’t for the stripes on his fatigues, he could have passed for a trooper. But now was not the time for such thoughts he told himself, he always wondered why his mind wandered in times of crisis, here he was with a hoard of berserk Orks, the most savage fighters of the galaxy, rushing straight at him, and he was thinking about a man who would probably be dead in the next 5 minutes, but then again, he thought, if the sergeant died, he would not be far behind.
It was not all one sided though, as they were racking up the kills themselves, so the greenskins might not even get far enough to shoot back at them. He hoped this was true, because what the Orks lost in brains and tactics, they made up in overwhelming strength and numbers, and those crude forms of bolters most of them carried could rip you in half.
The heavy bolter pits at 10 metre intervals along the trenchline were spitting death, with nearly every shot an Ork went to meet its deranged god. Even over the sounds of the bolters and small arms fire, he could hear the Orks warcrys, it sounded like "WAAAAAGH ORK" but he could not be sure, it seemed like they were whipping themselves up into a battle frenzy. Just what we need, Greel thought, Orks with another edge. He could see that the Orks were now in fire range, and he had little time to think of anything else as he dived to the floor, a hail of crude bolter shells ripping the back of the trench to pieces. Lumps of black mud and metal rained down around him, making a ringing sound on the decking.
"Get to your feet trooper"
shouted commissar Volt, Greel was fast becoming the commissars enemy as much as the Orks were "I have shot men for jumping to the floor like cowards, now get up and face the enemy like a man", Greel did not doubt the commissars words, and quickly jumped up
"Now start shooting, those green bastards take a lot of punishment, and we need every gun we can get"
as the commissar said this he pulled out his own guns, seemingly from hidden holsters, it was almost as if they jumped into his hands. Volt was obviously a veteran of many wars, but that did not matter to the Orks, a bolter shell could still kill you, an axe could still as easily cut you down.
The commissar spat molten death into his enemy with his two plasma pistols, and aimed every shot with a skill of a man born with a gun in his hand, and a sword in the other. His black cape flowed out behind him, and with his face underlit by the flash of his guns, he looked positively demonic. The Orks had obviously seen this, as they turned into the commissars hail of fire and rushed straight towards them. the Orks that stopped to fire were crushed by the ones behind, eager to get into hand to hand combat with the Imperial Guard troopers of Hive 52. some of the bigger Orks were even cutting down others that got in the way, they were so keen to get to us.
Just out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a flash, and a rocket hurtled towards the nearest Heavy Bolter pit. Greel shouted a warning, but he knew it was too late, the rocket, crude though it was, smashed the bolter pit to smithereens, and ignited the huge stacks of ammunition, which went flying everywhere, maiming several nearby troopers, this time even the commissar ducked, but Greel ran to the wounded. There were bodies all around, some moaning, others too far gone for even the Adeptus Astartes Apothecaries to help, let alone their basic field medics they had here. A soldier, his leg blown off below the knee, pulled himself up the side of the trench and unloaded his lasgun, killing several Orks, before he took a direct hit from a lascannon, and fell down in two bloody lumps of meat. Greel looked at the man's head, it looked familiar. As he wiped the blood and dirt off the mans dog tags he saw the name, 'Sgt. F Blade', he staggered back from the body. The sergeant had been one of Greel's best and only friends. His thoughts of the battle gone, Greel slumped against the back of the trench, his vision swirled. He could here Volt shouting at him to get up, and felt the hot metal of the commissar's barrel under his chin, it burnt him, but he did not care. He could hear the Orks chanting coming closer now. Something wet hit his face, and Volt stopped shouting, when he looked over he saw the body of the commissar, head gone, laying next to him. He tried to raise his gun but it was no longer in his hands. Then he realised that the wetness on his face was his own blood, pumping out of his severed arm, his lasgun still clenched in it's limp hand. He heard a loud thump and an some noisy grunting, which he thought must be the Orks jumping into the trench, let them come, he thought, at this moment, he welcomed death. He tried to curse but all that came out was a moan.
He heard a sound like a lasgun close by, then several impacts like a stone hitting soft mud. Something large fell right on him. I was right, he told himself, I'm not going to be far behind Sergeant Blade in death. That was the last thought that went through trooper Greel's mind as the Orks stormed the trench and put him out of his misery.

"Dis is more like it" shouted Warboss Grimfang to the nearest Nob boy. "dose damn 'umies got loadsa our boyz before dat rocket took dere big gun out". Once they got past this trench they could set up a camp and attack the big place the pinkskins call their ''ive'. Those ''ive' walls were strong and thick but the huge war machines Grimfang had his Mekboyz cooking up will smash them to pieces.
Once the pinkskins big guns were out of the way, the fight seems to leave them, he made a note of this and reminded himself to tell the others when he got back to base. But they dont give up easy, he reminded himself, he remembered how he saw a humie with his leg blown off take his gun and mow down loads of his best boyz. He would take pleasure in eating what was left of him later, he thought. Off to his left he saw two bright flashes, and knew there was a humie leader over there, and he directed his Nobz at him. Those flashes were killing an Ork in every shot, and he remembered how the Mekboyz had called them 'N-er-gie Gunz' or something like that. "Dis way boyz, deres' an 'umie leader over 'ere, lets get 'im", and charged the trench. He personally shot the leaders head off with his pistol, and jumped down into the trench. He landed next to a pinkskin laying on the floor, moaning, his arm blown completely off, the mans gun still in its clutches. The severed arm's muscles were tightening on the trigger, and the lasgun went off on full auto, catching Grimskull clear in the chest several times. The Warboss was shocked for the rest of his life, all three seconds of it, as the next shot hit him in the eye and blew out what passed for an Ork brain. The sight of their Warboss being killed in this horrible way, and more importantly, by a pathetic half-dead humie, the Orks turned tail and ran. The remnants of the Imperial Guard line didn't cheer like in the sagas, they didnt even shoot at the backs of the Orks, for they had suffered huge casualties themselves, and they had now had the horrible job of clearing up the pieces of their friends, and even families, ready for the huge burial pits that would be bulldozed out of the ground behind the trench.

copyright by farsight 24.06.2002