Salamander

the beast in that regard.

Satisfied that its presence had been properly noted, the giant ork threw back its head and roared.

'WAAARRRGH BOSS!'

'The beast establishes its dominance.' Brother Lazaras's voice had a sneering tone to it as he watched the display.

'No,' Tsu'gan corrected him, 'it is a call to war and blood.'

II The Last Redoubt

P

hoton flares blazed

into the steadily thickening night like forlorn beacons in a black sea. They threw a red cast over the slow march of the orks that tinted them the colour of blood. Magnesium bursts followed as the blind grenades Tsu'gan and his combat squad had set up went off. The orks howled and bellowed in pain as their eyes were flooded with harsh, angry light. Those who were closest stumbled into their brethren - some were slain by their belligerent cousins, others struck out and killed the greenskins in their path, swiping in wild agony.

The disruption was minimal. Many orks, upon witnessing the effects of the blind grenades, drew down bug-eyed goggles or simply shaded their eyes with a meaty hand.

Confusion wasn't the only purpose for the bank of flares; the Salamanders used the percussive glow like a search light. Ork clan leaders were identified in the pellucid bursts and executed with accurate bolter shots. Brief internecine skirmishes broke out until another ork established its dominance, but it gave more time for the heavy bolters to reap a bloodier toll. Lead vehicles were pinpointed and destroyed by multi-meltas or missile launchers, causing fiery pileups in those following in column behind them. Trucks and buggies mangled together in a twisted metal embrace, as their dazed crews were shot dead crawling from the wrecks.

The greenskins responded in kind. Random fire came from their long range weapons but to no effect, save chipping rockcrete or kicking up clods of ash. Orks were not built for shooting, their efforts were half-hearted at best. They did it more to hear the guns go off, the

thud-bang

and the stink of expelled smoke, than to actually kill anything. Orks preferred to fight close up, where they could smell the blood and fear.

The beasts will find little of the first and none of the second from us, Tsu'gan thought.

The orks were close now and the brother-sergeant knew the order to unleash a firestorm was close too. Crackling static in his ear over the comm-feed gave way to Captain N'keln's voice, and Tsu'gan realised that order was at hand.

Salamanders were pragmatic, not as given to lofty speeches and rousing rhetoric as some of their distant cousins, such as the Ultramarines. The fact made N'keln's speech comparatively epic.

'Sons of Vulkan, Fire-born all, this is our last redoubt. There is no line beyond this wall, no further gate to defend or keep to garrison. This is it. I have but one edict: None shall pass.' He punctuated each and every word. 'Into the fires of battle!' cried N'keln, as his voice became many. 'Unto the anvil of war!' the Salamanders chorused.

'Let them close,' uttered Tsu'gan to his squad. Across the battlements, sergeants were priming their troops in the wake of the captain's speech.

Sighting down his bolter's targeter, Tsu'gan felt a presence behind him and turned to see Elysius appearing on their section of the wall.

'You have missed the start of the battle, brother,' Tsu'gan offered wryly.

The Chaplain snorted with derision.

'I have missed the parlay, you mean, brother-sergeant.' By his tone, it was difficult to tell whether or not Elysius was serious. Tsu'gan would find out later if his idle remark had been taken in jest.

'

The xenos are a stain upon the galaxy,'

the Chaplain intoned, zealotry affecting his timbre as he lowered his voice. '

Let them burn in the fires of retribution!

Eyes flashing with hate, Elysius ignited his crozius and pointed it in the direction of the onrushing horde.

Tsu'gan sighted down the targeter again. 'Unleash hell!'

It was as if all the sergeants were somehow synchronised or linked by empathy as weapons fire erupted across the wall in unison. Muzzle flashes ripped down the battlements of the iron fortress in a fiery wave, the resultant din like thunder. Greenskins were torn apart in the brutal bolter salvo, the explosive shells wreaking terrible havoc even amongst creatures as tough as orks. Exhorted by threats and the bellows of their captains, the beasts weathered it, trudging over the chewed-up remains of their kin implacably and without remorse. Some fled - those whose nerve had broken, or who'd lost their captains to enemy fire or infighting - they were met mercilessly with a cleaver or axe upon reaching the line of green still poised at the apex of the ridge. For this was just a first wave.

'Bolter fodder,' growled Tiberon, over the comm-feed. It was difficult to be heard above the roar of gunfire, though Chaplain Elysius managed it with his scathing diatribes and xenophobic tirades. Pistols and flamers were still out of range, as the orks had yet to close, so he directed each caustic utterance like a bullet aimed to kill.

The side of Tsu'gan's battle helm lit up as Brother M'lek fired his multi-melta. The hungry beam burned a hole through an advancing ork truck, cooking its engine and turning it into a white fireball that engulfed several foot sloggers rushing alongside it.

The brother-sergeant paused to commend M'lek's fine shooting, before addressing Tiberon.

'That is why we must break them, brother, and maintain our strength for the real fight to come.'

Tsu'gan gunned down a chieftain's armoured bodyguard, turning its skull into bone fragments and red vapour as the bolter round entered its eye and exploded outwards. He saw only one ork battle leader in the midst of the fighting, and judging from the clan markings of the greenskins barrelling towards them, this was its tribe. Perhaps the claw-armed warboss on the ridge was letting his subordinates take turns at trying to crack open the iron fortress.

'Let them come,' Tsu'gan hissed belligerently. He took aim again and executed the chieftain itself, who had strayed too close to the fight. 'They'll die by my hand,' he concluded grimly.

With the death of their tribal leader, the orks faltered. A bloody killing field had materialised in the no-man's-land before the wall; the greenskins in the first wave, despite their efforts, having been unable to get close enough to launch a meaningful assault upon it.

Seeing this, up on the ridge, the warboss bellowed his anger. Sweeps of his brawny arm sent the other tribes forwards, one after the other. Orks in their thousands charged at the Salamanders. Their tribal chieftains hooted and roared, eager for their clans to be the first to reach the enemy.