Warhammer: Dark Knights

"Go, go, go. We need to get to point Z-2!"

The shout rang through the ruined streets as a ragged group of soldiers sprinted forward, lasguns clutched in unsteady hands. Their uniforms, though similar to the standard-issue attire of the Imperial Guard, hung loosely on some and too tightly on others, ill-fitted and worn. Their movement lack the discipline of a normal guardsmen, moving out of standard formation, gripping their weapons awkwardly, their fingers twitching over triggers more from fear than readiness.

"Sergeant," One of the guardsmen muttered, voice tremble from nervous and fear. "do you think... do you think there are still survivors there? We all heard about the 12th and the 298th getting overrun... the whole sector's gone."

The sergeant silently cursed himself. He had been one of the more experienced soldiers in the unit, though that wasn't saying much. Like many others, he had only survived long enough to be noticed, and in the desperate need for officers, that was enough. Whether it was luck or some cruel joke of the God-Emperor, he had been given a promotion and told to lead.

He had been given command of a squad larger than normal, fifty men. Fifty scared, ill-trained bodies shoved into uniforms that barely fit, clutching lasguns as if they were lifelines.

At least, that had been the squad before the Orks breached the wall.

Now, only twenty-six remained, including himself.

"Of course there are still people alive there," the sergeant said, forcing a confidence he didn't feel. "The governor's most elite guards are stationed there, plus the 78th, 920th, and 1002nd. They wouldn't go down that easily."

He didn't know if that was true. It probably wasn't. The 12th and 298th had been proper Guard regiments, trained, equipped, and still crushed under the weight of the Ork tide. The governor's so-called elite guards? They were just well-fed thugs in polished carapace armor, more used to terrorizing the underhive than fighting a real war. And the 78th, 920th, and 1002nd? Press-ganged PDF forces, little better than his own squad.

'Why do they send all of them out of the hive cities?' He think, cursing the commanding officers. 'If all of them... no, just half of them are here, none of us will died.'

He still doesn't understand, why does the commands didn't assign the Feeros Guards regiments and the Penal regiments to reinforce the cities but choose to send all of them out to the plain and meet the Orks there.

'At the very least, they are holding the main force of the Orks.' He think.

But, that was a lie. A lie that have been told to the low-ranking officers and even the ruler of Vaerox Nexus.

There are not a single guardsmen that are alive out in the wild. There are no regiments that holding the Orks main force. Every single guardsmen send outside the cities was already dead.

This a lie that have been craft to maintain the morale of the defenders, especially the conscript.

In truth, because of the incompetence of the planetary governor and the high-ranking officers of the PDF, they all believed that it was better to take the fight to the xenos rather than wait for them to attack the Emperor's realm. Bold words from men who had never seen an Ork or whose only combat experience was limited to quelling the occasional underhive uprising.

Thus, out of the 50 Feeros Guard regiments and 45 penal regiments assigned to defend the planet, 45 Guard regiments and 35 penal regiments were sent out to meet the Orks head-on the moment they landed.

They had marched in force, banners flying, officers making grand speeches about glorious victory.

And then they vanished.

No word, no survivors, just the distant echoes of battle on the vox, then silence. The last transmission had been little more than panicked screaming before the line went dead.

Now, all that remained of the planet's proud defense forces were the shattered remnants, 5 Guard regiments, 10 penal legions, and whatever PDF units hadn't already been wiped out or deserted.

And, of course, the conscripts. The unlucky souls, like him, who had been handed a lasgun and a few hours of training before being thrown into the meat grinder.

As they all walk or more like fast-walk towards Z-2, a fortified point that serve as one of the defense points for the main route to the upperhive. The sharp cracks of lasgun fire, the heavier thuds of heavy stubber, and the occasional sound of explosion can be hear from the point direction.

But worse than all of that was the sound of the Orks.

As they got closer, wreckage of Tauros and Chimera lay scattered around the street, their hulls twisted and scorched from weapons fire. Some were charred husks, their interiors gutted by explosions, while others had been torn apart by crude but brutally effective Ork weaponry.

Among the wreckage, bodies littered the ground—guardsmen and civilians alike, their final moments frozen in grotesque stillness. Some lay slumped against ruined vehicles, weapons still clutched in lifeless hands, while others were strewn across the pavement, their bodies broken and torn.

The sergeant forced himself to keep moving, stepping over a fallen soldier whose blank, unseeing eyes stared into the smoke-choked sky. He felt the squad slow behind him, their steps faltering at the sight. "Keep moving," he ordered, voice hard. "or you'll be joining them soon enough."

After the group had been moving for fifteen minutes, a voice suddenly cut through the air.

"Hold it! Identify yourselves!"

The sergeant froze, instinctively raising a fist to signal the squad to halt. His grip on his lasgun tightened as he scanned the area. The voice had come from the ruins up ahead, somewhere beyond the collapsed remains of what had once been a hab-block.

"I'm sergeant Lorker from the 378th defense group." He called out. "We come from sector ZR-293. That sector have been overrun and the remaining men have been order to retreat to point Z-2."

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, movement, figures emerging cautiously from behind makeshift barricades of rubble and wrecked vehicles. They wore the flak armor and fatigues of the planetary defense forces, but their uniforms were stained with dirt, blood, and soot. Some carried lasguns, others autoguns. Their expressions were hard, weary, but there was a glimmer of relief in their eyes.

"You're lucky you didn't get shot," one of them muttered as he stepped forward, lowering his weapon. "Come on, Z-2's just ahead. If you're still breathing, we can use the help."

Lorker quickly follow them, with his squad behind him. "What's the situation of Z-2? I can hear all the gun fires and explosion when we moving there."

The corporal, the one that talk with him grimaced, glancing toward the distant sounds of battle. "Bad. We've been holding, but the greenskins keep coming. They're throwing wave after wave at us. The ammo are running low and half the heavy weapons are either jammed or out of munitions."

"What about the Angels?" Lorker ask. "Have they not reinforce us?"

The corporal said, shaking his head. "The last time we see them is when the outer perimeter being breach. I saw two Rhino rush out of the wall, but I saw none of them return even when my previous post being storm by Orks."

Hearing this, Lorker remain silent the whole journey to Z-2. If the Angels had gone out and never returned, then either they were still fighting somewhere in the ruins… or they were dead. Neither possibility brought much comfort.

As they go closer, the sound of fighting have slowly subside, and now replace with scream of the wounded and footsteps of the surviving guardsmen. The destroy Chimeras can be seen, scatter around. within or without the point. Corpses of Orks and guardsmen scatter in and outside the point. The blood, human and xenos alike, had mixed into a gruesome, dark smear that coated the fortifications, vehicles, and the very earth beneath their boots. It was a horrific sight. And yet, for any soldier who had fought long enough, it was nothing unusual. Just another battlefield in an endless war.

While the survive guardsmen moving around, tending to the wounded and rebuilding the fortification, the group move closer to the command tent. Not much voice comes from the tent, there's not even guards stationed at its entrance.

The corporal didn't hesitate, pushing aside the flap and stepping inside. Lorker followed closely behind, with the rest of the men stay outside the tent.

Inside, the command tent was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of sweat, blood, and burning promethium. Maps and tactical displays were scattered across a central table, many marked with hasty red lines and symbols indicating defensive positions, most of them already overrun.

A handful of officers and staff remained, their faces grim and hollow-eyed. A captain sat hunched over the table, his uniform stained with dirt and dried blood. His fingers drummed against the surface, his mind clearly elsewhere. A vox-operator nearby muttered into his headset, frustration evident as he struggled to get a clear signal.

The corporal cleared his throat. "Sir, we've got survivors. Sergeant Lorker and what's left of his squad."

The captain slowly looked up, his bloodshot eyes settling on Lorker. "Then you're either lucky or cursed." he muttered. "Not that it matters much now."

Lorker stiffened. "What's the situation, sir?"

The captain exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "We held, but just barely. The last wave was a slaughter." He gestured toward the table, where unit markers were alarmingly sparse. "Reinforcements are still en route, but we're on our own until then."

Lorker glanced at the maps, his stomach twisting at how few units were left. "And the Angels? Any word?"

The captain shook his head. "Last we saw, they took the fight beyond the wall. No vox contact since." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "That means either they're dead, or they're dealing with something worse."

"Well," The captain raise his head toward Lorker. "since you and your men here, you all are know under my command." He then pointed at a location marked with red skull. "You and your men will be position here, man the weapons and protect the area."

Lorker followed the captain's finger to the red skull marker. It was near the northern barricades, one of the more battered sections of Z-2's defenses. If the Orks launched another attack, it was almost guaranteed to be hit first.

"Yes, sir," Lorker responded, giving a curt nod. "We'll hold the line."

"Sure you do." The captain muttered, so quietly that only he could hear it. Then, in a firmer voice, he continued, "I'll send two Chimeras to provide support, but don't expect any more reinforcements when the Orks attack. You're on your own then."

"Understood, sir." Lorker said before turning on his heel and stepping out of the tent.

When he step out the tent, his squad straightened instinctively, their tired, dirt-streaked faces looking to him for orders. He exhaled sharply, pushing aside the gnawing sense of dread.

"We will be holding the northern barricade." He stated. "There are two Chimeras that will be assisting us in defending the barricade."

No one said a word. Some just swallowed hard, others adjusted their grips on their weapons. They knew they had no say in the decision, orders were orders. Whether they liked it or not, they would hold the northern barricade.

"Let's go." Lorker said while walking north, toward the assign post. "The earlier we arrive, the faster we can asses the situation of our post. If we need to fix the fortification, then we will have more time to prepare."

The squad fell in behind him, their boots crunching against the debris-littered streets as they made their way toward the northern barricade. The distant sounds of war had quieted, but an eerie tension still hung in the air. Every step felt heavier, every shadow a potential threat.

As they approached, the defenses came into view, if it could even be called that. Sandbags were haphazardly stacked, makeshift firing positions barely covered from enemy fire, and in some areas, the barricades had already been damaged, either by previous assaults or sheer neglect.

Lorker clenched his jaw. "Damn it… We need to reinforce this place fast." He turned to his men. "Find anything useful, sandbags, debris, metal plating, anything we can use to strengthen our position. Get those heavy stubbers checked, and make sure we have clear firing lanes. We don't know when the next wave is coming, so move!"

The men scattered, some setting up weapons while others searched for materials. In the distance, beyond the ruins and wreckage, the faint echoes of Orkish roars could still be heard.

As they fixing their defense, rumbling from their behind can be hear. The Chimeras send to support them have arrive. Luckily for them, both of the Chimeras are Gryphonne IV pattern, each armed with twin-linked heavy bolter, good at destroying groups of infantry and light armored vehicle.

While the Chimeras position themself at the assign location by Lorker, the roars of the Orks starting to become clearer and clearer as the time goes. Lorker and the rest of the men know, they know that the Orks are launching another attack.

'May the God-Emperor protect us.' Lorker silently pray before ordering his squad to prepare for the attack. While all this happening, no one saw the flickering light from the burning streak of the drop pods above them.