C. Goto - Dawn of War

“The tornadoes have taken out the bombardment cannon, captain, but the orks are already through the city walls,” reported Corallis sharply. “We are making good progress against the orks’ heavy weaponry, but there is only so much that the Predators outside the city can do to stem the tide of foot soldiers that are overrunning the breaches in the wall. Our assault bikes have their work cut out with the ork warbikes and can offer little support to the wall’s anti-personnel guns.”

“Pull the bikes back into the city, sergeant. They will be more useful in the streets than running around in wild ork chases in the open country,” said Gabriel, trying to keep the defences focussed around the city itself. “And get some Devastator Marines down to those breaches to support the Vindicator tanks.”

“There is something else, captain,” said Corallis uneasily.

“Yes? Time is precious, sergeant,” replied Gabriel, coaxing and impatient.

“There are reports from the wall, captain… Reports suggesting that some of the Tartarans have turned their guns against us.”

There was a pause while the significance of this intelligence sank in.

“I see,” said Gabriel, as though unsurprised. “Tell Brom to get his men back in line before we deal with them ourselves. And where is Brother-Librarian Isador?”

Sergeant Corallis was not entirely comfortable with his new role as the command squad sergeant, acting as the ears and eyes of his captain. He would have preferred to be out there in the fray, bringing the Emperor’s righteous justice to the foul aliens, but his injury had not healed properly and his body had rejected the bionics of his replacement arm. “He’s already on his way to the south gate, captain.”

“Excellent.” With that, Gabriel strode down the cathedral steps and vaulted onto the saddle of his assault bike, leaving Corallis to coordinate the battle from the cathedral. “I’ll be at the east gate,” he said as he kicked the bike into life, spinning its rear wheel in a crescent across the flagstones until it was pointing towards the east. “For the Great Father and the Emperor!” he cried, as he released the front brakes and the bike lurched forward, sending him roaring out of the plaza.

Sergeant Corallis stood on the top of the cathedral steps and watched his captain plough through the crowds of civilians and weave between the hulking masses of Blood Ravens’ tanks and gun emplacements, raising cheers from the Marines that saw him pass. His men loved him, and Corallis felt a sudden rush of pride that Captain Angelos had entrusted him with custody of the command post. One arm or two, Corallis would not let him down.

Gruntz kicked one of his kommandos square in the jaw as the hapless creature scrabbled desperately to keep its grip on the roof top. Far below, the pathetic humans had bunched into a crowd in the plaza to watch. A group of the big, red-armoured soldiers had noticed all the fuss and were already training their guns on the orks. Bolter shells started to punch into the masonry around the dangling kommando, and Gruntz kicked him again.

“You’ze da prob, Ugrin!” he yelled, kicking Ugrin repeatedly in the face and stamping down on his hands. “Dem’ze shootin at you!”

A final heavy stomp crunched into Ugrin’s face, and he could hold on no longer. His fingers slipped from their hold on the roof, and he fell shrieking down the side of the building, all the way staring back up at Gruntz and trying to spit at him. Gruntz watched his kommando fall and then leant over the ledge and spat a huge globule of phlegm down after him, hoping that it would reach him before he splattered into the flagstones and died. A rattle of bolter fire pushed him back away from the ledge, and he stamped in frustration as he realised that he would never know.

The remnants of the ork kommandos were busying themselves on the roof. Two of them were supporting the weight of a rokkit launcha and one was scurrying around them with a rivet gun, anchoring the machine into the rockcrete of the ledge. Orkamungus had been very clear about their function, and Gruntz was not about to return to the warboss with anything other than good news. None of these runts could screw it up now, even after that clumsy oath Ugrin had slipped off the ledge and alerted all the humans.

Peering back over the edge of the roof, Gruntz could see the two great, red tanks positioned in the heart of the city, in front of the cathedral. Somehow, Orkamungus had known where they would be, even yesterday. Their missile turrets were twitching slightly, as they tracked distant targets outside the city. Then in a great roar of energy, a flurry of missiles burst out of their chambers, searing into the sky and vanishing from view. A couple of seconds later, Gruntz could hear the distant explosions as the warheads punched down into the ork positions.

“Waaaaagh!” he cried, with defiance and rage spluttering from his mouth. He turned to face his gunners and stamped his feet, pointing back over his shoulder into the open square below. Stamping and screeching, he slapped one of the orks hard across the face, and the stunned kommando yelled back, pulling the mechanical trigger-lever on the side of the rokkit launcha. The machine lurched and bucked, ripping itself free of its fixings in the roof, but the huge rokkit shell burst out of it and roared up into the sky, spewing a trail of thick smoke in a tight spiral.

As the rest of the kommandos struggled to keep hold of the launcha, Gruntz watched the rokkit vanish into the clouds. It was gone. Gruntz turned round to face his kommandos with his gun drawn. The crew struggled and jostled, trying to stand behind each other, but Gruntz just sprayed a barrage of slugs into the nearest of the inept bunch as they all stood, wide-eyed, waiting for punishment. A moment later and a spluttering whine made Gruntz look up.

The rokkit coughed and rolled as it fell back out of the cloud line, its fuel clearly exhausted as it plummeted back down to earth. The red soldiers in the plaza had also noticed it, and salvoes of fire streaked up from their gunners to try and take out the warhead before it fell. But the rokkit plunged straight down, flipping end over end and spluttering with smoke.

As the red soldiers finally scattered out of the way, the falling rokkit smashed straight into the roof of one of their tanks, exploding with tremendous force. The shell pierced the armoured plating of the tank and the flames detonated the reserves of missiles inside. An instant later and missiles were jetting around the plaza, most of them flying off into the distance but some smashing into the surrounding buildings and reducing them to rubble.

Gruntz leapt into the air, punching his fist into the sky with a victorious cry. Turning to congratulate his kommandos, he was riddled with a silent spray of tiny projectiles, which killed him instantly.

Flaetriu, the eldar ranger, tugged his elegant blade out of the throats of two of the vile greenskins, and re-holstered his shuriken catapult as another collapsed to the ground. The final ork had panicked and fallen off the rooftop as it had fumbled with its cleaver.

“That counts as four more,” muttered the ranger to himself as he nodded a swift signal to the other members of his squad on a rooftop across the plaza.

Gabriel slid his bike around the next corner and powered on towards the gate. He could hear the cacophony of battle rumbling and blasting ahead of him, beckoning him with its chorus of glory.

As he dropped his knee and banked the bike into a tight bend, he saw the crude shredders strewn across the road. But it was too late, and the bike’s front tyres ran into the spikes on the apex of the curve. The tyre exploded in a burst of decompression and the bike scraped into a vicious skid along the road, shedding sparks and parts before smashing into a building at the side of the street. Gabriel was dragged along with his machine, his leg trapped under its weight when he crashed out of the turn.