Hard rounds spanged from Sergeant Stone’s storm shield, chipping another fleck of paint from its surface. He didn’t flinch, he’d been on enough battlefields that close calls with enemy fire were more familiar to him than being at rest. The woods to the west burned, set alight by the fury of his warrior brothers of Scimitar Company to cover the Vanguard’s withdrawal from the area, the sun-hot plasma blasts setting fire to the tinder-dry woodland quicker than a beat from his twin hearts. To the east he could see little. Smoke still roiled where the lance fire from the Hissatsu had struck the ground, some sixth sense or perhaps a shouted warning from the abhorrent greenskin psykers giving the enemy a moments notice to throw themselves clear of the blast area. Behind him he could hear the snap crack of stalker bolter fire as Hydra squad moved up in support of them from the main landing site to the south. He took all this in without once breaking from his battle with the Ork before him, his blade never wavering as he assessed the battlefield, judging where his strength would be required next. He lunged forward, cracking the shield boss across his opponents eyes, forcing him back and creating an opening in its defence just long enough to send a slashed attack ripping into its neck, vital fluids spilling out over its torso as it sank to its knees.
Orks died hard, but Sagit Stone was a Veteran of dozens of campaigns against the myriad foes the galaxy sent against the defenders of mankind. He had seen it all before, and he knew just where to strike to put them down fast. He heard a grunt to his left, and a quick glance showed his battle-brother Silas Moor crashing into the barricade walls of the Ork stronghold behind him, blood seeping from a crack in his armour plate. Torsten Fenn, the third member of their Sentinel Squad had already avenged the blow before Stone could move. That was the last of them, the way was clear and they could push on into the main compound and clear out the greenskin forces in this battlezone.
Before he could move however, he heard a throaty roar of an engine, and saw a shape looming through the smoke before him.
“Brace” he yelled to his brother, and both warriors of the Obsidian Sentinels rammed the pointed base of their storm shields into the ground before them, angling them to deflect incoming fire while sheltering behind the powerfield that extended from it. Out of the smoke lurched a monster of a vehicle, smoke billowing from every rent in its armoured hide. Damaged though it was, the spiked roller attached to its front was still very much a threat however, and Sergeant Stone whispered a quick prayer to the Emperor to watch over them in this moment of need.
A split second before the impact, everything seemed to slow, Stone’s transhuman physiology further stimulated by his armour’s systems and made everything else seem to be moving in slow motion. He could see how he and his squad brother would destroy this behemoth, assuming their shields held.
The moment of clarity passed, the sounds of the battle came flooding back and the battlewagon crashed into them, the ram on its front driven by its massive weight into the angled faces of their shields. Had it been in full working order, Stone had no doubt it would have crushed them into the ground, but it was clearly heavily damaged, plasma fire having torn into whatever systems the Orks had cobbled together to make it run. The impact was still bone-shudderingly hard, and the Bladeguards were pushed back several metres, their boots and shields digging furrows in the earth before the vehicle ground to a halt. Heaving upwards with all their might, the two astartes snapped the support structure for the ram, pushing it upwards so they could reach the vehicle itself. Leaping onto the engine housing, Stone unclipped a Krak grenade from his belt and dropped it through one of the holes blasted by plasma fire, before running down the length of the superstructure and diving to the ground. A dull crump could be heard behind him as the engine bay detonated, shrapnel spinning harmlessly through the air. He got to his feet and dusted himself down, drawing his blade once more and glancing at Brother Fenn.
“After you” he said to his brother, a grin breaking out on his face beneath his obsidian helm as he realised this battle was won, the Orks breaking or being cut down all around them. It had been a squeeze there for a few moments as the Orks brought their weight of numbers to bear, but as ever, Captain Darke had marshalled his forces well, and timed their counter-strike to perfection, cutting the heart from the enemy and taking their stronghold from them.
This battle was won, but the war for this world was not over. Sergeant Stone would return to war’s red edge once more.
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