Chapter 5: Walking Dead
Dos opened his mouth to curse, but seeing the engineer's earnest demeanor, he could only swallow his words.
Yet he still felt compelled to say something, so after much deliberation, he managed to blurt out, "Well done, but don't do it again."
Only after the engineer departed did Dos sigh and carefully stow the bottle away. What else could he do? These were his soldiers; he had to indulge them, apparently.
Meanwhile, things were far from easy for Colonel 0361, as the heretics had launched a large-scale counterattack with the clear intention of driving the 946th Siege Regiment from their position.
"Retreat?!"
Colonel 0361's gloved hands rested steadily on the sand table, the lantern's flickering light unable to dispel the cold killing intent radiating from his posture. The scene exuded profound gravity and unshakable resolve.
"I will never retreat. My orders are to hold this position and buy time for the Cadian Shock Troops and the Salamanders, who have not yet completed their deployment." 0361's tone was grim. His steady right hand traced a decisive line across the sand table. "Simultaneously, we must secure additional forward positions for the First and Third Guard Regiments currently en route."
0361 turned sharply. "Have you established contact with Position Seven?"
The communications officer, clutching the vox-caster's handset, shook his head. "Negative, sir. Still attempting."
"Continue attempts."
A violent tremor shook the command bunker, and a substantial amount of dust cascaded from the reinforced ceiling.
The heretics possessed heavy artillery?!
The dust falling into the lantern guttered the flame and nearly extinguished it. A lieutenant colonel moved swiftly to close the lantern's protective glass, stabilizing its light.
0361 nodded in approval. "Have the Earthshaker batteries open fire on those positions. They are not to cease without my direct order."
At that moment, an engineer entered the underground command post from an adjacent tunnel, hunching to avoid the low ceiling.
"Soldier, report your rank, serial number, and unit designation," 0361 commanded.
The engineer snapped to attention and saluted crisply. "Probationary Guardsman, KY-6702, Third Battalion, Seventh Company."
"Ah, our eastern position that lost contact five standard Terran hours ago. Soldier, what is the current status of your position?"
"The position has fallen, sir."
"Who authorized you to withdraw from your post?!" 0361's tone turned sharp with fury. "How many men remain in your unit?"
"None left, sir. I am here to report."
0361 nodded slowly, his anger dissipating into cold acceptance. "Very well, soldier. You will be reassigned to another unit. Prepare yourself for the next assault."
The engineer saluted again and departed. The command room returned to oppressive silence once more.
Dos lay on his camp cot, tossing and turning restlessly. It was only midday, after all, far too early for sleep. As he rolled over yet again, a tremendous explosion shook the tent and threw him clear off the bed.
"Well, now he was definitely awake."
Dos grumbled as he picked himself up off the ground, groaned as he jammed his cap onto his head, and continued grumbling as he stormed outside.
Today, even if the Emperor Himself showed up, well, maybe not the Emperor, but even Colonel 0361 couldn't stop him from giving someone a piece of his mind! Dos swore it!
Before Dos even reached the forward lines, he heard a shrill whistle piercing the air.
Wait... was it a charge whistle?
Dos gripped the hilt of his power sword tightly and quickened his pace. He had an ominous premonition building in his gut. Out of ingrained caution, he didn't swagger into the trench like last time. Instead, he dropped to the ground and rolled himself over the lip.
After habitually dusting himself off, Dos moved toward the troop assembly point. Before he arrived, the haunting sound of the charge whistle assailed his ears again. Dos rounded several more corners and finally reached the staging area, but what he didn't know was that what he was about to witness would alter his perception of war forever.
Engineers stood in orderly rows atop sandbag firing steps, uniformly facing toward the enemy position. Dangerous stray rounds occasionally whined past from the heretic lines, wild suppressive fire from poorly trained machine gunners.
Dos had to stay hunched low to reach the center of the assembly point. Only there did he dare stand fully upright.
Bang! The sharp crack of a round striking metal rang out, and a guardsman collapsed, falling directly in front of Dos. Dark crimson blood slowly seeped from the holes punched through his helmet and rebreather mask. His opaque goggles stared upward like blank, dead eyes, revealing an unspeakable sense of incompletion.
The surrounding engineers seemed utterly oblivious, as if this were merely a trivial inconvenience, or perhaps they had simply grown so accustomed to death that it no longer registered.
This poor soul had fallen mere moments before the charge whistle would blow.
It wasn't until the quartermaster arrived to collect the fallen man's lasgun, helmet, flak armor vests, and identification number that Dos fully realized: this person was dead.
He'd seen corpses before. Even dismembered bodies wouldn't make him flinch. But this was the first time he'd witnessed someone die like this, without a cry of pain, without a final shout, like an empty shell discarded. Yet just seconds ago, that shell had contained a living human being.
"Fix bayonets!" The major's voice was low and commanding, and in this deathly silent place, even a pin drop would have echoed.
The engineers drew their bayonets from waist sheaths, and with synchronized clicks, the locking mechanisms engaged. They leaned their lasguns carefully against the sandbags: this positioning allowed them to vault smoothly out of the trench when the moment came. They gazed silently at the blades before them and at the distant enemy positions.
"Deeeee—!!!"
The piercing charge whistle shrieked, and the engineers vaulted as one from the trench, charging toward the enemy even as heretic gunfire swept continuously across their advance.
Dos watched through his optical scope. The Krieg assault had no morale-boosting war cries, no agonized screams when bullets found their marks. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just profound, terrible silence.
They silently crossed shell craters, silently stepped over bleeding corpses and wounded alike, silently marched toward inevitable death.
Cheap lives were smeared across the landscape like paint splattered on canvas, all to silence that machine gun nest.
As they drew closer to the enemy position, two additional weapons opened up, twin-linked heavy stubbers, so named because their devastating firepower could literally shred thick tree trunks into sawdust.
Now that the storm of metal swept toward the charging Krieg engineers with merciless precision.
The hail of rounds tore apart the engineers at the very front, their bodies mangled beyond recognition as anything that had once been human.
An inexplicable panic seized Dos, making his breathing rapid and shallow. The Krieg charge didn't just shatter enemy morale; it also tested the psychological fortitude of allied observers in ways no Schola Progenium training could prepare you for.
"Fix bayonets."
The major's flat voice pulled Dos back to grim reality. Another platoon of engineers had silently arrived at the same position.
Click!
The same sound of locking mechanisms engaging. The same oppressive silence.
"No! Stop! As your Commissar, I order you to stop!" Dos suddenly shouted, but his voice seemed to dissipate into nothing, only further emphasizing the deathly quiet.
Dos desperately tried to intercept the major, but stumbled in his haste. "Stop!" His words felt pale and powerless, stripped of all authority.
The major paid absolutely no heed. He merely placed the charge whistle to his lips and blew with deliberate force. The sound echoed through the trench network, reverberating overhead for what felt like an eternity.
Dos reached out, trying to grab the nearest engineer, but he was a fraction too slow. He accomplished nothing.
The major's expression was impassive beneath his mask. He adjusted his own rebreather as he walked toward Dos.
Once Dos had struggled back to his feet, the major thrust the charge whistle into his hand with deliberate force. "Since the Commissar is present, you blow the charge whistle."
With that, without waiting for any response, the major raised his lasgun and vaulted smoothly out of the trench.
Dos clutched the silver whistle tightly, cursing viciously under his breath. "Madmen! You're all madmen!" He turned to flee this nightmarish place when...
He saw an entire platoon of guardsmen standing in silent formation before him, watching him with perfect stillness.
"This is... goddamn it... Krieg. You really are the...walking dead," Dos muttered, barely above a whisper.
He knew that attempting to stop them by force would be utterly futile. So instead, Dos said clearly, "Hold position for ten minutes. Await further orders."
Seeing the engineers actually comply without question, Dos breathed a shaky sigh of relief.
Then he immediately contacted the artillery position via vox. Through careful observation during the previous assault, Dos had already determined the approximate locations of the enemy strong points, especially those three heavy stubber nests.
"Target coordinates: one-three-seven, one-five-six, one-two-eight. Half battery strength! Rolling barrage, hit them HARD!"
Upon receiving the fire mission, the signal officer waved his flags with practiced precision, directing the gun crews to acquire the new targets and adjust for the required fire concentration.
The raised muzzles of the Earthshaker cannons resembled nothing so much as the scythes of death itself, poised to reap souls.
The loaders worked with brutal efficiency, manhandling the thigh-thick shells into their breeches and slamming the chamber doors shut.
Gunners rotated elevation wheels with measured turns, adjusting azimuth and angle. Once the proper trajectory was achieved, assistant gunners yanked the firing lanyards with sharp, decisive pulls.
BOOM!
Like thunder from a clear sky, an invisible shockwave rippled outward from each Earthshaker cannon. Even the coattails of nearby soldiers' greatcoats fluttered wildly like leaves caught in a hurricane.
The loaders' movements were swift as lightning. They cracked open the breeches, and spent shell casings tumbled to the ground, still radiating heat and trailing thin wisps of white smoke. Without a moment's hesitation, the loaders immediately rammed the next shells home.
Observing that the bombardment had achieved its purpose, Dos declared with newfound conviction, "Fix bayonets! Send those heretics to atone before the God-Emperor!"
Dos blew the charge whistle with all the force he could muster. The instant that shrill note sounded, the engineers launched their assault as one. Dos followed at the very rear of the formation.
The Earthshaker barrage ceased after the assault force had advanced roughly ten meters toward the enemy position. The heretics' last remaining heavy stubber attempted one final, stubborn burst of resistance, but was completely destroyed when a grenadier's krak grenade found its mark.
One moment, the heretics had been cowering in their trenches, disoriented and deafened by the Earthshaker bombardment. Next, they found themselves facing Krieg soldiers in close combat.
The heretics' marksmanship couldn't remotely compare to Dos's mediocre shooting skills, much less match the unerring accuracy of the Kriegers.
Unable to even raise their heads above the trench lip, the heretics had no choice but to ready their weapons for desperate close-quarters fighting with the Krieg engineers.
[End of Chapter]
Hello Comrades, how are you doing? Hope you're well and fine.
Now, can we talk about the character pic of our dear Commissar Dos? Do you think the cover matches his vibe, or would you, my comrade, have a more suitable image in your archive? Hmm?